But I’m safe for the moment.
Something pops over my head, and I look up, startled, just as the frame holding the bars that form the roof of my cage rises, suspended at the corners. Freeing the bars on all four sides of me. Those bars fall away to thunk into the dirt, sending up a cloud of gray dust. Leaving me exposed inside the cube-shaped frame of what is clearly no longer a cage.
Panic spikes in my pulse. What the hell is going on? Why am I here? Here, of all places?
The kidnapping survival courses never mentioned that my hypothetical kidnapper might be an asshole with a chip on his shoulder the size of the Milky Way. Those instructors never said I might have no opportunity to humanize myself, or that I might be dropped off and left for dead at the site of the greatest trauma of my entire life.
I cannot be here. Not again. Last time, I was lost for less than two hours, and the alien residents who found me—a gang of barbaric Fetoji—nearly slaughtered me in cold blood. If they’ll do that to a helpless four-year-old, what will they do to an adult?
Shivering, I stand, and my head and shoulders rise through the top of the metal cage frame. There isn’t much of a breeze here on the surface, but it’s still cold, and my pajamas feel much less substantial than they did when I fell asleep in them. How long ago was that?
I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing. Is this a test? An experiment? A slow-motion execution? Am I food for something slinking around out there in the forest? Am I safer huddling here on the floor of my cage, or should I go and look for food and shelter?
In theory, I know how to find shelter, at least. Each of the massive bio-dome enclosures has been equipped with housing for the residents. Housing that is designed to replicate the kinds of structures built on their individual homeworlds. But considering what I know of the local inhabitants, I’m not sure that knocking on doors would be any safer for me than just sitting here in what’s left of my cage. Wishing for the bars to reassemble themselves and protect me.
From behind me, a vicious growl rumbles out of the woods, and my decision is made. Whatever that is, it sounds big. And hungry.
So I run. Straight in the opposite direction.
The forest blurs around me as my feet pound the oddly smooth grayish ground. Dark blue roots arch up from the dirt all around me, so running feels like playing a frantic game of hopscotch, and when I step on one, it bruises the bottom of my foot through the gel sole, but doesn’t penetrate it.
Branches slap at my arms, but these trees aren’t like the ones on earth. Their spiky branches reach toward the sun for sustenance, but they must get that sustenance through the bark itself, because that’s all these trees are. Weird, bluish-green trunks with mottled bark, branching into a massive network of naked twigs and branches. And they’re flexible. Which means they’re easy to push out of my way, when I remember to do that. But when they smack me… Well, it’s like being whipped. With a whip. Or what I imagine that would feel like, if I were kinky enough to ever try it.
But that’s a thought for another day. Today’s goal is much simpler.
Survive. Fucking run!
I can hear the animal—the beast—behind me, snorting as it chases me. Its thunderous footsteps make the ground tremble. And it’s gaining on me.
My pulse spikes, fear pushing me to run faster. If it catches me—
I step on another root, and this one feels different. Before I can look down and process that difference, I’m suddenly scooped off the ground and hanging high in the air. Dangling over the dirt in some kind of trap that I can’t actually see. But I can feel it—a grid of fibers woven into a net. When I push against it, it stretches, but it doesn’t give.
Disoriented and terrified, with the beast still racing toward me, I thrash in the net, and it starts swinging with my motions, because the branch I’m hanging from is very pliable.
The beast charges into sight beneath me, and I go still, my breath caught in my throat. My heart thudding hard enough for me to see the echo of each beat in my breasts, at the lower edge of my vision.
Whatever this monster is, it’s huge. It has six legs, arranged in two rows to support its bulky torso. It has horns curling out from its massive skull, over a muzzle that looks more like a dog’s than a horse’s. Only much bigger. While I stare down at it, trying not to move—I’m not even breathing—it snorts and spins around, surprisingly lithe, while it searches for me.
This beast must not be very smart, because even though it clearly can’t tell where I’ve gone, it never looks up. Which is just fine with me. Finally, having exhausted its search, the beast wanders off into the forest with another dissatisfied snort.
The breath I’ve been holding bursts from my throat, but it sounds like a sob.
Now that the monster is gone, I go limp, cradled by the net, and for a few minutes, I try to pretend it’s a hammock, swinging in a cool autumn breeze. As if I were on the outer-planet beach my parents tried to send me to, waiting on the waitstaff to bring me a brightly colored drink.
But once my heart has slowed to a pace that isn’t threatening to steal my consciousness, I’m forced to confront my remaining problems. As safe as I am from the beast, I am now trapped in a net I can’t even see. As if I’m just floating here, only I can feel—
Oh, wait, I can see it now too. Either the fibers of this net have slowly started to change color, or my eyes have finally adjusted to the light level here in the woods. When I push my hand into the net and squint at it, I can now make out the faint yellow tint of the translucent fibers. They’re woven into a grid just big enough for me to stick a finger through, and while they’re stretchy, they don’t have enough give to let me stick my hand out.
I try cutting into the fibers with my fingernail, but that only makes a faint indention that fills back in as soon as I release the pressure. Desperate, now, I grab a handful of the fibers and try to tear them with my teeth, but though they feel like thin rubber, I can’t bite through them.
I am well and truly stuck here, and I need to prepare for the inevitable.
This net didn’t sprout on its own, which means someone put it here. Specifically to trap…something. Whoever did that will eventually come back to check the net, and—
Something creaks, out in the woods.
I suck in a deep breath and twist in the net, trying to see in that direction.
For the most part, these woods are eerily silent. I don’t hear any birds chirping or the scurrying of any small forest creatures. But when I do hear sounds, they aren’t the rustle of leaves or the snapping of twigs I’m accustomed to from the private patch of woods behind my childhood home, on Earth. They’re odd groans and creaks. Ratcheting, stretchy sounds, as if something is being slowly pulled back, under enormous tension.
The sounds are very foreign and eerie. They keep me on edge, and this latest creak is no different. But I recognize the sound that follows. It’s a footstep. Soft, but still distinctive.
I hold my breath again, staring at the ground. Waiting to see what kind of monster will step into sight next. Praying that it can’t reach me. That it doesn’t even see me.
I cannot be here.
Another step echoes toward me. Then another. And another. My breaths come faster and shallower with each second. And finally, it steps into sight from around the nearest tree.
Only it isn’t an it. It’s a him. Just not a human him.
My heart pounds like a jackhammer, jarring me with every beat as I take in his familiar leonine features. They’re just as beautiful as I remember. Yet just as terrifying. Not that I’ve ever seen this particular creature before. But I know his kind.
I remember…
A poof of golden hair surrounds his face, and his chest is broad and rippling with muscle, his golden skin practically glowing in the dappled sunlight. His tail swishes near the ground behind him, the little poof of fur at the end stirring up dust. And the fact that he’s a he, is super-obvious, because while he’s carrying a spear and he has a supply
pack thrown over one shoulder, he’s not wearing a single scrap of clothing.
I don’t remember that part. But I can tell even from here that he is…um…gifted.
My focus rises until our gazes lock, and something seems to pass behind his. His eyes narrow, and while he looks curious, he does not look particularly aggressive. Though he’s clearly capable of violence, with his massive build, and the pointed incisors and deadly-sharp claws I know he has, even if I can’t see them from up here.
I want nothing to do with this creature. Yet I also have to get down from this net, and I have no idea how to do that on my own. Or where to go once I’m free.
He could kill me with one hand, once I’m on the ground, yet he’s not a monster charging through the forest, ready to gore me to death and snack on my corpse. And he hasn’t made a single hostile move so far. I think I have to risk asking for his help.
Then I notice what else he’s holding. One of that beast’s distinctive horns.
That’s when I realize that this man—this alien—came from the direction of that charging beast. That he killed it and took its horn as a trophy.
The only thing scarier than the monster that tried to eat me is the creature who killed it. Single handedly. Wearing not a scrap of clothing.
2
Lohr
The guma fiber net is almost impossible to see, lying on the ground in a grove of spica trees. Trailing over the interconnected system of roots, which occasionally arc from the earth. Where sunlight hits the net, it shimmers with a translucent, yellowish sheen, but I have trouble making that out, even though I know exactly where the net is.
The ezaki I’m hunting will never see it.
I’ve spent days tracking this beast. Following its trail to find the most common path it takes to drink from the stream that runs across one corner of my territory. There’s about a forty percent chance it will walk this path today and step right into my net. But I can strengthen those odds.
Kneeling on the flattened net, I swing my pack off my shoulder and pull a small pouch from it. Ezaki have notoriously good noses. So good that they can detect the scent of a potential mate from several miles away.
Acquiring the scent gland of a female ezaki wasn’t easy. But it was all for this moment.
The engine of a shuttle hums from somewhere overhead, while I untie the leather strip holding the pouch closed. I don’t bother looking up. Shuttles come and go, as do those damned glass pods, and there’s nothing I can do about that.
The scent hits me as soon as I get the pouch open. It’s musty and aggressive. Unpleasant, to my nose. But female ezaki are few and far between, around here, so the scent of one will definitely draw my prey. Yet before I can overturn the pouch and drop the ripe scent gland—it’s the size of my fist—onto the middle of the net, I hear something thrashing toward me from the forest to the east.
The ezaki. Nothing else running wild out here would be able to shake the ground beneath my feet with its very steps. Has it already scented the gland, before I’ve even dumped it from the pouch?
Hurriedly, I tie the pouch back up and stuff it into my bag, then I back off of the net, pleased that I’m evidently going to get more use of the gland than I expected. I head to the north and duck behind a tree to wait for my prey, which is still thrashing its way through the forest, directly toward my trap. The net won’t actually lift the ezaki; the beast is much too heavy for the branches of a spica tree to displace. But when he steps onto the center of the net, the trap will be triggered and the net will swallow the beast up, leaving it raging furiously on the ground, but wrapped up in guma fiber like a gift I’ve given myself. At which point I will easily be able to spear him. Several times. Until he stops moving.
That’s the safest way I’ve found to kill an ezaki. Those monsters are massive, and with it unrestrained, one swipe of its head, with those enormous horns, could break my arm.
The beast thunders toward me, and the ground shudders harder at its approach, as if the planet itself lives in fear of the ezaki. My muscles tense and my grip on my spear tightens. My moment has arrived.
A tree to the east trembles, and something bursts past it into the small clearing. I blink, shocked, trying to clear the hallucination from my vision. That’s what this has to be, because the small creature tripping through the woods toward me does not belong here. Her long dark mane flies wildly as she runs, several thick strands of it obscuring her face, and no doubt her field of vision. She looks back over her shoulder and her foot catches one of the spica tree roots, and she spins around, stumbling, fighting to remain upright without slowing.
I watch, still stunned, as the tiny thing flails her way right into my net.
The trap triggers, and the net swallows its unsuspecting target, swinging her high into the air, suspended over the clearing.
My trap has worked perfectly. But it has snagged the wrong prey.
I’ve caught a woman. A human woman.
This is a strange day indeed.
Before I can get more than a glance at her—a jumble of thin limbs and a long, dark, tangled mane, so unlike the hardy, golden women of my species—the ezaki barrels into the clearing, clearly chasing her. It thunders to an abrupt stop and stares around in dim-witted confusion, flummoxed by having lost its quarry. The beast snorts as it sniffs the air, wandering in a slow circle. It can clearly still scent the tiny human dangling overhead. But the ezaki’s thick neck and heavy horns don’t allow it to look straight up.
For all I know, that inability means it may not even truly realize that “up” exists directly overhead, though it can obviously see the sky at a distance.
After a couple of clearly frustrated circles in the clearing, the beast heads off to the west at a much slower pace. For a moment, I watch it, considering my options. It hasn’t scented me—I’m intentionally up-wind—which means I could just go after it on foot and save my hard-fought-for female scent gland for another day. That’s exactly what I should do.
I should just walk away from this human woman. She’s the first one I’ve ever seen who wasn’t safely encased in one of those infuriating glass bubbles. Or wearing a black uniform and heavily armed, just like her male guard counterparts.
But this woman… Unlike the guards and tourists, a woman running free in the enclosure is nothing but trouble. I should just walk away and pretend I never saw her. Let her be someone else’s problem.
And that’s exactly what I would do, if not for the fact that she’s in my net. I need that net.
I also need that ezaki. I’ve planned this hunt for days, and I can’t just let the beast walk off, even if taking it down will now be a much more complicated—and dangerous—endeavor.
With a soft groan of acceptance of this new challenge, I turn my back on the human woman caught in my net. She can wait. My right hand clenches around my spear, then I take off after the ezaki, moving silently.
It doesn’t take me long to find him, even though he’s no longer thrashing his way through the woods. He’s big enough to leave a trail of broken branches, and every few seconds, he heaves a wet snort, as if he’s about to sneeze. But that’s just the natural breathing of an ezaki, with its massive lungs.
I study him, trying to decide on the best angle of approach. Which is definitely from behind. One should never approach an ezaki from the front. If its horns don’t gore you, its enormous muzzle will easily bite off whatever part of you it manages to close over.
I eye the slight hump of its spine, right behind its huge head. That’s the sweet spot. From there, it can’t reach me with either horns or teeth. The tricky part is getting there.
When it stops to eat a clump of wildflowers growing in a patch of sunlight, I pounce, pushing off against the ground with my feet, my claws digging into the dirt for purchase. It’s a good jump, but while I do land on the ezaki’s spine, I’m still several feet from the hump at the back of its neck.
The beast snorts angrily and spins around, trying to dislodge me. I grip its
back with my left hand, my claws sinking deeply into the creature’s flesh, while my right still clutches my spear.
The ezaki snorts again, but it’s still more angry than scared, and with its thick hide, it probably isn’t feeling much pain. Yet. It spins again, trying to throw me off in the other direction, and I bend my knees to draw my feet beneath me, so I can sink my back claws in as well. Secure in my footing, I wait for it to pause its thrashing, just for a second, and I launch myself farther up the beast’s back, my pulse racing with adrenaline.
The claws on my left hand sink into the side of the beast’s neck, and my rear claws find purchase on either side of its spine. Then I pull my right arm back and shove my spearpoint into the beast, at the base of its skull.
The tip sinks in effortlessly, and the beast snorts again, trying harder to toss me. But I hold on tight, and while it whips me from side to side, straining every joint in my body, I keep stabbing, penetrating a little deeper with every jab, until finally I manage to sever its spinal cord—protected by deep layers of muscle and fatty tissue—from the base of its skull.
The ezaki goes abruptly still beneath me. Then it falls over, and I have to launch myself from its back to avoid being crushed by the massive creature’s weight.
I stand over my kill, and adrenaline washes over me, the biological euphoria of triumph. It’s a rush. A gift, in itself, beyond the meat and the supplies that I will get from the kill. But slaughtering an ezaki is a huge challenge, because of the sheer volume of material one mature male can provide. Harvesting that material will take all day, and it will require several trips back to my home to drop off the most useful bits, leaving my kill covered with the guma net while I’m gone, to keep scavengers from it.
But my net is otherwise occupied. Time to remedy that.
I spare a moment to pull an ax from my pack and lop off one of the beast’s horns—a prize I can’t risk losing, should scavengers find it before I get back—then I head back the way I came.
The Lion and the Mouse Page 2