by John Migacz
CHAPTER 39
Janelle eyed the creature but stood behind the Lancelead just in case it wasn’t dead.
“What in the universe do you think that is?” said the Strikedag, looking down at the body.
The rock the creature had been hiding behind must have contained material that shielded it from their battlesuit scanners. They first knew of its presence when, roaring, it jumped down at the Strikedag from its hiding place. Rory had hit the beast in mid air, square in the chest with a quick snap shot from the hip. The Lancelead was still complimenting Rory’s reaction.
Janelle stepped around the Lancelead and examined the creature more closely. She hoped it might offer some clue about this planet, and any focus might help ease her stress. They hadn’t seen any evidence of the Kraken, but her edginess hadn’t abated. She glanced at the two marines. They hadn’t been bothered by the fight with the battle droids. To them, it was just another normal day on the job. To her, it was an awakening. It pushed her awareness to a higher level. Everything was clearer and brighter, yet when she considered the possibility of capture by the Kraken, she shivered. Maybe combat was like that. She shook herself and concentrated on the creature.
It was a powerfully built biped with long legs. Light brown in color, with a tan patch on its chest and belly, its hard leathery skin was hairless. Standing, it would have been about eight feet tall. The insect-like head had four small horns, a cross between antlers and antennae.
“What do you think, Commlead. Is this the local higher life form?” asked the Strikedag.
“Claws, two opposable thumbs on each hand, fighting fangs.” She shook her head. “I don’t know, but…” She leaned closer and turned over the creature’s left hand. It wore an intricately designed gold ring on its finger.
“Whoa,” said the Lancelead. “Do they have metallurgy skills?”
“I doubt it, Lancelead,” said Janelle. “Notice the ring is worn only on the first joint. It’s too small to go down any lower. Not a comfortable or safe place to wear a ring. No, my guess is that he took it from a former owner.”
“Well, we know for sure that someone on this planet has metallurgy skills and a highly developed sense of art judging by that ring,” said the Strikedag. “Perhaps it belongs to that smaller set of unshod footprints we’ve been finding occasionally.”
“Perhaps,” said the Lancelead. “It does show that there are highly developed beings on this world. We’d better remain sharp.” He received nods of agreement from the others.
They trekked toward the patch of greenery, still in the same grouping: Strikedag Tanner on point; Commlead Haridep in the center; and Lancelead Grey as rear guard. The gorge they had been hiking down opened out onto flatter, dryer terrain.
Janelle was tired. She plodded along, just staring at Strikedag Tanner’s back. Aboard ship, she would have said she was in good shape. Her daily regimen of Denwabi exercises had kept her toned, but walking all day in a battle suit was wearing her down.
“Let’s take a break before we cross that open area,” said the Lancelead.
She sighed a “thank you” and sat down under the shade of an overhanging rock. She didn’t notice any temperature difference since her suit kept a constant temperature, but it made her feel better to get out of the sun. “I’m so tired of this suit. I’ve never felt more in need of a shower,” she said.
“It grows on you, Ma’am,” said the Strikedag.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she said with a grimace.
The marines laughed. “Seriously, Ma’am, there comes a time around the fourth or fifth day when the suit seems to become your second skin, and it no longer bothers you as much,” said the Strikedag.
“I hope so. As a matter of fact, I’m looking forward to it,” she said.
“Then comes the problem of taking it off,” he said. “It becomes such a part of you, it feels like you are peeling off your skin.” He grinned. “If you think you felt naked before, wait until you get your suit off after a week. You feel like you’re wearing only your bones.”
“I don’t care. I’d like to get out of this suit and have a null gravity massage with – ”
Their proximity alarms sounded and the trio leaped to their feet. The Strikedag glanced at his display.
“I’m reading fifteen lifeforms in two separate groups about five hundred and seven hundred feet distant, both heading this way.”
The Lancelead glanced upward. “We can hide up in these rocks until they pass, and if they’re coming for us that’s a good defensive position.”
“Sir. We won’t be able to see them clearly till they enter the gorge. I’ll stay here and observe until they get closer.”
“Good idea Dagger. We’ll take cover. Let’s go, Ma’am.”
He didn’t have to tell her twice. Thoughts of a confrontation lent speed to her boots.
The officers climbed until they were about eighteen feet over the gorge. The Strikedag hid behind a rock on the trail and narrated what occurred.
“I have a visual on the first group. Binocs show six humanoid creatures. Blue skin, black eyes. Some carrying clubs. Wearing what appear to be skins. The second group now in visual, nine creatures of the same type. They are waving their clubs at each other but do not appear to be hostile toward one another. Groups merging. One member is displaying the contents of a cloth bag. It’s uh, – oh!” Strikedag Tanner was quiet for a moment. “They are headed this way. Keep low, these critters are not our friends.” He scrambled up the rock until he was next to the Commlead. They sat watching quietly until the group passed below them and moved up the gorge.
“Let’s give them a few minutes to get out of range,” said the Lancelead.
They watched until the group was out of sight. “You know,” said the Lancelead. “The bag they were carrying was made of cloth and those creatures were wearing skins. I doubt they have knowledge of weaving. There must be humans on this planet.”
“Not necessarily, Lancelead,” said Janelle. “There are at least twenty-two known species that have weaving ability. We can’t assume there are humans on this world.”
“There are humans here,” said Rory.
“What makes you so sure, Strikedag,” asked the Commlead.
The strikedag looked in the direction of the departed creatures. “The cloth bag contained a human head.”
“Oh…” she said as she fought the churning of her stomach.
The Strikedag sighed. “When it’s my turn to go, I hope my head doesn’t go into a bag that color.” He shuddered. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen an uglier shade of purple in my life.”