by Scott Gordon Richards
From a high vantage point, well hidden behind jagged boulders, Brayba observed the gorge below him. His curiosity piqued. He could smell her on the humid air. A mix of strange body odour and fear that did not turn his stomach. On the contrary, he rather enjoyed it.
An alien, obviously female laboured over a wheelbarrow filled with rocks. Her chin was far too jutted from her neck. Her hair, far too fine and thin, and she had no tail at all! Her skin was a hideous shade of pink, not the nice, reddish-brown fur of Brayba’s own race. She had her hair rolled in a bun at the back of her head and wore a white shirt under a jump suit with the top pulled off and tied around her waist. She seemed frail, unsuited for life in the harsh environment and harsher races on this dry rock of a planet. Despite the differences in appearance, she was easy to read.
She set her jaw with determination. Her bearing as she worked, was one of resolve. The alien took off her shirt in annoyance and tossed it over the empty wheelbarrow. The work was hot and sweat soaked through it, causing the alien-looking material to meld to the back of her neck uncomfortably. Under the shirt, she had on a curious, thin, sleeveless, gray material that barely covered anything. The female raised her head to the sky in some sort of ritual, or prayer. After a pause, she bent back down to the task at hand, that of distributing rocks across the narrow pass of the gorge.
Riders would be coming up this pass in Lucat’s Gorge. The riders had been harassing settlements in the area for a month, ever since the ‘boat from the sky’ crashed on Tweskillion. No one knew exactly where, but that didn’t stop the riders from asking, usually accompanied by torture. But the raids had stopped three settings of Tweskillion’s four moons ago.
Brayba refocused on the alien female. She picked up the shirt again. Caressing it, she appeared lost in remembrance. She touched her lips with a trembling hand. A tear ran down her cheek. She must be thinking of her breed-mate, Brayba thought. The night before, he had come across a similar alien, male, whose body had been hacked to death, surrounded by the hoofprints of many slissa.
The female crumpled her shirt and threw it as far away as her meager strength would allow. Grabbing the wheelbarrow by its handles, she went for another load of loose stones. Brayba surmised that the alien knew she was hunted and that the beasts the riders used would have a tough time traversing loose, fist-size stones. She filled as much of the narrow pass as she could with them before time would run out.
Brayba watched the alien disappear over a rise. She toted the wheelbarrow with purpose. He didn’t really mind that she had taken it from his own project out by his private mine. He was just curious who would take only a wheelbarrow and not some of the gold slate ore he mined. This one was more interested in smooth, worthless rocks. Now he understood why.
He could hear riders coming in the distance and knew their sound. Gronlock warriors slissa were after the alien. Not really his concern. Besides, to defy the Gronlock was to invite death. Brayba pitied the female. She hadn’t a chance.
He climbed down and picked up the discarded shirt and stared at it in his paw. He screwed up his feline features in a twinge of shame. It wouldn’t be right to let this alien female fall into Gronlock hands. They wouldn’t just kill her. He stuffed the shirt in his belt.
Taking a hand hold, he started climbing back up the gorge’s side. Just as he reestablished his hiding spot, the female came back over the rise with a full load. He ‘tsked’ at such a waste of life. Then two smaller aliens, obviously of the same race as the female, rushed up beside her adding rocks to the wheelbarrow.
She has a litter.
The rumble of hooves grew closer.
Alarmed, Brayba glanced down the gorge, then back to the alien. He narrowed his eyes and set his lips in a snarl.
“Ah, flebdick,” he swore.
Drawing his sword, he leaped down right in front of the aliens. They drew back, startled. The adult female snatched a large chunk of wood to use as a club. But, Brayba raised his sword, turned his back to her and faced the oncoming Gronlock.