Trapped on Predator Planet, page 9
He was quiet and I wondered if the drone dropped the signal. Wiping the face shield on my helmet, I noticed the green film had started to accumulate, and I realized the ubiquitous haze was returning after the brief cleansing from the storm. Time was running out for me.
“I have only seen the result of such scenarios in the Agothe-Fatheza,” he said. “Usually it is bones.”
“I see,” I said, losing heart. The mother’s great head nudged the little one away, but it persisted in trying to get closer. It probably wanted to nurse, if they were mammals. I grimaced. I probably had more useful knowledge about the slime on my glove than I did of these two hapless creatures.
VELMA had warned me of countless dangers on Ikthe. The predators. The disease. The political intrigue. My priorities were laid out before me as clearly as any To Do list, not the least of which was my swift egress from the Agothe-Fatheza, followed directly thereafter by avoiding more earthquakes and tornadoes.
And yet I stood here like a witless wonder, puzzling out how to get these hairy beasts out of their own predicament.
“The grass-eaters do have a fondness for fire grass,” Raxkarax said, his voice sounding bemused and uncertain.
“That’s perfect!” I said. “Thank you!”
After requesting VELMA identify fire grass for me, I discovered huge patches dotting the area, likely the reason the calf had ventured this far. Tearing up big handfuls, I did so within sight of them. At first, they didn’t notice me. But as I drew closer, gathering up more sheafs of grass, they stopped nuzzling each other and watched me with wary eyes.
“VELMA, can you pulse something in an approximation of what they might signal to each other from my helmet?”
“Searching files, standby,” she said.
Stepping closer to them, I was still several meters away when their ears flopped, and they stared at me with intent gazes.
An oscilloscope appeared in my IntraVisor showing when VELMA played the sound, though I couldn’t hear it.
Approaching with outstretched arm, I held a thick bundle of fire grass out to the juvenile. I’d already tracked a path that would lead both safely away from the hungry mud. I just needed to coax the little one to follow me. I was convinced it would give the mother just the right motivation.
“Come on, little thing,” I said. It had to weigh two hundred pounds if it was an ounce.
Lifting its wrinkly droopy nose, it sniffed my offering with interest. I let it pull the grass from me and chew and swallow before I offered another bundle. But the next one I withheld just out of reach.
Leaving the shelter of its mother’s shadow, it stepped closer.
A second oscilloscope appeared in my visor, and I knew it represented their signals. A gut roll synced with the bass waves, and I suspected the mother was finally voicing concern. The baby’s ear lifted a bit but dropped as it took a step closer to me.
When it kept following me even as it chewed on another mouthful of weeds, I knew it was going to work.
Tearing more as I went, I kept a steady supply flowing into the juvenile’s greedy mouth, and as I hoped, the mother frantically pawed after us. Pausing to make sure her efforts weren’t causing her to sink further, I noticed rather that mud sprayed everywhere, and the pit’s level may have even dropped a bit. Feeling hopeful, I walked faster.
“Come along, hungry one!” I said and waved my newest bundle. A smaller set of waves wobbled on the scope. She was talking to me!
Peeking back at mama, I saw her brows furrow and felt rumbling in my boots. I hoped that was her and not another quake, but VELMA didn’t remark on it.
One leg! She got a leg out. A strong tug reminded me of the youngling who tore the grass from my hand, and I hurried to tear up another batch, keeping an eye on the mother. She had her second front leg out now; she would be free in just a few minutes.
Too late, I realized I didn’t have a plan for when a two-hundred-pound baby and its twelve-hundred-pound mama were chasing the woman with fistfuls of fire grass.
“Rax, it worked!” I said, my voice ebullient, even in my own ears. “It worked, and now they might never stop following me,” I said, breathless. “Just know that if I get trampled, it was purely out of their love for me.”
The mother cleared the pit, and I squealed; she broke into a run, and I dropped my last bundle of grass.
“VELMA, give me a route!” I shouted and faced forward, not wanting to fall into a pit of my own. I could feel them running toward me; I didn’t need to look at this point.
“Grass-eaters will not eat you,” Rax’s calm voice said. “But they are not known for finesse; perhaps you could climb a tree?”
Panting, I couldn’t answer while I sprinted, dodging tree falls but letting slender branches slap my helmet in my haste to create distance. The trees grew thicker together, and I slowed. Jogging now, I looked back to see they had stopped chasing me altogether and now enjoyed a snuggly reunion.
Safely ensconced behind a stand of black trees, I rested my hands on my knees and breathed deep. “Okay, I’m safe now,” I said between pants. “And they are, too. Thanks, Rax. That was a great idea.”
“I am pleased I was of help,” he said, and I heard the pleasure in his voice. I felt a wisp of giddiness before it faded away.
Standing, I looked back to see the duo head north, and I hoped they followed their herd. “Okay, I’m back on the path through the Agothe-Fatheza,” I said. “I noticed the haze is coming back, so I’m going to hurry.”
“A wise choice,” Rax replied. “Likewise, I come to you with haste. Do you ask VELMA to show you these animals, and you must try to catch and kill them. You will need them to survive in the bog.”
“Oh God,” I said and swallowed. “I forgot where I was for a hot minute.”
“It is hot, indeed,” Rax said. “The rains lowered the temperature but for a jotik. The heat and humidity will draw back the creatures that thrive in it. You cannot be too cautious now, Joan.”
VELMA played a sequence of still shots of the animals Rax mentioned while I digested his words. He urged caution without making me feel stupid. And he’d expressed genuine happiness at my success freeing the grass-eaters.
Shaking my head, I focused on the photos. Priorities.
“Okay Rax,” I said. “I’ve got the images. Where will I find these?”
Chapter 23
Raxkarax
“The glands are located just inside the skull once you’ve pulled the jaw off,” I explained into my comms while gathering dead wood. Joan proved to be a quick study and had caught and killed an acid-spitter within two zatiks of seeing its image. Now we both worked against time as the Sister Suns headed to their resting place behind the distant mountains.
Trying not to think about Joan alone in the Agothe-Fatheza at night, I coached her through the next steps.
“You have collection vials?” I asked, peering into the wooded shadows. I thought I’d seen a brief gleam of white, but it was gone.
“Yes, VELMA suggested they would be useful,” she said.
“Empty the liquid from the glands into a vial and keep it out of direct light. In a few hours, it will catalyze and be ready for use,” I said. “The liquid will keep the za-ronaxl away.”
“Okay, good,” she said. “Rax,” she said on a pause. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome, Raxma bi Woa,” I said, tenderness softening my voice. Estimates put us meeting in two days’ time, but I wouldn’t feel content until Joan Wu was in my presence. She had many obstacles to overcome to escape the Agothe-Fatheza unscathed.
“Um, VELMA?” I heard her voice rise with anxiety. My own heart raced. “Show me the spiny warted rock-climber again.”
Chuckling, my pulse slowed. They were ferocious little beasts, but not deadly. “Joan, its weak spot is the back of its neck. A solid downward swing of your weapon should ….”
A piercing scream crackled in my helmet.
“Joan!” Dropping the bundle of wood, I ran toward her, though she was many veltiks’ distance from me. “Speak to me!”
“Hang on,” she said between whimpers. “It was too fast. It grabbed my leg and wouldn’t let go but it’s finally dead.”
Sharp breaths punctuated the silence over the line, and I cursed Ikthe and its horrors. I cursed myself for stopping to rest, for twisting my own ankle in a kathe burrow, for any of the dozens of stops that delayed reaching my heart mate.
“I wish I was there with you,” I said, emotion thickening my voice to gravel. “Had I my ship, I could fly to you this jotik.”
She huffed a laugh. “I wish you were here, too. This is scary. Night’s falling.”
Mind racing over possibilities, I asked VELMA to show me Joan’s location.
“I know the region in which you travel,” I said, hoping to convey a calm I did not feel. Panic would only worsen Joan’s circumstances. “It is pockmarked with quicksand pits and home to many theza-pax. Your VELMA calls them amphibians: they are small and slow but numerous.”
“Okay,” she said. Her breaths had evened. “I’ve been seeing them. They remind me of, uh—frogs—after a heavy rainstorm, coming out from everywhere. You can’t walk without stepping on one.”
“If you are able, kick them away,” I said. “Dead ones will draw out the za-ronaxl bugs and your acid has not had time to catalyze yet.”
“Got it. Kicking,” she said. I didn’t know Joan Wu yet, but I thought I heard anxiety rising to the forefront again. Only days ago, it was a simpler time when I thought of Ikthe’s unexpected beauties to share with her. Now I must detail the ways in which it sought to kill her lest she be unprepared.
“VELMA located you on my map,” I said. My plan to rest for the night lay behind me with the gathered wood. I would not stop until Joan was safe in my arms. “If you have the strength, it would be favorable for you to travel another zatik; it will bring you out of the most perilous portion of the Agothe-Fatheza.”
“I see,” she said. She’d grown quieter. At first, I thought her calming but now I questioned my assessment. Brows furrowing, I ground my teeth a jotik and murmured a prayer to the Goddesses. “How badly were you bitten?”
“Significant bruising but no broken skin,” she said, her voice faltering. “But it hurts to walk.”
Kathe.
“Have you a shelter of any kind?” I broke into a jog, swatting at a small band of fireflies attacking me.
“Um, I have a flexible metallic blanket,” she said. “I could rig something up.”
“Very good,” I said, leaping over a grouping of fallen timbers. My helmet sensors lit in a colorful array, indicating several threats nearby. “Find the thickest dropping vine tree you can. The juice from its vine pods will deter many creatures. Smear it everywhere. Check the ground for inverted cone shaped divots. If you see such, choose a different tree.”
“Okay, VELMA found one for me. The ground is smooth,” she said. “No divots.”
“Very good. And the vines?”
“Yeah, lots of them everywhere,” she said.
“Tell me when your shelter is completed,” I said. She responded but I missed it. A pack of shegoshe-tax cats circled me, and I drew my second weapon. After I killed these, I must cross the talathel pits. I hoped it took Joan a long time to build her shelter.
Chapter 24
Joan
Sniffling, I was proud of myself for not sobbing while on the line with Raxkarax. I’d seen plenty of footage and heard lots of conversations. These hunters thought the humans were warrior-goddesses incarnate. Maybe the others were, but I was a lamb in sheep’s wool. When that stupid wart-thing shot towards me, I nearly peed my pants. And its bite hurt like hell. I killed it out of pure desperation, hammering the machete blade on its head until it finally let go, not because I used an effective technique. I hadn’t even processed what Rax was telling me until after the fact. Base of the neck—got it.
I’d tried to keep walking, but every step brought excruciating pain from my ankle to my hip. Thank God the flight suit didn’t tear. How were my colleagues surviving here? I felt like they had vast stores of courage and will, or maybe the burning fire of hope and optimism.
All I could envision was darkness or death. It’s why Kerberos 90 had appealed to me.
Finding the tree VELMA tagged with an icon in my IntraVisor, I eased to sitting and gathered all the slimy pods I could reach. Something told me they stunk; I was thankful I couldn’t smell. Smearing the gunk over my entire suit and helmet, taking care to avoid covering up the solar cell, I coated the emergency blanket, as well.
I’d thought I could make a tiny lean-to, but that would involve gathering some long branches, and I was simply too worn out, not to mention the throbbing ache in my leg. Groaning, I remembered I still had to butcher the rock-climber I’d been dragging behind me.
Rax said the meat could be used to toss toward smaller predators to distract them and that the tail spikes made an excellent weapon against assorted vicious jaws found in the Agothe-Fatheza. Using a resealable pouch to store the meat, I crawled a fair distance away from my bedding area to clean the blood off my knife and gloves and bury the guts, then retreated to my blanket to apply more pod goo in the waning light of day.
As a deepening gloam obscured my surroundings, I felt myself shivering. Would calling Raxkarax right now be too forward? The snap of a branch startled me, and I scrambled back against the tree trunk. Frozen in place, I darkened my interior helmet light. Nothing charged at me from the foliage. Hands gripped at the edge of my sticky emergency blanket; I threw propriety out the window.
“VELMA, can you ping Raxkarax for me?”
“Of course.”
“Joan,” he said, the smile in his voice allaying my worries.
Clearing my throat, I tried to think of something we could talk about. I was terrified of the dark, but I didn’t want to tell him that.
“Why does your helmet look like the agothe-fax?” I blurted.
His deep chuckle sent a frisson across my skin, and I closed my eyes, sinking into it.
“Has VELMA shown you sight-captures?” he asked, and my face flamed at the thought of him finding out I’d watched him—and only him—a lot.
“Yes,” I said, swallowing my embarrassment. “She’s shown me hours of footage as part of acclimating me to the planet.” There, that sounded reasonable.
“Mm.” His voice rumbled in my ear, and I caught my breath. “When hunters complete their first hunt, they choose a helmet they feel represents their experience on Ikthe. For myself, my first hunt led me to the caves where I confronted the agothe-faxl for the first time. A roving band of males cornered me in an isolated cavern, and I fought them in desperation. Separated from my mentor and fatigued to the bone, I tried to fight my way to the only passageway, but it seemed that for every one I slew, two more rose up in its place.”
Recalling the effortless blandishments of his earlier fight, I couldn’t imagine a time when he struggled.
“I’d almost decided to surrender when the band turned their attention as one to the passageway. I spied a huge female in the tunnel; she unwittingly drew the pack away from me with her heated mating call, and I collapsed in disbelief and gratitude,” he said. “Upon my return to Ikshe, there was no question what my helmet would be.”
Frowning, I puzzled how to ask my next question. “I would have guessed your helmet would symbolize your first kill.”
“Every hunter’s journey belongs to him,” he said. “Many hunters do choose their first kill or most challenging one. But it is for each one to decide.”
I considered his words and realized his account gave me a unique insight into his character. He chose an event that to some people might have seemed a failure, but he chose to frame it from a lens of gratitude.
Humbled, I tried to picture him now, but couldn’t quite get the details right in my mind.
“Thank you for telling me,” I said, my voice quiet. “What are you doing now?” I’d heard another cracking branch somewhere behind the tree against which I sat, and I prayed the odor of the dropping vines kept whatever it was at bay. Listening to Raxkarax talk distracted me from my terror.
“Ah, I am rehearsing what I will say when I meet you face to face,” he said without any trace of irony or humor.
“You already know?” I said, shock registering in my mic.
“I have some ideas,” he said.
A clash of tearing foliage and the rustle of feathers sounded from the bushes at my left, and I couldn’t hide the gasp.
“Are you well, Joan?” he asked, his voice lowering with concern.
“I’m—” Catching my breath, I forced words to come. “I’m a little afraid of the dark,” I said. “It’s why I called you.” Biting my lip, I waited for his reply.
“Have you closed your eyes?” he said.
“Yes.”
“And your suit is amply coated with the dropping vine sap?” he asked.
“Yes, it is.”
“Then keep your eyes closed, and listen to my voice,” he said. “I will tell you what I might say when first we meet.”
“Okay,” I said, pushing air between my lips.
“I imagined telling you that your voice calms me like the sound of running water,” he said. “Or that I’ve said your name so many times that my lips and tongue have memorized the taste of it.”
Clenching my blanket tighter, I found the courage to speak.
“What does it taste like?” I asked, my voice husky in my own ears. My face burned at my question, but I vibrated from the curiosity of it.
His low chuckle sent a tremulous ripple along my spine. “It tastes of the sweet crystals left in my goblet when I’ve finished one too many draughts of fruited wine.”
He must have heard my sigh; he responded with a pleased rumble.
“It tastes of the brine flower nectar, potent enough that the awaafa drifts drunkenly from petal to petal, heedless that she must stop or fall prey to its sweet poison and forever be a slave to its power.”
My heart thudded with a sensual slowness in my chest, mesmerized by Raxkarax’s raw admissions in my ear.
