Set the Terms

by Mia R Kleve

  “Gra’dn, please. Don’t call anyone.” She stepped from behind the massive legs and pincers, running to retrieve the wooden plank with the odd symbols. “Here, look! This debris was floating around him when I found him, still in his shell, in the bay. There’s a logo right here but I don’t know what it means.”

  Gra’dn apparently recognized the markings on the broken piece of shipping crate in Ceili’s hands. “The Science Guild.” He huffed. His hackles shot up. “You have limited time with that thing, Ceili. I hope you understand that. One way or another this ends bloody.” He left.

  Ceili’s emotions chased in circles as she considered his warning. Everything had happened so quickly since the day the egg cracked. It had been what, five days? How could she have known? She walked over and closed the door after Gra’dn, then turned to look at the huge insect with new eyes. It certainly was growing fast. It dropped its head, eyes locked on her, as if it sensed the fear that was a new element between them.

  She picked up the fallen staff and leaned it against the rack where it belonged, mind whirling. What if Gra’dn was right? She’d made mistakes before, but nothing like this.

  Ceili turned back to the creature—the “Canavar”—that was taking up more and more space in the old warehouse. She slid the last bucket of fish scraps toward him—it. The Canavar jammed a sharp pincer into the bucket, compound eyes burning into her as fish heads and entrails blew out of the top of the bucket, splattering stickily onto the floor and its chest plates. It leaned over the bucket, an ominous clicking pouring from its segmented maw.

  Ceili backed a few steps away and gripped her hand around the shaft of a spear as her heart tried to pound her backbone to dust.

  And he was just a baby.

  * * *

  “I told her I had to report it to the guild.” It hadn’t been a half hour since he’d seen what Ceili was keeping in her auxiliary warehouse. He was in a shit mood and couldn’t stop pacing, so he forced himself into the café booth across from Meln, who was eating a plate of something Gra’dn couldn’t identify. “She doesn’t know the true instincts of the Canavar.”

  Meln nodded solemnly and took a big drink from an antique mug. Then he perked up. “Well, it hasn’t eaten her yet,” he said, optimistically.

  “You’re always such a ray of sunshine.”

  Meln waved to the bartender. “You need a beer, brother.”

  “I’m not in a great mood, in case you couldn’t tell,” Gra’dn protested.

  The Veetch behind the bar moved its many arms, all of which seemed to be tasked with different parts of his job. Meln held up his mug and the bartender nodded its head and clucked its beak. One limb snatched a clean mug and another pulled on an ornate tap handle molded in the shape of a mermaid with a mug in her hand. Five seconds later a full mug slid down to the waxed bar and stopped right in front of Meln, who nodded a thanks.

  “Skills,” he said, and slid the fresh beer to Gra’dn, who stopped it with a paw. “This place really is like the town that time forgot.”

  Gra’dn could care less at the moment. “Ceili wouldn’t knowingly do something to get others hurt. She’s got a good heart.”

  “First, you’re so falling for a Human. Second, if there’s no intent, why worry? Call the thing in now so it’s exterminated. Sounds like it’s not in a volatile state. Should be an easy job if it’s handled now, before it gets any bigger.”

  Gra’dn shook his head and took a long pull from his mug, despite himself. “I am not falling for her.”

  Meln mm-hm’d into his mug.

  Gra’dn put his mug down a little harder than he intended. “She’s never gonna talk to me again.”

  Meln waved at the bartender again. “Can we get another plate of those curly pink bugs?”

  The Veetch smiled and nodded, then laughed and shook its head. “They’re called shrimp, and they’re even better if you peel them first.”

  “I’ll try that. Thanks, man.” Meln toasted the bartender.

  Gra’dn rested his chin in a paw, pensively spinning his mug in the pool of condensation. “No one wins in this situation.”

  A plate skidded down the bar, stopping beside Meln. He grabbed one, put it between his paws and rubbed it fast, then dropped shrimp skin on the bar while he popped the peeled shrimp into his mouth. “Which guild?” he managed to ask as he chewed.

  “What do you mean?” Gra’dn felt himself growing angrier by the moment. He checked himself, making sure not to take it out on his friend.

  “Well, you said the Canavar isn’t quite to murderous rampaging killer stage. To me, it sounds like there’s time to make a sound decision on what’s best for this adorable, tasty island and your friend,” said Meln, munching away. He grabbed another shrimp, looked at the bartender, shrugged, and popped it in his mouth, shell and all.

  “So, which guild?” Meln stopped crunching, smiled, and tapped his mug against Gra’dn’s. “Life’s about choices, man. Find ‘em.”

  * * *

  Ceili backed through the old office and out the warehouse door, grasping a fishing spear like it was a lifeline. She locked every lock, her thoughts surging around the question of what the hell to do next.

  It was late in the afternoon and most of the employees had surely gone. No tours were due to show up. These were the good things. She turned to run to the tour office, intent on finding Gra’dn. He had been so very correct.

  A screeching peal rent the surrounding shipyard and plant. Ceili stopped dead. Two men, still in their protective work suits from processing, ran toward her.

  “Run!” one of the men yelled. He grabbed her arm, barely slowing down. “Ms. Murphey, it isn’t safe. There’s a-a—something big’s in the empty warehouse!”

  “Okay!” Ceili ran with the man as he exited the employee gate, slowing as he cleared the property. Convinced he was long gone, she locked the gate and then walked to the front office, turning the locks and setting the alarm on the storefront.

  The thought that the thing she’d been feeding, fostering to grow, would hurt others, weighed heavily. She wouldn’t call Gra’dn. She liked the guy, and what if the Canavar hurt him? What about everyone else, including her employees?

  She would deal with the Canavar herself.

  She walked back through the office and into the plant, grabbing a few empty scrap buckets from the processing line. She filled them to the top out of the huge bin of discarded bits from that day’s catch and headed to the back warehouse.

  Before she could enter, she noticed immediately what had caused the horrible sound earlier, and what had drawn the employees to see what they had. The Canavar had torn through the weathered metal and latched onto a huge refuse bin outside, dragging the heavy container back through the wall. The Canavar’s forelegs and head were sunk inside the bin as it rummaged for scraps.

  Ceili set the buckets on the floor. Hearing the sound it related with the delivery of food, the Canavar backed out of the trash bin, all the legs on its segmented body pulling back as the body moved like a huge, plated serpent. The head swiveled toward Ceili.

  “Hey there, Steve,” she said, sliding one of the buckets toward him with a foot. The creature caught the bucket and started sucking down the goop.

  Keeping an eye on the young Canavar, Ceili made her way around him to the corner where the pile of old nets lay, just beneath the retracted crane arm and dangling control box. Proceeding like it was any other day, she went to work spreading one of the larger nets across the floor, threading a cable through the outside edge and securing the cable to a hanging hook. She worked quickly, only stopping when the unnatural silence caught her attention.

  There were no sounds of a scrap bucket being sucked dry. No happy cooing. She turned to find the Canavar had retreated into the darkness of the expansive warehouse.

  “Steve?” she called softly.

  Nothing.

  She ran to the bucket she’d given the Canavar only to find it had not finished the meal. The other two buckets
were untouched. She grabbed the handles and sprinted toward the flattened net, placing them in the middle.

  “Steve, come and get it!” she yelled.

  Eerie clicks resounded from the darkness. Ceili’s breath hung up in her chest. The rhythm of thick insectoid legs tapped around her, slowly at first, then faster, in a continuous echo of clicks and pops that she couldn’t locate.

  Ceili grasped a fishing spear in one hand and a gutting knife in the other as the echo faded and the Canavar came into view.

  “Hey, buddy,” she said, trying to calm her racing heart so her voice didn’t betray terror. “I brought you some grub. Aren’t you hungry?”

  The Canavar glanced at the buckets for a long moment, then it swiveled its flat face and bulbous eyes in her direction.

  Though it was forty feet away, Ceili had to wonder just how screwed she was.

  One of the long legs in the central thorax thumped loudly on the concrete floor, banging so hard the sound poured back at her from the metal walls and vibrated through her shoes. A second leg repeated the motion as the segmented body turned her way, growing nearer at a painfully slow rate. The front section reared up and the tail coiled upward behind it, the bulbous stinger twitching at the ready. She knew better than to think the Canavar couldn’t move any faster. It sensed fear, using sound as one of its weapons, that was the tactic.

  Obviously, she’d confused the bait.

  Ceili sprinted toward the net trap, dropped the small knife, and snagged the remote for the crane, snapping a toggle with the other hand while still grasping the spear. She positioned herself in the middle of the net next to the rancid bait buckets as the motor cranked to life.

  Just as she hoped, the Canavar sped toward her with a centipede’s choreographed stride. As much as she wanted to turn and run, she had to stand her ground until it was at least partially on the net so the legs and pincers would hang up.

  The wait was horribly short lived. The creature closed the distance fast, emitting a roaring scream as it lunged at her, striking with pincers as Ceili engaged the crane. The cable pulled tight faster than she anticipated. She leapt back off the net, trying to clear the taught cable as the crane’s arm continued upward, dragging the rope edges together. Her shoe caught the line and momentum caused her body to pitch forward toward the floor, where she fell flat onto her chest. Her lungs locked up from the impact. The remote flew from her grasp, but she managed to hold fast to the spear.

  Pain tore through the back of her thigh, ripping a scream from her throat. The Canavar shrieked as it was lifted from the floor, limbs flailing, caught in the tangle of the net. Ceili’s ankle was stuck between the cable and the rope, hooked so tightly she couldn’t get it loose by kicking or yanking her foot around. Her entire leg burned as if fire seared through her veins. She managed to fold her body into a tight ball as the thing’s sharp leg retracted from her thigh and plunged forward again, stabbing through the fleshy part of her calf on the same leg. Ceili let out a shrill scream, still working to free her trapped foot.

  She found herself dangling upside down on the outside of the net, her body pressed close to the thrashing Canavar. Their faces were inches apart. In that moment, their eyes locked. Growing quiet, it jabbed the tip of a foreleg through the net and into her shoulder and another between her ribs on the opposite side. Her entire body lit up with white-hot pain.

  Ceili Murphey saw her demise looming and knew that she had one shot at killing the murderous creature she’d mistakenly helped come to life that day. She leaned back with the spear and stabbed it into the Canavar’s open mandibles as it lunged straight at her face through the net. The maw snapped down on her hand as the spear sank deeply into its mouth and was snapped in two. She could only hope the strike hit something the beast needed to keep drawing breath. It thrashed and beat at her, trying to lock its parted jaws around any part of her body. She was losing strength by the second. Blood flowed from so many places on her body, she couldn’t track her own injuries.

  What an odd way to die.

  At least the Canavar was trapped for the time being.

  * * *

  It didn’t take much for the company of mercs to kick through the wasted sheet metal. Oogar yelled and lasers swung around as spotlights swept over her and eventually blinded her. Blood ran from punctures and tears in her legs that grew deathly numb and colder by the second. Flashes of purple swarmed below. The Canavar’s legs continued to thrash, and she couldn’t feel whether her hand still grasped the spear.

  Time swirled and churned with a distant memory of pain and fear. The crane’s motor surged to life. Lasers shredded everything surrounding her. Something wet sprayed everywhere. The floor grew nearer as gloved paws clutched her, gently guiding her onto a gurney. The last thing Ceili saw was a visor flipping up and the purple face of Gra’dn, the stressed out Oogar peering fearfully into her eyes.

  * * *

  Tuesday Morning, A Week Later

  Gra’dn walked through the door to Murphey’s hoping he wouldn’t require a medic after Ceili sank a fishing spear through his torso. She glanced up from the counter where she’d been working, a black glove covering her regenerated right hand. She was still a little pale, but the nanites were hard at work helping her heal. He held the door so his two associates could follow him in.

  “An Oogar, a Buma, and a Sumatozou walk into a tour shop…” she said dryly, without a smile.

  The Sumatozou’s trunks twitched, and a wide grin spread over its mottled face.

  The Buma’s eyes widened, and it threw its head back in a mock gesture of surprised deadpan.

  Ceili eyed the two aliens. They were loaded with gear of unknown capability strapped to what seemed to be every available space on their bodies. The Buma, a birdlike creature, watched her with great care. One of its wings was cocked at an angle so its hand rested with a sort of thumb hooked into one of the many belts strapped across its torso. Were they here to arrest her?

  “This is Tycho,” said Gra’dn, who was also geared up in his armor and weaponry. He gestured to the Sumatozou, who raised a thick, gray arm and waved a stubby hand her way, still smiling.

  “And this is A’sha.” Gra’dn tipped his head toward the Buma.

  “Hello, Ceili Murphey,” it said in a robotic monotone that sounded from the translator hanging high on its chest.

  “They’re from the Cartography Guild. I told them about your interest in travel and learning about new worlds,” said Gra’dn. He looked at the Buma. “And she’s good with new species.”

  Tears glistened in Ceili’s eyes. She smiled. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  * * *

  Ceili cast long, the fishing line hissing from the reel until the soft, telltale plop sounded when the bait broke the surface of the calm bay. Gra’dn swung his feet in a slow to and fro beside her on the dock, halfheartedly watching his line as it grew slack, his bait clearly lost and his hope of something biting the line non-existent.

  “Your bait’s gone. Loose line,” Ceili commented.

  Gra’dn blinked then sighed with a smile. “Everybody’s a critic.” He sat up a little straighter and cranked the reel to reset his cast.

  She gasped in mock exasperation. “You hired me to show you how to fish on Earth.” She laughed. “I suppose you really do have it mastered, though. I think fishing is meant to be relaxing unless you’re fishing for dinner and nothing else is on the menu.”

  Clamoring to his feet carefully so he didn’t drop his rig in the water, Gra’dn twisted to cast the fresh bait to a new spot, then settled beside her, contentedly gazing at twin sunrays glinting into the silver horizon line.

  “I wanted to thank you. I mean for everything you did to introduce me to your friends and all.”

  A smile formed, but he didn’t look at her. “You’re welcome, Ceili.”

  She sighed, chewing the inside of her cheek. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. About Steve, I mean.”

  “There’s no need for an apology.” He co
ntinued to gaze contentedly ahead.

  Ceili sat down on the dock beside him.

  “I have a confession,” he said.

  “What it is?” She didn’t let on that her stomach had dropped.

  “I’m not a merc. I’m just undercover as a merc.”

  She snorted. “You’re a Peacemaker.”

  “Yeah. That’s why I intervened with the Cartography Guild.”

  “I knew it.”

  A half-awkward silence ensued. Unable to let it continue, Ceili picked up her pole to reset her cast for no good reason other than to break the quiet.

  Ceili followed Gra’dn’s line of sight and gazed out into the distance where the silver ocean met a lavender sky.

  A new life of adventure awaited her.

  Stars woke, speckling the darkening dome of the universe. Myriad new worlds were now within her reach.

  * * * * *

  Marie Whittaker Bio

  Marie Whittaker is an award-winning essayist and author of horror, urban fantasy, children’s books, and supernatural thrillers. Writing as Amity Green, her debut novel, Scales, the first in her Fate and Fire series, debuted in 2013, followed by Phantom Limb Itch in 2018. Her supernatural thriller, The Witcher Chime, was a finalist for the Indie Book Awards in 2017. She is the creator of The Adventures of Lola Hopscotch, which is a children’s book series concentrating on getting sensitive childhood issues out in the open between children and adults. Many of her award-winning short stories appear in numerous anthologies and publications.

  Marie enjoys teaching about publishing, writing craft, and project management for writers and is the Director of Superstars Writing Seminars, a world-class writing conference concentrating on the business of writing.

  A Colorado native, Marie resides in Manitou Springs, where she writes and enjoys renovating her historic Victorian home. She spends time hiking, gardening, and indulging in her guilty pleasure of shopping for handbags. She is fond of owls, coffee, and all things Celtic. A lover of animals, Marie is an advocate against animal abuse and assists with lost pets in her community.