by D L Frizzell
…I rushed toward the clefang, hate in my eyes as I watched it flatten D’Esher’s skull in its powerful jaws. It failed to notice me as it twisted on its one good front leg to consume the rest of his upper body, crushing his bones as if he were made of so many twigs. It never heard my approach, so loud was the sound of its gnashing teeth. It didn’t even notice when my sword arced down toward the vulnerable spot at the base of its neck…
I jerked awake in the rocky crevice, knocking the rifle off my stomach where I’d been holding it. As it rattled against the rock beside me, I instinctively grabbed my head to see if it was still there. I fully expected it to find the bloody stump of a neck, but somehow I was still whole.
Where was I?
A light breeze blew into the crevice. Though the air was cool, I had to wipe sweat off my brow. My heart pounding in my chest, I fumbled with my pocket watch, desperate to find something concrete to focus on. It took three tries to release the tiny catch that opened it.
I stared at the dials on my watch until my vision cleared enough to read the dials. And then I stared some more. Two hours had passed. That wasn’t enough sleep, and it certainly hadn’t been refreshing. I checked each of my limbs and then my back for wounds, just to be sure it was all a dream. Finally satisfied that I was okay, I peeked out of the crevice to make sure the coast was clear. Sunlight showered my face with warmth.
I should have started running across the ridge again, but I still felt drained. I took some time to eat a ration pack, and then drank some water from my canteen. I sat there in the sun for another hour, still feeling out of sorts after the nightmare. Finally, I accepted that I couldn’t linger anymore. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my map. I found the Rekeire Plain, and then traced my finger across the backbone ridge to the sketched contours of a mountain range. I looked up and saw those same mountains in front of me. You are here, I told myself. In the mountain foothills ahead, there would be a forest, the only place in the region with a name – Avaria. I figured it was important somehow. Maybe there’d be an outpost where I could get some supplies and a horse.
It took me another hour to reach the eastern tip of the backbone ridge. Erosion from the mountains had covered the ridge with rocks and soil over the centuries. For all I knew, the ridge continued under the mountains. Now that I was at ground level again, I felt a bit too exposed, so I decided to survey the landscape before continuing.
From my vantage point, there was a circular lake nestled in a valley below the forest, but no obvious signs of a settlement. That didn’t mean there weren’t people there. People might have built tree houses to avoid clefangs, since the animals weren’t known as climbers. It was worth investigating, at least. Beyond the lake, jagged mountains sloped up perilously. I hadn’t brought my climbing equipment on this trip. If I had known these mountains would be so vertical, it might not have crossed the plains to begin with.
The forest was populated with regular trees, though I couldn’t identify the type. They had branches and leaves and allowed plenty of sunlight through, a definite improvement over the shadow palms. A light scattering of ferns and detritus made for easy walking. Visibility was good, and there were no signs of trampling along the ground – a sign that civilization hadn’t found this place, but neither had predators. Nonetheless I felt wary. That’s probably just leftover jitters, I told myself. I had survived the plain, so now all I had to do was refresh my food supply and head toward civilization.
A little while later I came upon a shallow gully meandering through the woods. Other than some fallen trees, the largely open path made it possible to run again. I decided to walk, though. Take it slow, I told myself. You never know when things will go sideways. I climbed over the few obstacles in my way and continued at a slower pace.
Tree rodents began chittering at me from the safety of their branches high in the trees. I knew they were only posturing. A real threat would have driven them into their nests. As much as I appreciate the sounds of nature, I didn’t want them giving my location away. I cupped my hands over my mouth and imitated the growl of a thrashing spitafore. The rodents quieted down and took cover. I continued on, making a mental note about this location. Once I’d found a good spot to set up camp, I’d head back this way and collect some of those noisy little creatures for dinner.
I stopped when a new sound caught my attention. The rhythmic droning of water – except that it was tinny, hollow – echoed further in the trees. Thinking it could be a bandit camp as easily as a settlement, I readied my Longarm.
It turned out to be junk, what we call Founders' Tech. In this case, it was a metal sphere filled with mechanical armatures and rotating plates, big enough to stand in. Once part of a landing craft’s thruster assembly, now it was nothing more than a shiny piece of hillside. Water funneled into the sphere from a rocky slope overhead, fell against the plates with a drum-like cadence, and exited into the gully on the other side.
I’d seen objects like this before. Stainless steel construction explained why it hadn’t corroded over the last five hundred years, though its presence was something of a mystery. The Founders had deployed landing craft all around the planet, each one carrying a full community of settlers. This must have been one of those landing sites, which explained the name Avaria on the map. It did not, however, explain why I couldn’t see any other signs of civilization. A landing craft would have been a hundred meters long and three stories high – hard to miss, even in a forest. I looked closer at the sphere. One side of the housing was crushed flat. Thinking about it further, I remembered seeing the lake from a distance. Its circular shape had struck me as odd at the time, as did the raised shoreline all the way around.
It’s a manmade lake, I realized, remembering some of the books I’d read on the Founding. Not every landing craft survived the descent from space. Some never made it halfway out of orbit before Arion’s magnetic fields shorted out their engines. I decided not to visit the lake after all. Instead, I would get some more rest, gather supplies, and then continue my journey to Bogfield.
A creek now ran through the gully, thanks to the runoff from the sphere. It was still the best route to take, though it had become muddy along the edges. I filled my canteen with clean water from a bowl-shaped assembly in the metal sphere and cinched up my field pack as I prepared to continue walking. Then I froze. There were boot prints in the mud and they weren’t mine. I dropped my pack and took a step toward them.
Something whooshed through the trees from my right. In my peripheral vision I saw a large object flying in my direction. I instinctively retreated to the only cover available. Water crashed over my head and shoulders as I leapt into the sphere, winding up in a dark recess where I slipped on one of the shiny metal plates. My left hip slammed into a hinged armature, sending a jolt of pain down my leg. Stumbling, unable to gain traction on the slippery components, I dropped the Longarm. It slid out of my reach under another plate as I stumbled in the confined space. Not wanting to lose time retrieving it, I pulled my revolver out instead.
I was now backed all the way into the sphere, which limited my field of fire to the opening I’d come through. The amplified sound of crashing water in the tight space further limited my sight, and also made it impossible to hear anything outside. I was cornered, and I’d be the proverbial fish in a barrel if someone decided to shoot at me.
My instinctive reaction was to charge out of the sphere with my pistol locked and ready. Wait, I told myself. Take a few seconds to consider the alternatives.
I hadn’t gotten a good look at the object that was thrown at me, but I could infer that whoever threw it wasn’t carrying a gun. Otherwise they would have shot me. No, that object was thrown to get my attention. There might still be a gun in this scenario, I warned myself, but whoever waited for me out there was willing to announce their presence first. If nothing else, I needed to get out of the sphere and get a better look around.
I couldn’t see anything through the waterfall crashing around me, an
d angling for a better view didn’t help. There were two openings wide enough for me to get out of the sphere; the hole where the water fell in, and the hole where the water flowed out. Since the volume of water falling down made it impossible to climb up, I could only go back out the way I came in.
I didn’t get a chance to leave the sphere on my own terms, though. Something seized my duster from above and twisted. I rocked forward into the waterfall, realizing only too late that I’d been flanked. I struggled to regain my footing, but the metal plates were too slippery. My duster tightened, pinning my shoulders blades together. I felt myself being lifted out of the sphere. I couldn’t raise my pistol to fire over my shoulder, nor was there anything in reach that I could use for my own defense. I was helpless.
I grunted and sputtered as I went up through the water, lifted by whatever had me in a vice-like grip. The strength it took to do that – was I going to be eaten by a clefang after all?
I struggled, kicked, and flailed. My hat’s brim had been pressed flat over my eyes, blinding me. As I rose above the water, something spun me around and pushed me face-first into a pile of moss that smelled like used mop water. A massive knot of muscles wrapped around my gun hand.
That’s it, I thought. My arm’s coming off first.
To my surprise, my arm didn’t come off. Instead, the growing pressure squeezed my wrist until I got the hint and released the pistol. I heard a metallic clang and a splash as my pistol fell into the sphere. Then whatever held me down took its weight off my back.
Judging by the grunt, it was a man. Whoever it was, they still had me in a powerful grip, but I could at least move my arms. I drew my hands together and pushed myself to my knees.
“Let go of me!” I shouted.
With a single fluid motion, I was lifted up and spun around so that I could see my attacker face-to-face. It was one damn big man. His face was largely concealed beneath a hooded cloak, but he drew me in close enough that I could count scores of deep wrinkles on his face and see slivers of glowing light in his green eyes.
A clefang might have been preferable, I thought dourly. This man was a T’Neth.
I’d never met a T’Neth face-to-face before, but I’d heard plenty of stories. They were the descendants of those who settled above the forty-fifth parallel at the Founding. They disappeared for centuries, and then came back to the lower latitudes about a generation ago. Something about the kitharan radiation at the higher latitudes had mutated their genetic structure. It gave them phosphorescent slivers in their eyes like flecks of glowing paint. Their hair had been bleached white, and their skin burned dark. They’d also grown taller in their absence, with most T’Neth men standing well over two meters in height. Other than the physical manifestations, the radiation also affected their minds, and that’s what really scared people. The T’Neth had become brutal, soulless killers over the last five centuries. Some people suggested they’d run out of food and turned to cannibalism, theorizing that plants would invariably wither under Kithara’s constant, direct light. More rational people discounted this theory, since they would have eaten themselves out of existence with only each other as a food source. More likely, the T’Neth had moved underground to escape the extreme environmental conditions. That’s what they did on the planet Mercury in the Solar System, so that’s probably what they did on Arion.
T’Neth men wandered Arion in pairs, sometimes working as mercenaries, and other times attacking settlements for no apparent reason. One T’Neth could kill dozens of men in hand-to-hand combat. A pair of them could face off against a regiment without a second thought. Worst of all, they did it without guns. Somehow, they’d developed the ability to re-forge alien technology into swords and armor. This gave them an edge in any fight, enough that people avoided them at all costs.
I stared at the face of the man who held me off the ground with a single powerful hand. White locks of hair stuck to his forehead and neck, with wiry stubble framing his square jaw. With his deeply furrowed features burned dark by the sun, he looked like a man in his seventies. The fact that he had snatched me from the sphere like a rag doll made me think he was much younger.
Holding me in the air, he gazed into my eyes and wrapped his free hand completely around my neck. Calloused, rock-hard fingers probed my spine. I squirmed but couldn’t match his strength. He’s going to snap my neck, I thought.
And then the T’Neth let go. I landed in the stream that fed the metal sphere and slipped on the mossy stones. Windmilling my arms, I stumbled backwards to keep from falling. The T’Neth didn’t move to help but waited for me to regain my equilibrium. I stared at him, baffled, taking several steps backward so that I wasn’t within his immediate reach.
He held up a hand for me to wait. I took one more step away, not trusting him in the least. He looked down into the gully, and then back at me. He picked up a stone from the hillside. When I say stone, I mean a big stone, the kind that a regular person would need two hands - and possibly a wheelbarrow - to move. He tossed it into the gully one-handed as if it were no heavier than a can of beans. It landed just a few steps beyond where he’d first alerted me to his presence.
A muffled snap sounded through the mud, followed by a high-pitched whistle and a blur of mud. Leaves launched into the air from either side of the gully. I ducked in surprise as a half-centimeter cable went taut and vibrated dully above the mud. The cable creaked, its metal strands protesting under the strain of some unseen force, and then snapped. Most of the cable flew to the left and coiled on the gully’s bank. The rest of it disappeared into the trees on the other side.
I stood there, shocked. I’d seen traps before - sinks, barbsnares, panickers, and the like. I’d even made a few myself, so I knew what to look for. This snare had no tripwire that I could see, no hint of anything other than boot prints in the mud. It would have cut me in half if I’d been standing in the target zone.
The T’Neth stood there without speaking as I absorbed what just happened, his silver-specked green eyes waiting. The length of cable on our side of the gully led past a large tree to a clump of bushes. Without moving from my vantage point, I peered into the bushes and saw the glint of metal between the leaves. Another piece of Founders’ Tech lay in the brush, which I could now see had been expertly concealed. Lying on its side was an old crane with a heavy motorized winch on one end.
Whoever set this trap had known that there was a torsion spring within the mechanism, and that it was still fully primed after five hundred years of lying undisturbed in the forest. They had jury-rigged a tripwire to release the lock and retract the cable. Without a large mass at the other end of the cable, the winch would retract in a split second. I swallowed at the thought of my body lying in the mud, neatly bisected around mid-torso.
Why had I not seen the trap? I looked at the T’Neth. He looked back at me, still silent. “Is it safe now?” I asked.
He nodded.
A clacking noise came from the trees above me. Two scavenger birds sat in the branches overhead. I could tell they were agitated, rocking back and forth on their talons. One of them pecked at the other, and then both flew away.
The T’Neth waited for the birds to disappear, and then leaned in close. “You,” he said in a deep, gravelly voice that bespoke frustration, “are going the wrong way.”
Just then I realized how massive this guy was. Even though I’m taller than most, I was tiny compared to him. His cloak hid most of his physique, but his muscular arms stretched his sleeves almost to the breaking point. His wrinkled, moistureless features suggested a long life in the searing desert, but how could someone from a desiccated wasteland grow into such a gigantic brute?
Then I realized he was alone. I thought T’Neth always traveled in pairs. As if one wasn’t dangerous enough. “Where is your partner?” I asked.
He paused, showing the slightest hint of…what? His stony features were unreadable. He stepped back down into the gully and picked up a sack. It was bigger than the stone he’d used to s
pring the trap and was soaked with blood.
He came to stand beside me, unraveled the sack, and pulled the contents out by a mangled ear. It was a clefang head, covered in blood and gore, looking as if it had been surgically removed from the animal. The T’Neth turned the head so I could see how contorted its facial features were. With butcher-knife tusks set below a gigantic mouth of angular, jagged teeth, it lived up to every bit of its reputation as the most ferocious creature on Arion. Its tiny, lifeless eyes portrayed an appetite so ravenous that I was convinced the scars around its mouth were self-inflicted. It didn’t even have lips any more. Never before in my life had I seen an animal that looked so manic in its desire to eat, even after death. The T’Neth dropped the head on the ground where it sent splatters of mud flying.
