Prey

by D.A. Boulter

  * * *

  Krin Tlento's nostrils flared. Something smelled good, very good. She opened one eye to the last rays of the sun and saw a small fire, over which a piece of meat roasted. Her saliva glands kicked in. She tried to rise, but pain stopped her. She felt like she'd been kicked by a barendi bull. She had been kicked by a barendi bull, she thought wryly as the memories flooded back. She had killed her prey and then her klatch had come.

  She gazed out beyond the fire and turned her head in an arc, noting the red eyes of the bulls. They hadn't been driven away; they remained, still waiting.

  Her ears swiveled and caught the sound of a soft footstep. Krin opened her other eye and turned her head in that direction. A figure now squatted next to the fire and picked up the skewer. Krin's pupils widened. This animal did not belong to her klatch, was not of the Tox! It had dark fur on the top and back of its head, a small patch above the upper lip and each eye. Other than that, no fur adorned its head. Its forepaws, likewise, were bereft of fur and, the wind being in the right direction, it smelled . . . foreign.

  Her pupils slitted. The animal covered itself in cloth with a belt strapped around its waist. From that belt hung what could only be a holster. Technology.

  It straightened and stood. A biped. Seeing her awake, the animal turned to her and bared its fangs. Fangs? Flat teeth best used for grinding grain; flat fingers useless without claws. Prey. Did it hope to frighten one of Tlar with such?

  Krin bared her own fangs and snarled, claws coming out to the ready, ears back, fighting flat. She moved and pain shot through her leg, bringing her down with a wince. She had forgotten the kick from the bull; it would slow her. Nonetheless, she could take this animal; of that she had no doubt.

  The animal stopped at her snarl, the teeth disappeared and the tufts of fur above the eyes went up. Had it been of the People, Krin would have deduced surprise from the expression. But it was not Tox.

  It advanced no further, but squatted again—trying to become less threatening? As if such could threaten her. It spoke quietly—w ords that had no meaning—and offered the skewer to her, remaining well out of range of her claws. The meat smelled wonderful.

  Krin did not take her eyes from the eyes of the animal. Carefully, so as not to startle it, she sheathed her claws and relaxed and allowed her ears to come forward. What was this thing? She had seen nothing like it in Tlartox records, nothing like it ever observed on this planet. From whence had it come? Not the polar regions, not with the lack of fur. The jungles? That possibility existed, for the Tox did not like to go into the jungle. But how had it come upon technology?

  It held out the skewer and slowly, carefully moved towards her a toe at a time. When the meat came within reach Krin extended a claw and hooked it, dragging it from the skewer. She wondered why it had cooked the meat. Did it fear parasites?

  While wonderful, the aroma did not do the taste justice. Perhaps it came from the joy of being alive, perhaps the strange spice on the meat; whatever it was, nothing had ever tasted so good.

  While she bit, chewed and swallowed, the animal returned to a pack by the fire and delved within. To Krin's astonishment, it came out with a bowl and a flask, which it unscrewed. It poured a liquid into the bowl and brought it over to her, carefully setting it down just within reach.

  Krin almost snarled. Did it expect her to lap from it like an animal? Instead she reached forth and brought the bowl back to her. She sniffed at it. No odor. She picked it up and took a small sip. Water. Pure, clear water. With joy she tilted the bowl back and drank deeply. The animal spoke quietly into a device strapped to its wrist.

  Snap!

  With a speed that belied its dumb face, the animal spun about. Almost as fast, Krin was up on her good leg, teeth bared, claws out. The animal, she noted, had a weapon out at arm's length, pointed straight at the barendi bull that had stepped on a fallen branch. She hadn't seen it pull the weapon. A dangerous animal.

  "Heeyah!" the animal shouted at the bull. The bull put his head to one side, looking at the stranger. The animal swung its arms. The bull stepped forward to the challenge.

  The weapon discharged with a sharp crack that hurt her ears and dirt sprouted from the ground under the bull's belly. With a bellow, the bull turned and ran.

  Laughter? Was that laughter? It was. Krin laughed, too.

  "Creslot," the animal said and put its forepaw, no, hand, on its chest. "Creslot," it repeated, then put its forefinger out towards her, the tufts of fur above its eyes rising.

  Was 'Creslot' what it called its species or was it a personal name? Krin nodded, wondering if it would understand a head gesture. "Creslot," she repeated, pointing at the animal. She put her hand on her chest. "Tlartox."

  The Creslot nodded back. "Tlartox," it repeated. It pointed at her, then back at itself and then to the grove of trees.

  The Creslot had the right of it. They should get away from here as soon as possible, though how they might make it through the ring of bulls, she did not know. Krin took a tentative step and felt the pain in her leg. She looked down and found, to her surprise, that the Creslot had bandaged her wound.

  What kind of animal was a Creslot, that it would aid one of the Tox? By smell and by structure, it was a prey species. The thing to do would be to rake its jugular with her claws and take its weapon. The sound from it alone should frighten the bulls. But she didn't know how the weapon worked and the time needed to figure that out might be all the time she had.

  Krin limped a few steps forward and the Creslot turned the corners of its mouth down. It spoke nonsense words, but then pulled a blade from its pack and began hacking at a branch of the tree. A walking aid, it had fashioned a walking aid. A clever, dangerous animal. Krin accepted the proffered branch. Was the Creslot so stupid that it did not know that she could use such a stick as a weapon?

  She tried the stick. Functional. With its aid, she bent over and picked up her sidearm from the ground. It did not lay where she had dropped it. Had the Creslot brought it to her?

  Non-functional. A bull had stomped on it. It was beyond repair and she dropped it. The radio, likewise, lay in non-functional pieces. Useless weight. She would leave it, too, behind. Krin groaned as she picked up her belt and slung it over her head. The Creslot had its pack on its back, as well as a shoulder weapon that she had not seen before. It pulled two large burning brands out of the fire. She felt her lips pull back in an involuntary snarl.

  Saying something to her, it motioned her forward and on towards the grove. She nodded. It held out one of the brands and, with a growl she couldn't suppress, she accepted it. She, like most Tlartox, didn't much like fire. It singed the fur all too easily.

  The Creslot waved its brand and the bulls backed up, eyes rolling. Ah! Definitely not stupid, this Creslot. Her leg aching, she walked with the Creslot. The bulls followed, some pawing at the earth, none ready to accept the challenge of fire.

  Perhaps she would get out of this. If so, she still had problem of the mutiny to consider, as well as what she would do with the Creslot. Killing it seemed the answer. Not of the Tox, it was prey and Tlar left no question of what role prey species played. Yet, it had aided her, prevented her death, allowing her the chance to regain her ship, her honor.

  The bulls followed at a distance. Krin's thigh ached. Tomorrow it would stiffen, she knew. She walked faster, ignoring the pain. Tlartox mastered their pain. Such, her mother and instructors had taught her.

  Her ears swiveled often, taking in the sounds as twilight deepened. The Creslot had low-functional ears, sitting flat against the side of its head. As they walked, the Creslot learned a few words of Tlarti and spoke into the wrist device. A recorder? What technologies had the Creslots mastered?

  At last, they reached the grove and, before it became impossible to see, the Creslot cleared a small circle and set up another fire. While Krin sat and watched, the Creslot gathered wood for the night.

  "You sleep," it said. It picked up the long
weapon and prepared to stand watch. Red eyes gleamed in the dark, at the edge of the firelight. Barendi bulls didn't give up easily.

  Krin allowed herself to doze, confident that any move the Creslot made would bring her back to wakefulness. She didn't believe that it would attack her while she slept, but she could not know what a Creslot would do, what motivated it.

  Krin's eyes opened at the sound. Two sticks knocked together again. The Creslot looked at her, standing well back. Not stupid, indeed.

  "I sleep?" It even achieved the right inflection, but without ear positioning, the question lacked nuance.

  "You sleep," Krin agreed, wondering how a prey species felt it could trust a predator. She pulled her lips back into a snarl as the Creslot lay down; until the bulls left, they were both prey.

  Feeding the fire, Krin wondered if she could approach the sleeper without awakening it. Recalling its speed with its sidearm, she hesitated. Better to not. It galled her to think she still might need the Creslot. She would not approach to test its reactions. Better to not raise its suspicions. She would deal with it at a time of her own choosing, a more advantageous time, and she would have surprise on her side.

  Exhaustion pulled at her eyelids. She caught herself closing them for longer and longer moments, trusting to her hearing. "You play with death," she whispered to herself.

  "Creslot." The animal woke swiftly.

  "I must sleep, Creslot," she told it. It nodded and rose. The fire burned low and the Creslot added fuel as Krin lay down. It then moved out from the circle of firelight and relieved itself against a tree—a male. Warmth from the renewed blaze comforted her. Krin slept.

  "Wake, Tlartox."

  Krin's eyes snapped open. Her ears swiveled. No sound of danger. The morning had come upon them.

  "Water?" it, no, he asked. His fur was a mess. He had not brushed it out since he slept, she noted in distaste.

  Water. Recalling her own canteen, abandoned in the sudden retreat from the bulls, Krin licked at her lips. She nodded, hating to be in a position where she had to accept help from one who should have been her prey. If Parl Fren or the others ever found out . . .

  "Barendi go," the Creslot said.

  Krin looked about, sniffed the morning breeze and had to agree. The bulls had left, returned to the herd. Their intentions did not last for days. And that, she thought grimly, was why they remained prey. Now, she had only the problem of the Creslot—and of the mutineers. She flexed her leg and groaned.

  "Barendi," he said, pointing at a small package on the ground.

  Krin unwrapped it and sniffed: meat from a kill, reasonably fresh. The kill had been made yesterday. She was hungry, but hesitated. The Creslot showed its teeth again in what Krin had finally recognized as a smile and not a threat.

  "You barendi," he told her.

  Her kill? That made all the difference. She tore at the meat. The Creslot reached in his pack and opened a package. It began to eat, also. It was upwind and her nose told her that what it ate was mostly a mixture of dried fruit and grain. Truly prey.

  Finished, the Creslot pointed in the direction he wanted them to take. To her surprise, that direction led directly back to her ship. She nodded. To her further surprise he immediately swung the pack onto his back and prepared to move out. What sort of barbaric species did he belong to?

  With full dignity Krin began to groom, brushing her fur thoroughly, removing leaves and grit it had picked up, carefully licking a few errant tufts into shape. Groomed, she turned to glare at him. "Now, we go."

  The Creslot seemed endlessly curious, trying to develop a Tlarti vocabulary. He continually spoke into his wrist device and his attention did not remain fully on what he did. If he was representative of his species, how had they survived to gain technology? They reached the edge of the trees.

  "I see you," he said and motioned with his hands.

  Krin considered that. He had seen their ship land? Knew that it came from space? The Creslot walked toward the tree on the edge of the grove and smiled at her. Her pupils slitted. She leapt. As fast as he reacted, falling back and reaching for his weapon, Krin moved faster.

  Her peripheral vision caught his surprised expression as her claws missed him. Then his weapon was out and level, but her claws were deep in the snake, just below its head. It wound its body about her arm, tightening, then relaxing as death overtook it.

  "Snake," she told him. "It was on the tree, about to strike." He looked blankly at her. "Snake," she repeated, holding up the body.

  "Snake," he agreed, putting away his sidearm.

  "Poisonous," she told him, miming a horrible death. She dropped the dead snake on the ground. It was edible, but hardly tasty. She licked its blood off her claws and sheathed them. They walked on. The Creslot had not even seen the snake. How could such a one survive? It was better off dead, a claw across the neck. It would never even see it coming. She limped on, wondering why she delayed.

  The Tlartox ship stood just beyond the next rise, in a small valley next to a stream. The Creslot motioned her away from the ridge. Curious, she followed, realizing that it might be more appropriate to approach from a direction from which they wouldn't expect her. She would deal with the Creslot and then with Parl Fren and her accomplices. That, however, would be tricky. She needed enough of them to fly the ship. Who among the crew could she trust—outside of the males who would stay out of any clash?

  "Here," the animal pointed. They climbed the side of the ridge. From that point they could see into her valley and into another as well. They crept up the final paces together, and lay there, looking over the land. "There, mine," he pointed.

  Krin looked and froze. Against some trees, barely noticeable, it stood, obviously a ship, spaceworthy if she were any judge. It, he, wasn't from this planet after all. Her ears went forward with interest. What was he? Where did he come from? How was it that her people had not before tracked his species? Where had they acquired the technology? So many questions.

  A movement from her valley attracted her attention. Parl Fren. Her ears went back. The Creslot noticed it.

  "Who?" he asked.

  "More Tlartox."

  "You Tlartox," he told her, puzzled.

  "Yes."

  His face pinched in then opened. He laughed quietly and pointed to himself. "Human," he told her. "Me Tal Creslot, human."

  Ah! So, his name was Creslot, species: human. Did she want to give him her name? She didn't.

  "You were here when our ship came down?" she asked. She made good use of her hands so that he understood.

  "Yes."

  He lied; the odds of her ship landing right next to the human ship were astronomical at best. Had he landed first he would have taken their position, next to fresh water. He must have followed them down, or spotted them on his scanners. And just how sensitive were they? She let him believe he had gotten away with the lie. "You followed us?" She mimed walking with her fingers.

  "Yes."

  He had followed them to the tree, then. That, she believed. She asked about Lar. Creslot told her that two other Tlartox had approached her, struck her and carried her away. Krin bared her fangs. Parl Fren would pay for this. If they had killed Lar, Fren, too, would die.

  Creslot pulled an object from his pack and held it up to his face. He pointed. "Who?" He held out the object.

  Krin copied his motion. Ah, they were distance lenses. She adjusted the focus. The Tlartox he had pointed out had a black face with a white chin. Parl Fren.

  "Snake," she told him and hissed, anger flowing through her. He nodded and made a clubbing motion. As suspected, it had been Fren who had attacked Lar.

  "I go now." Creslot backed down the slope a little then stood where he could not be seen from the Tlartox ship.

  Krin knew she should strike; he was prey. He looked at her a long time then pulled out his sidearm. She cursed herself for a fool. She should have killed him long ago. She tensed for the jump that wouldn’t be
in time.

  "For snake," he said and extended the weapon, handle first.

  It lay heavy in her hand, heavier than her own, though smaller. She studied it. He held out his hand and she handed it back. It took but a few minutes for him to explain how it worked. There were eight charges in an ejectable part of the handle.

  "For snake," he told her again.

  "For the snake," she agreed, lips curling back. "You better go now." He nodded and began to walk off. The weapon felt awkward, not made for a Tlartox hand. She pushed the safety off and pointed it at the back of the human. Her finger touched the trigger. He was, after all, only prey. With him dead, she could study his ship at her leisure.

  He continued to walk away, heading back to his ship. She recalled the noise the weapon made. Too loud, it would alert Fren. She lowered the weapon, turned and slipped over the slope. Then she limped down toward her ship, toward Parl Fren and vengeance.

  Two hundred paces from the ship, Sen Powl, the cook, spotted her. His ears, one black and one orange, identified him at any distance. Powl made as if he didn't see her, but wandered over to the stream with a large pot. She approached him cautiously.

  "Parl Fren has taken over command," he told her quietly, his ears betraying his distaste. "She has support from other hunters, Captain."

  "How many others?"

  "Six or seven. The rest are waiting for you to come back. Fren doesn't seem worried." Krin snorted.

  It was too many, but Krin had no choice. Doubtless, the mutineers carefully watched the hunters who might back her, and the six or seven with Fren would cow the males. Not that she expected any help from them, but they . . .

  "I'll stand by you, Captain."

  Krin froze, shocked. Sen wouldn't stand a chance in a fight with a hunter.

  "Tesser will, as well." Tesser operated the scan. Sen unsheathed his claws and bared his fangs. "Shall we get them, Captain?"

  Krin closed her eyes momentarily. With help like this, three would die instead of one.

  Sen snarled as if he understood her thought. "We won't go down easily, Captain. It will give you the chance you need."

  Perhaps it would at that, with the distraction and the alien weapon. "Okay, Sen, let's crush this mutiny."

  They rounded the ship and Fren's eyes widened even as her ears went back. Her glance took in the wounded Krin, then focused on her empty holster. Her fangs bared.

  "You!" Fren snarled and undid the flap on her holster. By her side, Ber Trillt's ears came forward then back. She took a step away from her leader, surprise on her face. Krin noted the distaste in passing. At least Trillt had some honor, looking for a fair fight. None recognized Krin's weapon for what it was.

  The human weapon roared and leapt in Krin's hand as Fren's sidearm began to rise. Parl Fren was thrown back, blood matting the fur at her chest. She stood a moment then fell. The others stood, stunned by both sound and effect, then split into two groups facing each other. Krin, Tesser and Sen faced Trillt and three hunters. Krin hesitated. The others had no weapons and she would lose her own honor should she use the human one again. She grimaced. Even if she won this battle, she lost.

  All stood frozen, waiting for someone to make the first move. Krin thought quickly. She needed to save as many of her crew as she could. Not only did she need them to fly the ship, but every death here would be a black mark on her record.

  A loud roar from beyond the ridge filled the air. Everyone but Krin turned to stare at the rising ship.

  "What vessel is that?" asked Tesser. "Will they bring help?" The mutineers stared in shock.

  Krin's ears went forward in triumph. She now knew why she had not shot the human.

  "Listen to me," she roared. "There is a new species among us." The shock deepened. "They are a prey species, not Tox." She let that sink in for a moment. "Now, do we fight each other here, or do we follow that ship back to its home? Parl Fren is dead. It can stop here, all else can be forgotten, if Lar lives." It wouldn't be forgotten, nor forgiven, but a temporary truce would give her the time to have the mutineers transferred off her ship. Then she would wait. Eventually they would pay. The mutineers would know this as well, but once away from Krin it remained a possibility that they would not meet again, that no mention of the mutiny would ever arise.

  Ber Trillt relaxed slowly, ears coming back up to a cautiously ready position. "Lar lives. We're with you, Captain."

  "Well?" A moment passed, then the Tlartox rushed for their ship, two of them carrying Parl Fren's body. They were Tox and, mutineer or not, they would see to Fren properly.

  As the Tlartox ship rose from the planet, all ears were forward. A new prey species. One that also walked the stars. They could sense a new hunt beginning. This one would be more than claw and fang against hoof and horn. This hunt would match intelligence and technology. It mattered not. Technology or instincts, there were predators and there was prey.

  Krin Tlento bared her fangs as acceleration pressed her back into her chair. Tlar had said that the hunt defines the hunter, the prey the predator. She hoped the humans would present a challenge, would constitute a worthy prey.

  End