Page 19 of Meat

“Jale,” he said in a low growl. “Jale.”

Alyx simply blinked at him. She was still half-paralyzed with fear from the situation she found herself in, the naked prisoner of three brutal alien men. At least it was better than being back at that nith slaughterhouse.

The one with the shaven head had come up beside her now. He carried a coil of braided leather cord in his hands. He carefully tied one end snugly through the metal loop of Alyx’s choker. The other end went around the trunk of a nearby tree.

“Ravnar,” the younger one said, gesturing at his companion. “Ravnar.” Then back to himself. “Jale.”

Those were their names.

He was trying to communicate.

The one called Ravnar, the one who had found her, did not seem to like this idea very much. He snarled something at his young companion. But the one called Jale kept his eyes locked on Alyx’s.

She inclined her head toward him.

“Jale,” she whispered, then glanced toward the other, “Ravnar.”

Jale grinned and Ravnar snorted.

Next, Alyx pointed to herself. “Alyx.”

Jale’s brutally handsome face became stony with concentration. He moved his lips with slow deliberation as he struggled to form the sound of her name.

“Licks.”

“Alyx,” she corrected him, saying it more slowly this time.

“Ah…licks.”

Close enough.

Her eyes shifted toward the bearded alien. He was crouched on the other side of the fire with a whole assortment of ingredients and implements spread out. Crude wooden bowls into which he was mixing substances that looked like flour and perhaps butter. Was dairy even a thing on this planet? Maybe the animals here didn’t make milk. It was hard to say. All Alyx knew was that the bearded guy was preparing food, and it wasn’t meat. That was good enough for her.

Jale noticed the line of her gaze.

“Krogg,” he said, indicating the bearded cook.

“Krogg,” she repeated.

Jale laughed. Had she pronounced it wrong? She was certain that she had not gotten the sounds quite right, and she had molded the strange, alien names to fit the sounds of English.

Ravnar snorted again. He seemed less than amused by her attempts at communication. Krogg, on the other hand, wasn’t even paying attention. He was completely focused on his cooking.

Alyx had a sudden flash of intuition. Each of the brutish men played a role in their little gang. Ravnar was the hunter and trapper. Jale was the skinner and perhaps the tanner of hides. Krogg was the cook.

Based on the way that Ravnar was happily chowing down on strips of bloody raw meat, Alyx guessed that the other guys didn’t exactly have delicate palettes. Is that why Krogg was so enthusiastic about cooking for her?

She watched as he made a simple dough, kneaded it, and placed lumps of it into an iron container like a Dutch oven. Considering the primitive stone knives these guys used, Alyx had to assume that they had not made that iron implement themselves. Upon a second look, she realized that it must be an old hunk of scrap metal—part of a nith spaceship, perhaps—which Krogg had repurposed for a cooking vessel.

He placed the metal container on a trivet and with a crude shovel began scooping on coals from the fire and arranging them underneath the makeshift oven and on top of the metal lid.

Alyx’s stomach rumbled and panged. She was suddenly and acutely aware of just how famished she had become.

Jale motioned toward her, drawing her attention away from the food.

He touched his chest again and said, “Ukkur. Uk-kur.” Then he pointed to Ravnar and Krogg in turn, repeating that word. “Ukkur. Uk-kur.” After that, he gestured toward Alyx, waiting for her to respond.

“Ukkur?” Alyx said.