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I cannot abide these shrieks for hours. I once would have reveled in those cries, drinking them in, but I am beginning to tire of revenge, and there will be no sleeping with that cacophony. So, I sigh, stand up, take my spear, and go to do what must be done.
The brilliant iridescent green and gold of the mantid shines through the undergrowth. It has pinned the animal with the sharp, clawed points of its feet, and it is in the process of rasping through the limited outer cladding the animal has managed to retain.
The mantid twitches its head around to me, mandibles extended in a protective hiss. Thousands of eyes look at me and find me wanting both as predator and prey. It does not acknowledge threat. All it can feel is hunger.
It turns back to its task of consumption, and as it does, I stab the mantid through its cerebral cavity and boot the twitching, long-limbed corpse off the prone animal.
She lies wounded in the dirt, leaking red blood. As I thought, it is a human female. A strange one, because she did not move like I am used to humans moving. Did not strut and bash through the world, did not open fire on anything that moved, did not shout and display herself and her damn flag. She was more like a beast, creeping, hiding, afraid.
I have killed So. Many. Humans.
This one should be no different from any of the others. This one should be another act of well-earned vengeance. I put my spear to the side and kneel beside her, taking her bloodied face in my hands. I whisper a quick prayer before snapping her neck.
Before I can finish dedicating her meat and soul to my family, she grinds out a word in my tongue through red-stained teeth clenched in a rictus of pain.
“Please.”
I still my hands.
“Help me.”
Help her? Does she not know what she asks? I should laugh in her face and sever her spinal cord. But I don’t. My hands are still, more cradling her face than clenching it.
There is something about this woman. Something innocent and pure and wild. I see something in her eyes I did not see in the gaze of the many soldiers I slaughtered.
My tribe had a code, before they were destroyed. We swore to help others in distress. My tribe is gone, but the code persists, and reasserts itself now.
I curse, pick her up, and take her back to the fire. As careful as I am not to articulate her body in a way that might make her injuries worse, she whimpers almost constantly. So much for silent animal stoicism.
Her wounds are grievous. If she were truly an animal, they would be too bad to allow it to suffer. But she is a human animal and suffering is built into their pliable bodies. There is still some part of me that believes killing her is the right thing to do. The souls of my family demand it. Don’t they?
I heard their voices strongly in my initial vengeances. I heard their cries and their cheers, the way they applauded when I crushed, broke, stabbed, and tore my way through the enemies of our people. They are silent now. Watching.
The human is small and weak and filthy, and wounded from previous encounters. I shouldn’t truly call her an animal. Animals are survivors. This creature is not.
2
Tarni
Three days ago….
My ship is on course to land at Colony Alpha. I have been dispatched from Colonial HQ with the brief to act as envoy. That means pretty dresses, expensive perfume, and very good makeup.
The autopilot is engaged in the mundane task of flying, and I am doing the much more interesting job of getting dressed up. There is a stunning golden gown I intend to wear down the gangway when I land. The first three days are scheduled to be a nonstop diplomatic party. I am being honored by the Colony, and by the Colonial organization as a whole.
The planet is currently known asSavage Prime. A better name will be decided when it is properly tamed. Savage refers to the species of alien that lives there. They are sentient, muscular, and sharp of fang, so I hear. As an envoy, I will not be expected to interact with them.
I look at myself in the mirror. The golden dress is gorgeous, clinging to every curve in just the right way, barely leaving anything to the imagination. I have made my face up with a truly astonishing amount of foundation and contour, cat-eye wings of eyeliner, and bright red lipstick. It’s a very classic, very dramatic look.
The Colony, sometimes referred to as Colonial Forces, is a private organization of human settlers willing to go places others will not. The Colony has settled over a hundred planets previously believed to be uninhabitable by humans due to hostile previous inhabitants. We have ways of subduing almost any kind of native creature. But sometimes, we just like to have fun.
I am too busy admiring myself in the mirror to notice when the ship first starts to fall. We entered orbit about three hours ago, and there should be ten or so more hours until I land, feather soft, at Colony Alpha.
It’s a bright flash of light outside that alerts me to the fact that the ship and I just passed through an atmospheric boundary, which means we are no longer in orbit. Gravity has taken hold, and it is doing what gravity does best.
The instruments on the bridge confirm my suspicions. The ship is falling. Not crashing, because that would indicate that there was some apparent malfunction, and the ship would sound alerts and alarms. None of those have been activated. The ship seems quite happy to careen toward the ground. If not for the atmospheric flash, the first I would have known about it was when I was suddenly turned into human paste against the planet’s face.
I hit the emergency button, a big red hexagon on the console. It does not seem to do anything.
