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“Is your little blade sharp enough to cut through them?”
I think of my pokey little knife. I’ll need it to cut up whatever I’m able to catch. Using it to slice through vines probably isn’t wise, but I don’t have anything else.
Which reminds me of part two of the plan - defences. I need to get some better weapons if I’m to stand a chance of surviving an encounter with anything bigger than my boots.
Especially if it’s something as big as my green friend.
I turn to look at him. I barely got a glimpse of him in the corridor at the base, but I must be dredging up the rest of the details from somewhere in my memory. The flash of fangs and claws fills my mind again. I’ve seen one of his kind before. Maybe multiple times.
Primitive. Savage. Dangerous.
I’ve been briefed, I know I have. Mercenia are always thorough when it comes to protecting their interests. I don’t believe they would have dropped me here on this world without a full briefing about the locals. Numbers, strengths, weaknesses, tactics - all the things that would give me an advantage in a combat situation.
The information is in my head, even if I can’t exactly remember it.
Maybe making a study of him will help to jog my memory.
I walk up to him, trying to gauge how tall he is. He doesn’t make it easy, dipping his head, looking down at me, a confused sort of smile on his face.
“Stand up straight,” I bark, and he does, his shoulders snapping back, head held high. I inspect him, walking a full circle around him. “You’ve got to be seven feet tall. Seven two? Two hundred and fifty, maybe three hundred pounds.”
He’s not the most stacked guy I’ve ever seen. His muscles are toned and well defined, but they aren’t enormous. His is a functional sort of strength, meaning he’s probably quick on his feet. Agile as well as having explosive power. His tail flicks idly behind him, prehensile, probably not strong enough to take his entire weight, just from the width of it. A balancing aid when climbing the trees? Certainly it could be an effective extra weapon in a combat situation.
And speaking of weapons…
“Show me those claws,” I say, grabbing his hand and raising it close to my face.
He’s warm, almost hot to the touch, and though his skin isn’t soft, it’s not exactly rough, either. At least, not in an unpleasant way. Working hands, calluses on his palm at the base of his fingers. Of course, I doubt I’ve ever actually touched one of the alien hostiles - almost certainly won’t have shaken hands with one - so this little detail must be drawn from some other memory. A human hand I’ve taken at some point in my life.
I don’t remember a hand ever feeling so nice.
I shake that thought out of my brain as soon as it enters it, focusing back on the tips of the alien’s fingers. His nails aren’t like a human’s at all, much harder, thicker, tapering to a point. I run my fingers over the tips of them, expecting them to be sharp, but they aren’t.
I glance up at him, a demand for his claws to come out ready on my lips, but his expression catches me off guard, making my heart thump in my chest.
He’s staring down at me, eyes moving between my face and our hands, with something that’s more than just surprise or shock.
He looks at me with reverence.
I have questions about what part of my subconscious that is being drawn from.
And why it’s making my blood rush in my veins.
Distractions. All of it distractions.
I need to stick to the plan. Food. Defences.
Claws.
“I know you’ve got claws in there,” I say, ignoring how my voice catches in my throat, how thick it feels on my tongue. “Show me.”
“You have encountered my kind before, then?” he says, and why in the holy hell does his voice have to be so rumbling, vibrating with parts of me that no guy has ever affected before?
“I already remembered that part, subconscious. It’s the details I need.”
I tap his nails. Obligingly, his claws extend, growing out of the nail bed. They look tough, and when I lift his hand higher, I see the sharpness I was anticipating is all on the underside.
“Used for climbing, I bet,” I say.
