conference.”
Xalier nodded his snout.
“Very well, Colonel… So noted. It’s on your head when the Commodore rants and raves. You may MAT down.”
The Felidae tapped the voice-badge on his collar and ordered, “Send me deep into the caverns — as deep as you can penetrate.” He dropped to all fours, then disappeared.
Janz Macao pleaded for a chance to rest. Soaked to the bone, feet beyond frozen, he sank down on a wet rock and did some deep inhalations and exhalations. “Must be the gravity,” he complained. Or was it from stress — the stress of being nearly a hundred meters above a cliff and waterfall, and climbing? He didn’t need an explanation for why his spine ached; he was undoing two back surgeries — all of Dana Cartwright’s hours of spinal weaving.
Schaffer said nothing. For someone ten years in captivity and thin as a stick, he appeared unaffected by the exertion. “We’re not far from a cross tunnel.”
“Let’s hope it didn’t collapse, too.”
“And that the others are safe.”
After a few minutes more, Macao stood and they resumed the climb along the ridge, reaching the tunnel. At the entrance, they found five slaves — all dead from fallen rocks and debris.
“We need a hand torch,” Macao insisted, checking the bodies of the fallen in the dim light. “Yes!” He turned on the beacon.
The slaves were all hybrids, but he didn’t dare a guess from what race, certainly none he could identify.
With the light beacon in his left hand, Macao took the lead. They heard noises ahead in the main tunnel. Schaffer signaled for silence.
For a long moment, they just listened. Then, they heard a snarl, panicked screams, weapons fire, more screams, and silence.
Macao crept forward, past more dead slaves. These had slashes, and were covered in greenish, sticky blood.
Schaffer knelt near one body and called for the light. “These are claw marks — from something big.” He checked, and found two weapons among these men. “Both weapons are fully charged.” He handed one over to the Captain and they continued on.
“Stop!” Schaffer commanded. Macao froze in place.
Ahead of them, in the dark tunnel, just barely visible, were two amber, feline eyes.
Schaffer slowly raised the weapon in self-defense.
“Hold!” Macao ordered, daring, “Xal? Is that you?”
“Captain?”
The Felidae padded forward on all fours, then rose up, standing before them in the light from the hand beacon, purring, “Perfect…you are safe!”
Schaffer stared, quite dumbfounded.
“A team from Thresher rescued Gage, Briggs and Rogers. Oh, and I found Dec.”
Macao grinned, “Well done, Colonel. Can they lock onto your badge and MAT us up?”
Xalier hissed a sigh. “They had to leave orbit; should be back in ten days or so. We’re on our own until then.”
“Ten days! We’ll starve to death,” Macao lamented.
“Well, I won’t,” Xalier purred. “Are not Alphans carnivorous? You should do fine. Lots of…” The Felidae’s snout wrinkled, “…things to eat. Need to get to the surface. Fresh water, fish, and wild edible flora.”
“We’d freeze to death,” Macao grumbled.
Xalier shrugged, “Nothing wrong with fur coats.”
Schaffer countered, “We need to get back to the hot spring where it’s warm, and the water is therapeutic. Captain Macao needs aquatic therapy.”
Xalier relented. “Follow me, then.” He went back down to a feline posture and led, stopping occasionally to listen for possible intruders, whiskers twitching in unison with his tail.
They stopped at the top of the ledge. The force field was down. This time, Macao used the stairs, but he still ended up in the pool to soothe his aches and pains.
Schaffer set about making a fire, using stones to create a spark among some tinder. He then stripped down and joined the Captain in the hot spring pool.
“Warm enough?” The Felidae asked, baring teeth.
“Perfect,” Macao answered.
Xalier patrolled nervously,
Xalier nodded his snout.
“Very well, Colonel… So noted. It’s on your head when the Commodore rants and raves. You may MAT down.”
The Felidae tapped the voice-badge on his collar and ordered, “Send me deep into the caverns — as deep as you can penetrate.” He dropped to all fours, then disappeared.
Janz Macao pleaded for a chance to rest. Soaked to the bone, feet beyond frozen, he sank down on a wet rock and did some deep inhalations and exhalations. “Must be the gravity,” he complained. Or was it from stress — the stress of being nearly a hundred meters above a cliff and waterfall, and climbing? He didn’t need an explanation for why his spine ached; he was undoing two back surgeries — all of Dana Cartwright’s hours of spinal weaving.
Schaffer said nothing. For someone ten years in captivity and thin as a stick, he appeared unaffected by the exertion. “We’re not far from a cross tunnel.”
“Let’s hope it didn’t collapse, too.”
“And that the others are safe.”
After a few minutes more, Macao stood and they resumed the climb along the ridge, reaching the tunnel. At the entrance, they found five slaves — all dead from fallen rocks and debris.
“We need a hand torch,” Macao insisted, checking the bodies of the fallen in the dim light. “Yes!” He turned on the beacon.
The slaves were all hybrids, but he didn’t dare a guess from what race, certainly none he could identify.
With the light beacon in his left hand, Macao took the lead. They heard noises ahead in the main tunnel. Schaffer signaled for silence.
For a long moment, they just listened. Then, they heard a snarl, panicked screams, weapons fire, more screams, and silence.
Macao crept forward, past more dead slaves. These had slashes, and were covered in greenish, sticky blood.
Schaffer knelt near one body and called for the light. “These are claw marks — from something big.” He checked, and found two weapons among these men. “Both weapons are fully charged.” He handed one over to the Captain and they continued on.
“Stop!” Schaffer commanded. Macao froze in place.
Ahead of them, in the dark tunnel, just barely visible, were two amber, feline eyes.
Schaffer slowly raised the weapon in self-defense.
“Hold!” Macao ordered, daring, “Xal? Is that you?”
“Captain?”
The Felidae padded forward on all fours, then rose up, standing before them in the light from the hand beacon, purring, “Perfect…you are safe!”
Schaffer stared, quite dumbfounded.
“A team from Thresher rescued Gage, Briggs and Rogers. Oh, and I found Dec.”
Macao grinned, “Well done, Colonel. Can they lock onto your badge and MAT us up?”
Xalier hissed a sigh. “They had to leave orbit; should be back in ten days or so. We’re on our own until then.”
“Ten days! We’ll starve to death,” Macao lamented.
“Well, I won’t,” Xalier purred. “Are not Alphans carnivorous? You should do fine. Lots of…” The Felidae’s snout wrinkled, “…things to eat. Need to get to the surface. Fresh water, fish, and wild edible flora.”
“We’d freeze to death,” Macao grumbled.
Xalier shrugged, “Nothing wrong with fur coats.”
Schaffer countered, “We need to get back to the hot spring where it’s warm, and the water is therapeutic. Captain Macao needs aquatic therapy.”
Xalier relented. “Follow me, then.” He went back down to a feline posture and led, stopping occasionally to listen for possible intruders, whiskers twitching in unison with his tail.
They stopped at the top of the ledge. The force field was down. This time, Macao used the stairs, but he still ended up in the pool to soothe his aches and pains.
Schaffer set about making a fire, using stones to create a spark among some tinder. He then stripped down and joined the Captain in the hot spring pool.
“Warm enough?” The Felidae asked, baring teeth.
“Perfect,” Macao answered.
Xalier patrolled nervously,
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