 |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Harsh, yellow light from the setting Dwalorian sun glinted from the silvered skin of the chartered cruiser. As the craft carrying Mandara the Prophet and his closest advisers sliced through the chill, upper atmosphere over the desolate outlands, a blossom of flame suddenly marred the perfection of that mirrored surface. The explosion ripped out the left rear section of the plane. A micro-nova flash of fused and shattered metal and wire lit the shadowed ground far below.
Spinning shards of red-hot steel plummetted to the desolate wilderness like a shower of man-made meteors. Close behind those harbringers of destruction, the disintegrating vessel screamed through the thickening atmosphere in a steepening curve.
Before the mortally wounded cruiser smashed against the rocky landscape of the unexplored wilderness, a pair of tiny cylinders shot free from its shattered back to arch upward with a thin rush of air. Like wandering seeds, the two emergency pods drifted down beneath the billowing umbrellas of their respective yellow chutes.
Bobbing and dancing, the life cylinders swung towards the sand sculpted terrain. Howling like lonesome banshees, the swirling surface winds lifted pulverized rock skyward, extending insubstantial tendrils of dust to grab and then swallow from sight the alien oblongs of metal.
Within moments of each other, the two capsules slammed into the barren ground and then skidded in rough, grating slides among the boulders. The golden chutes flapped defiantly in the clutching wind a moment and then settled covetously over their precious cargoes.
Nothing moved.
With a low, deep-throated growl of anticipation rumbling in her chest, Jllywll drew her lean, powerful haunches beneath her and edged closer to the cliff overlooking the game trail below.
It would not be long before the prey she had stalked for two wearying days would come trotting down that narrow pass...alone. She had to be ready. If she failed to ambush this boslyn, not only would she face the deadly consequences of her inefficiency, but also her injured mate and two young cubs.
Jllywll extended the nostrils of her short muzzle and tested the breeze. Any anticipatory scent was lost in the capriciously whirling wind. Abandoning the attempt at achieving an early warning, she snorted her mounting irritation.
Jllywll's wide, cup-shaped ears swiveled as that same treacherous wind wafted towards her the not-so-distant sounds of gathered boslyn. Their nearby feeding valley was the only one for many marches which would withstand the parching breath of the approaching Devourer: the withering gales of summer capable of destroying any creature caught in the open...including Jllywll.
Nervously she shifted at that ghostly thought and peered into the gathering gloom. Though she saw nothing, her sharp ears caught the faint scrape of hoof against stone as the unsuspecting herbivore plodded onward in its quest for its own kind.
Jllywll's thick lips parted in a savage smile of excitement. Eagerly, she slid her moist, pointed tongue over the sharp spikes of her teeth. A lone boslyn represented a rare prize at any time. It was especially good fortune to stumble upon one that had not yet gained the safety of the herd and the protection of scores of other adults with their dual, spiral horns.
Jllywll did not dwell upon the fleeting thought that an unsuccessful attack might not leave her a sufficient reserve of strength for another attempt. At last, the fickle currents of air bore the pungent odor of the sweating beast to her. Tensing, she prepared for her leap.
Her round, dark eyes widened slightly as the shadowy form of the tired, young buck hove into view around a curve in the trail. His staggering progress testified to his weakened condition. Unfortunately for Jllywll, she, too, lacked the normal vitality and power which would have assured her a meal.
Still, she would give the effort her all.
Creeping forward a paw's-length, she unsheathed her thick, curved claws in readiness for the kill. Carefully she eyed the needle pointed horns of the boslyn. They would not go unused. Her strike would have to be quick and lethal to end that threat. One chance was likely all she would be granted.
The boslyn skittered. Jllywll tensed, afraid a vagrant breeze had carried her scent to the animal. But after a moment, the angular head drooped again, and the broad hooves continued to clop along the well-worn path.
As the boslyn drew close, Jllywll gathered her legs under her too-thin, dust-covered body. The long, arduous chase would soon be over...one way of the other.
Every bunched muscle in Jllywll's body tightened in anticipation of the precise moment in which to launch her attack; the exact instant which would maximize her chances for success. That time was...
...Now!
Uncoiling, her tawny body sailed up and outward in a short, flat arc. She had to crash down on the boslyn's back with sufficient force to bring her bony victim to its knees. Miscalculation could mean impalement upon those twin needles of death.
As Jllywll left her perch and stretched her aching body, a brilliant flash of light flared in the sky above her. Moments later, a mad thunderclap of noise beat through the air and reverberated wildly from the surrounding, jagged precipices.
Surprised and frightened, Jllywll screamed. Simultaneously, the terrified boslyn bolted in adrenaline powered flight.
Desperately Jllywll twisted about before slamming into the dirt-veneered rock with a breath-robbing jar. Her flesh cried out in protest of such abuse. With a snarl, the predator gasped her pain and agony. Slowly her lungs struggled to break the band holding them tight.
What struck the deepest, however, was the brief sight of the boslyn bounding down the trail towards the haven of the summer feeding valley.
Dazed, Jllywll raised her furred head towards the now silent heavens and stared at the flickering stars beginning to shine dimly through the shifting clouds of dust. With sorrowful tears she thought of herself and her family, of her eldest son who -- because of her failure -- might now die, never to assume his rightful place as a leader among her scattered people.
Jllywll thought of those things and growled her anger. Soon her howls of frustration and rage spiralled upward until her cries echoed in eerie challenge to the gathering night.
The two silvery pods lay on their sides in the scarred, brown dirt, twenty meters apart: two cylinders, one person per capsule.
Seven passengers had been aboard the aircraft.
A whirring hum issued from the cylinder that had struck ground first. The harsh voice of the wind nearly drowned the sound of working machinery. Still the mechanism operated with the efficiency built into it by those engineers thousands of kilometers distant who had designed it.
A crack split the smooth shell and rapidly spread as a section of the curved wall slid into itself, widening into an opening large enough for a man. A few seconds later, a man did appear there.
Clumsily he rolled out onto the stone studded ground and then swiveled up and around to rest his back against the capsule that had saved his life.
He breathed heavily and kept his gray eyes closed against the wind-driven grit pelting his high cheeked face. The small gale whipped his short, straw colored hair into a sweat tangled mat. Grimacing, he rubbed the ankle of his left leg. The protective shock webbing had not performed flawlessly.
A furious banging roused the young man from his calm contemplation of one more failure of technology. Struggling to his feet and favoring his left side, he searched for the source of the hollow pounding.
The darkness lightened for a moment as a small, gibbous moon shone through a break in a high bank of streaming clouds. Limping, Mandara the Prophet hurried towards the half-buried cylinder the brief illumination had revealed to him.
Though he knew disorientation posed a threat in that shadowy realm, he gave no thought to personal safety. As he hobbled up to the capsule, a steady stream of curses leaked through the partially opened doorway.
Mandara sighed. Those words could only belong to the captain. None of his people would speak so. Straining to free the frozen mechanism, he wondered how long it would be before he heard any other voice.
Slowly the recalcitrant gears scraped across one another, fighting against the pressure. Without warning, the door slid free past the jam. The sudden movement percipitated Mandara to the ground.
Brushing away the pebbles imbedded in his palms, he watched a figure clad in a brown flight uniform scramble out into the open. Nimbly the other survivor danced away from the kneeling prophet.
After quickly scanning the landscape, Captain Margery Malone crouched beside her passenger. Her neck length red hair lashed about her face as she placed a hand on Mandara's sweating back. "Are you all right?" she asked.
Smiling, Mandara nodded. With the captain's assistance, he turned and sat against the damaged cylinder.
"Fine...Captain. Just...just a bit...winded."
Captain Malone yelled to be heard over the wind. "Did any of the others escape?"
Mandara shook his head. "I do not think so," he said, his words barely audible in the whooshing night air. "They were all in the aft section where the explosion occurred. Those capsules apparently failed to deploy. If I had not come forward to talk with you when I did..." He shrugged.
The captain nodded. "We've got to find some more substantial shelter out of this wind," she shouted. Straightening, she surveyed the area around them with a more critical eye. The better part of a minute passed before the clouds shredded again to reveal a hill and a pile of jumbled boulders off to her right.
Bending low, she pointed.
Mandara nodded and pushed himself erect. The captain jumped towards him, surprised, when he collapsed to the ground.
"I'm sorry, " he said, "but I guess I did sprain my ankle."
An exasperated frown brushed Captain Malone's lips. Shaking her head ever so slightly, she motioned for the young religious leader to remain seated. Grunting, she rummaged in the cylinder.
Holding a small, unzipped pack, she pulled a laser pistol and holster from inside and clipped them to her belt. Slipping on the backpack of emergency supplies, she grabbed Mandara by one arm and helped him to his feet. Handing her charge a hand light, she ducked under his left arm and straightened.
The cone of artificial light cut through only a few meters of the dust laden air. Five minutes passed before that yellow glow slid unsteadily across a large, pitted boulder.
In short order, Captain Malone had them both wedged into the comparative shelter of a boulder field. The rocks extended backward to a sheer wall, the top of which rose perhaps five meters above them. Clucking her tongue, she turned her attention to the prophet's swollen ankle. His muffled words tugged at her.
"What?" she asked, looking up into Mandara's shadow-etched features.
"I said, everything will be all right."
A corner of the captain's dust-caked mouth dipped in displeasure. Pursing her lips, she adjusted the position of the lamp. "Yeah. Sure it will."
A surprisingly firm grip tightened on her shoulder, yet she did not glance up from her work.
"Captain," Mandara said evenly, "despite the tragedy which claimed the lives of my disciples -- my friends -- we will reach our goal. There is a reason for all that happens, and it will be made clear to us in due course."
The captain shrugged noncommittally and unwrapped the bandage she had taken from the pack.
Returning his hand to his lap, Mandara pressed his point. "The only question is how long we must endure," he said, "to complete this phase of our training. If we accept our hardships gladly rather than bemoaning or fighting them, we shall grow stronger as our wisdom deepens. With each adversity, we edge that much closer to the destiny in store for each of us. This I feel, and I know it is true."
With more force than she had intended, the captain jerked the elastic bandage tighter around Mandara's injured ankle. The flinch she elicited from her patient provided her more guilt than satisfaction.
Shoving the med box back into the pack, she stared hard into Mandara's dark eyes. "Listen, Mandara. You paid me to fly you around this dustbowl. I've fulfilled that contract and seen you safely to half a dozen hellholes on this planet. But you haven't paid me to listen to your sermons. I don't want to hear it."
"But, Captain Malone, surely this accident shows you that --"
"'Accident'!" She laughed without humor and settled back on her haunches. "That was no accident, and you know it. The crew checked those engines two days before you arrived on Dwalor." She shook her head decisively. "Somebody sabotaged that cruiser. Maybe some of those leaders you broke with have had enough of your 'blasphemy.' Perhaps they decided that the time for talk has ended and opted instead for a more direct approach to shutting you up. Whatever the case, I don't think they'll rest until they've had someone personally check on the results of their little handiwork."
Mandara spread his hands. "There is no danger to you, Captain. Or to me. I have much work to do. That must be finished first."
"Maybe they are after you rather than me, but I've promised to protect you and that means I'm an obstacle they'll have to eliminate before they can get to you." Captain Malone thrust a finger towards the darkness enveloping them. "Not only that, but you don't know what's out there any more than I do! Even if your 'friends' fail to reach us before the Patrol picks up our emergency beacons, this land is quite sufficiently nasty to do the job for them. Most of this world remains unexplored. We don't know what --"
As the wind shifted a few degrees, Captain Malone froze. A high, thin, marrow-chilling wail rose into the sky. It sounded close...
Struggling to her feet, Jllywll shook her head to contain the vertigo which seized her.
On wobbly legs, she gazed up at the cliff behind her. With matter-of-fact certainty, she knew she could not scale it, not in her present condition. She would have to search for a lower, gentler climb.
Like an unwanted visitor, her hunger clamored for attention. More than a nuisance now, it interfered with her thinking at a time when she most needed her cunning and knowledge to find sustenance of any kind.
Desperate images of an assault on the feeding valley raced through her mind. Horror tales from childhood, however, flooded in to drown out such foolhardiness. Even for a prime male to attempt such an action -- let alone a tired, weakened female -- would be tantamount to suicide.
A tiny, niggling section of Jllywll's fogged brain toyed with that thought. Suicide. Was that her only remaining option? A painful escape, to be sure, but at least quicker than the drawn out agony of a belly shrinking in on itself.
Memories of her two small cubs and crippled mate coalesced before her mind's eye. She snarled angrily for even considering such an alternative as voluntary death. She refused to desert her family or abandon hope as long as she could drag herself onward.
She wailed her sorrow and begged forgiveness of the wind, the invisible breath which could both caress and devastate. That omnipresent force ruffled her scruffy, reddish fur and sang its ambivalent answer to her lament.
Jllywll smiled in weary acceptance and limped back up the trail. No more boslyn were likely to happen by her current position. The beasts would not stir from the feeding valley until the Devourer had passed its dry hands over the hills and the soaking rains came once more to heal the land.
That day, however, would come far too late to aid Jllywll or her family.
Ignoring her pain and her exhaustion, Jllywll scrambled up a low embankment and paused at the top to survey the ground stretching below her. Broken, dry, and barren, still it led in the general direction of home.
Sadly she pondered the moon shining above her. There she could find consistency and dependability; a circle of light gliding with sedate and steady speed across the featureless canopy of the night. The heavens might boast of such guaranteed security. She would find none in her world.
Slowly she returned her attention to the rugged path she had chosen for herself. With a loud cry to her only company, the wind, she set off at a loping trot.
As the strange cry drifted again on the wind and then faded into nothingness, Mandara spoke.
"What was that, Captain?" he asked quietly.
"How the hell should I know?" she snapped. Rubbing her hands along her thighs, Captain Malone rose to her feet and peered nervously into the blanketing darkness. "Who knows how many dangerous animals live in these outlands? And with the dry season almost here, they're likely to be even more desperate and vicious. I'll have to keep a close look-out."
As Mandara chuckled, she turned her head in irritation and surprise.
"Why do you fear the cry of some lonesome beast? It will not harm us."
"I wish I could share your confidence," she said dryly. "That creature out there may not be dangerous. The point is, we can't know that for certain, at least not until maybe it's too late. Your backers signed me on to protect you -- whether you think you need it or not -- and I intend to do just that." In emphasis, she pulled the pistol from its holster and checked its charge.
As the captain reholstered the weapon, Mandara shook his head. Disbelief mingled with his laughter as he waved a hand.
"Wear that if it will make you feel better. I can assure you, however, that I have no need for such defenses. My life may hold physical pain and torment in store for me, but until I have accomplished the mission the Holy One set for me, I will not die. I know that is so. The only reason I agreed to your presence as other than pilot was to ease the apprehensions of those few of my followers who have yet to reach integration. I do not need you."
Clenching her teeth, Captain Malone choked back her reply. With quick, jerky motions she pulled the backpack to one side and dug aimlessly through it.
After her exasperation subsided to more manageable levels, she turned and placed a small, gray cube between her and her client. As she pushed a stud in its top, heat radiated from its four, featureless faces. Despite the season, chill laced the desert night. Raising a brow, Mandara extended his hands towards the warmth.
"I do not mean for you to be angry," he said softly. When she did not respond, he continued. "I really do believe what I say." Wrapping his arms around his chest, he said, "You must accept that whatever happens, what you do, were woven long ago into the Holy One's Tapestry of Life. Too many people clutch at the doctrine of freely willed action in order to give purpose and meaning to their lives -- or to excuse them. They believe that in 'conquering' their darker sides by the strength of their own selves, they may become worthy of some 'higher goal.' But I have accepted that all in life is done by the Holy One's will. What higher goal could there be than to fully accept and follow His path? That is why I do not worry about issues of credit or blame as do those who oppose me. Nor am I concerned about the anger of those who call me 'blasphemer.' Despite their protests, they travel the threads of the Tapestry even as do I. Yet I and my followers walk with inner peace. They and all who resist the One will face only discord and pain."
Captain Malone considered his earnest words for a long moment. With controlled precision, she placed two self-heating tins of food on a rock before her. "I can see why your sect has grown so rapidly," she said softly. "Everything is so nice, simple, and complete. No guilt, no anxiety. No responsibility."
"You think guilt and anxiety desirable emotions, Captain?"
Despite her intentions, Captain Malone found anger percolating through her. "I've never found life all that direct and clear cut. Choices have to be made. No matter what you say, I make them all the time. Difficult ones in situations where many sides lay claim to being 'right.' That may make the universe a bit less pat and a good deal riskier, but at least I have the satisfaction of doing what I believe is correct. Though I suppose from your point of view, even my 'resistance' to the Holy One is part of that damned Tapestry of yours."
"You misunderstand, Captain. There is a difference between thought and action. Only what you do can affect other people, and only your overt behavior forms part of that metaphorical tapestry you so readily dismiss. You can freely accept what you do and is done to you and thereby live out your existence in harmony with yourself and the universe...or you can wage a futile fight railing against them. Such a battle, however, can result only in destruction of that happiness each of us desires. That choice is yours to make, Captain Malone, and it is an important one. Complete acceptance of the One and the Tapestry of Life is the only way to achieve true freedom."
At the captain's continued silence, Mandara rubbed his dirt streaked chin. "Tell me. If -- despite your best efforts -- things continually go wrong, how do you feel?"
The captain hesitated. "That's just..." She flapped her arms. "I can't always have sufficient data to judge from. I'm not infallible. I make mistakes. That's just the way things are!"
Mandara nodded thoughtfully. "Ah! 'The way things are.' I see."
Captain Malone's eyes widened at the trap she had neatly entered. Furiously she ripped the top off the steaming food and plunged a metal spoon into the yellow-green mound. As Mandara continued, she fixed her gaze rigidly on the heat-cube.
"As you say, Captain, we cannot know everything. For instance, I do not yet know why we were destined to crash here. But I am sure the reason is an important one which I will learn in due course."
Gingerly, the prophet stretched out his left leg and reached for the other tin of food.
"As I alluded earlier, there is no glory in this for me. There is only the Holy One's plan as revealed to all of us. I have had five attempts -- six now -- made against my life since I went a separate way. Still I live while those who plotted against me have either died or been imprisoned. I do not believe anything will stop what has been begun. I have not yet sufficiently spread the news of the Holy One so the movement will survive my death. Perhaps when I have attained that goal..." He shrugged. "But not now."
Frowning, Captain Malone dropped her spoon into the remains of her food. "Don't add this to your list of narrow escapes just yet. Wait until we're safely inside that Patrol ship."
Mandara smiled warmly. "We will be. You can be assured of that."
Despite her irritation, Captain Malone returned that child-like grin. Shaking her head, she stared at her ward. "Yeah. Maybe. But the things you say make you very unpopular with some people, politically and religiously. Anyone who breeds enemies as fast as you do shouldn't be too sure of anything." Pushing herself stiffly erect, she tossed aside the half-empty tin. "I just don't want them to take me with you when you go."
"Yet even my enemies' rebellion increases focus upon the Holy One's words."
The captain looked down upon the dishevelled young man who claimed millions of followers upon a score of worlds. A dozen retorts flashed through her mind. What she did was shrug and turn away.
As she climbed a rock from which to continue her watch, the heavy, throbbing whir of a descending aircraft sliced through the subsiding roar of the dying wind.
With difficulty, Jllywll endeavored to ignore the insistent pain in her left hind leg. Picking a safe path through the boulders and loose rubble of the hillside required all of her frayed concentration. Though it was yet night, Jllywll's large, dark eyes drank in the faint rays of light and kept her on a relatively straight course towards home.
As time slipped inexorably into the past and she trudged incessantly up and down rough, treacherous slopes, the urgency of her mission clamored more loudly inside her. Yet she was doing all she could. Nothing remained for her to give.
Except her life.
The short summer night began to swim into dawn when the erratic, gentled breeze tickled her nostrils with a scent strange to her experience. She raised her furry snout into the air, but the elusive odor hid within the capricious twistings of the wind.
A single, short bark of excitement escaped her throat as hope coursed once again through her veins.
Choosing what seemed a promising direction, she hurried her pace as much as she dared. Though time grew short, her best chance for success lay in conserving her strength. She could not afford a repeat of the boslyn failure. Whatever manner of beast awaited her, she would have to be prepared.
She crept to a halt at the top of a long rise. A faint halo of yellow light glowed dimly beyond another small ridge.
She hesitated at contemplation of a creature which could control fire. Such an ability argued for intelligence and courage possessed by only a few. Her need, however, outstripped her uneasiness. The prospect of confronting fire did not delight her, yet that unknown beast which had tamed it would not come to her. She would have to go to it.
Overriding her misgivings, she pushed onward.
With the practiced ease of a predator, Jllywll wended her way through the tangle of boulders that lay scattered along the narrow depression. Cautiously, she climbed the side of the ridge separating her from her quarry. The alien scent thickened as she sought out the proper location for an attack.
Suddenly she crouched low as an unfamiliar whine split the air above her. Her ears flattened against her skull and her lips parted in a soundless snarl as a huge flying beast with flaming eyes descended to the sun-baked ground.
But beast from the sky or no, Jllywll knew she could not afford further delays.
Hurriedly she pressed on to the point she had selected.
Clutching the laser pistol in her narrow, strong hand, Captain Malone peered over the boulder's edge.
"Damn!" she muttered.
"Problems, Captain?"
"Kill that light!" She chewed on her lips for a moment. "Well, it's not a Patrol ship," she hissed. "Looks like your friends have come to collect the pieces and ensure that yours are among them." Slumping back against the cold stone, she pondered her next move. "Damn!"
"I'm sure if we talk with them they'll see the true path. Let me...try to..."
With a crackling chill darting through her, Captain Malone skittered down the rockface and forced the rising man back to a sitting position.
"Are you crazy?" she asked. "They're here to kill you. And me, too."
"But...that won't happen. I told you that already."
"Sure. And I'm happy for you." She turned and edged up the rock. "But I still intend to get them first."
"But, Captain, you can't murder --"
She whirled on him with one fist clenched and the other waving the pistol. "We'll do this my way. If you don't like it, you can pretend its part of your 'destiny,'" she said. "Personally, I don't care."
After a moment, Mandara nodded and folded his hands in his lap.
Wanting to say more, Margery spun away and struggled for self-control. She would need it for the up-coming battle.
Moving stealthily, she reached a new vantage point as the first pre-dawn glow painted the sky behind her. Four large and obviously armed men from the unmarked craft wandered in seeming randomness between and around the two life capsules.
As one man suddenly called out something unintelligible and knelt to look at the ground, Margery swallowed dryly. The stranger's three partners hurried towards him. The dim rays from the rising sun cast their long shadows in wavering black swaths across the unforgiving rocks.
When the caller pointed at the ground and then in the direction of their cliff-base haven, Margery did not hesitate. In one smooth motion, she aimed and fired.
A piercing, agonized scream lanced the unsteady morning air. The man who had found a sign of his target's passing clutched his abdomen and dropped writhing into the dirt. Without stopping to help him, his three companions scattered.
In quick succession, Margery squeezed off a trio of shots. Her hurried aim accomplished nothing beyond keeping the enemy pinned.
"Captain, I... That man out there. His pain..."
Captain Malone twisted around. "What are doing up here? Don't bother me now!" Turning back to scan the enemy positions, she said, "He knew the risks. Now he's paying for his choice."
Rolling from her position, Margery ran in a half-crouch to another boulder. The hiss and crackle of an energy beamed fried the air where she had just been.
Hitting the ground hard, she drove bits of gravel and dirt into her palms. Suppressing awareness of the sharp signals from her torn flesh, she hunkered down behind her precarious sanctuary.
Her heart beat heavily in her chest, but more from fear and adrenaline than from exertion. Survival training had never included detailed instruction in the techniques of armed combat.
Stretching out along the ground, she shimmied forward. With some trepidation, she poked her head out into firing range.
A clear shot at a man running towards Mandara's hiding spot rewarded her. Holding her breath for an instant, Margery lined the sights of the pistol on the green-clad body, fired, and immediately ducked back as rock splintered near her head and showered down on her. That close call did not prevent her from seeing the man crumple and sprawl forward in a sliding, lifeless heap.
Feeling more confident with the odds halved, she sidled to her right, her pistol raised, and gazed out across the field. To the left reposed the twin escape capsules. Near the one Mandara had ridden, a hint of green flashed incongruously against the brown background. The fourth assassin gave no evidence of his whereabouts.
Licking her parched lips, Margery retreated for a moment to weigh her options. If she could eliminate one of the two remaining men, she doubted the last would linger for a stalemate and the inevitable arrival of a Patrol craft.
Her goal would not be easy to reach. The man she had failed to locate remained an unknown factor. Even the one near the capsule was well hidden.
As the light of the morning sun washed over her, Margery squinted. Bending low she scrutinized the capsules...
...and squinted again as sunlight bounced from the polished curves of steel.
Drawing back, a brief smile flickered across her lips. She slid her gaze from the sun towards the capsule, and then to the pistol in her hand.
"Maybe," she murmured. "Just maybe."
Risky though it was, few good alternatives presented themselves.
Sliding her tongue between her teeth, she glanced at where Mandara still lay propped against a boulder. Her decision followed a moment later.
Quickly stepping out from behind her protection, she held the pistol in both hands and took aim...but not at the rock behind which the killer crouched.
The beam of light from her weapon sizzled through the air towards the capsule. In an instant, it reflected from the shining surface of steel. Though much of the energy was scattered, enough bounced in the proper direction to wring a yelp of astonishment from the supposedly-concealed man.
As he ran towards a more secure position, Margery fired again, her shot taking the doubly startled man in the chest. She wasted no time in diving behind her own rock.
She was not fast enough, however, to escape the burning agony which flared in her leg. The last of the attackers had caught her in the beam of his weapon.
Margery screamed.
Pain unfocussed her eyes as blackness laced her vision. Numbly she dragged herself to greater safety. Sweating, she levered herself up in preparation for the final assault.
Wondering if she were hallucinating, she watched in horrified and stunned disbelief as Mandara the Prophet hobbled from behind the sand-scoured boulder she had nearly died to defend and headed towards his nameless, would-be murderer.
The going had been difficult, but as the first rays of the burning sun flecked the rock around her, Jllywll found herself at the summit of the hill behind her prey. A wide detour had been necessary before she had discovered an accessible ascent. More than once she had winced involuntarily at the alien screams and shouts she had heard reverberating below her.
Yet despite her trembling limbs and the panting labor of her lungs, she had made it. She had made it!
Sitting close to the edge of the cliff separating her from her next meal, Jllywll studied the scene below her.
Two of the creatures lay sprawled among the rocks. For a fleeting moment, she thought of how easily such meat could be taken. But she quietly snorted her disgust at such contemplation. She had never consumed food other than what she or her family had slain. She had not been reduced to eating carrion. At least not while other prey still lived.
Her eyes narrowed as one of the two brown-skinned creatures below her stood and extended its forelegs in front of it in a way Jllywll had never before witnessed. A ray of intense light flashed through the dusty air. A yelp and then, moments later, a scream of pain rang out from a green-skinned animal which had been sitting behind a large rock nestled between a pair of peculiar, shiny, egg-shaped boulders.
As that beast tumbled to its face, a twin to it half-rose from behind a rock to her left and pointed its forelegs at the standing brown-skinned one.
Jllywll shook her head in amazement and trepidation as the beast below her yelled as though impaled by a boslyn and then crashed to the ground. Slowly it dragged itself behind its shelter.
Jllywll's hackles rose in dread as she considered what manner of wondrous creatures could hurt and kill one another across such distances. Such power did not bode well for the success of her own assault.
Though she shuddered at this new and unknown quantity, Jllywll knew she had to face it. And soon. She had no choice; no choice, that is, if she hoped to win food for herself and her family.
With a tingle of anticipation dancing along her spine, she watched as her selected prey -- the brown-skinned one who had not yet moved -- struggled to its feet directly below her and turned to face the last moving green-skinned animal.
Carefully Jllywll gathered her legs beneath her weary body and gauged the distance and angle between her and what would mean life to her family.
The time had come to act.
With streaks of fire racing through her leg, Captain Malone staggered to her feet and limped in Mandara's direction. Whether he was crazy or not, she still had an obligation to protect him.
"Get down, Mandara!" she yelled in voice more croak than shout.
The religious leader half-twisted towards her and raised the palm of his extended left hand.
"Don't worry, Captain. Let me talk to him. He has already seen three of his comrades fall. It will be all right. I do not fear death."
From the corner of her eye, Captain Malone saw a movement of green and spun as best she could, firing sideways as she dove headfirst for shelter.
Her shot missed but accomplished its purpose of rattling its target. The beam intended for Mandara scored the boulder top to his right, sending up a spray of rock shrapnel and dust.
With a cry of pain, Mandara backpedalled awkwardly and clawed at his face. Pulling herself closer to him, Captain Malone saw tiny trickles of glimmering red streaking his face. Lowering his hands, Mandara looked from her to his attacker and then back again.
"You kept me from talking to him! He will understand if I can just --"
"Get down!" she bellowed hoarsely.
Reeling from the pain radiating from the charred hole in her leg, Captain Malone propped her arms on the side of the boulder and dragged herself half-erect.
A frigid dagger of ice slid into her guts as she watched the last assassin advancing not more than ten meters distant. No gloating smile disturbed the granite of his determined, no-nonsense expression.
Margery had no time to think or even to feel. There remained only time to react.
Her pistol and his whipped up and fired simultaneously.
A scream of near terror ripped from her lungs as the stench of burning flesh -- her own -- assailed her nostrils.
Staring at the angry red furrow scoring her right forearm, she felt her weapon clatter to the rocks from her nerveless fingers. Trembling, she collapsed, sitting, to the ground. Waves of white-hot needles jabbed through her brain. Nausea threatened to empty the contents of her roiling stomach.
The world spun dizzingly as she fought to retain a grip upon her slippery consciousness. For the moment, she had no energy for attackers or prophets but only for stabilizing the crumbling remnants of her awareness.
She jerked violently, nearing hysteria, when she felt a hand come to rest upon her shoulder. Her wild eyes locked onto Mandara kneeling before her. A reassuring but sad smile greeted her.
"It's all over, Captain. You killed the other man. We're safe." He licked his lips. "I ache for your pain. I truly do. But..." He stepped back. "I am not destined to die just yet. Too much is left to be done."
Tears welled in Captain Malone's eyes and then flowed through the dust on her cheeks in unsteady tracks. Anger and horror, pain and hatred, relief and joy clashed within her heart as she thought of what the last few hours had dragged her through, what she had been forced to endure and to do. All because of Mandara the Prophet.
She wanted to bellow at him, to devastate him with guilt, to hurt him in any way she could. All she permitted herself was to cry her frustrated rage and to close her eyes to the sight of the man she had agreed to defend.
A minute passed before she forced her eyelids open. No matter about Mandara, she thought doggedly. She had wounds of her own to heal.
Tilting back her head, she stiffened. Some...thing...crouched on the cliff above them, ready to pounce on the back of the unsuspecting Prophet of the Holy One.
"Look out!" Her warning came out as no more than a croak.
As Mandara looked at her with puzzled, furrowed brows, the beast leaped out and down.
Seventy kilos of furred flesh and blood crashed into the Prophet, sending him sprawling. In not much better shape, the animal rose to wobbly legs and glared at the two humans.
Gasping for air, Mandara skittered away from the beast on his buttocks and extended a protective hand.
"No. Not now," he whispered to the wind. "Not yet. Surely my task is not finished." His eyes glistened as his words trailed off into silence. His breath stuttered as his hand scraped across a piece of metal. Glancing down, he spied Captain Malone's pistol. Fumbling frantically, he aimed it at the intruder. Only then did he see the laser's melted barrel, destroyed by the same beam which had hit the captain's arm.
For a long, tense moment, Mandara stared at the now useless weapon. Finally, he exhaled a ragged breath and reverently placed the pistol on the ground at his side. Smiling, he shuddered, closed his eyes, and waited.
Urging on her recalcitrant body and mind, Margery reeled to her feet and searched for the assassin's gun. It lay to her left. Weaving, she headed for it as fast as her abused flesh would go.
"F-fight, Mandara!" she stuttered over her shoulder. "D-don't just sit there. Run. Fight. There's a gun here."
Mandara the Prophet heard no one. Tears streaked his shrunken cheeks. "If it is your will, Holy One, I accept it gladly. I am happy to do what I must."
His last word ended in a sliding, gurgling scream. The beast jumped, sinking its saliva wet fangs into Mandara's throat. Rich blood flowed from ravaged arteries and soaked into the moisture hungry dirt.
The animal shifted position and then buried its sharp teeth into the corded neck muscles of the rapidly cooling corpse. It dragged its burden only a few meters before releasing its dead prey and slowly turning its head as though just remembering the other's presence.
Margery lay stretched on the ground, the enemy pistol in her hands leveled at the beast's chest. Her trembling good arm sought to keep the weapon steady. Warm sunlight bathed her face, and she blinked rapidly to keep her eyes focussed on her target.
The alien killer stared solemnly at her with wide, dark eyes; eyes which spoke of more than mere animal instinct. Understanding shone there; of a primitive level, true, but understanding nonetheless.
Margery shifted her gaze from this gaunt, lean-bellied yet powerful unknown being to the lifeless husk of Mandara the Prophet. His followers would want to recover his body. He would be remembered and buried with all the pomp and majesty of a man who had affected the lives of countless individuals on a myriad of worlds. His lovingly prepared corpse would lie in state for weeks as tens of thousands paid him their last respects.
A timeless moment passed. The quickening wind swirled a lock of dusty red hair across Margery's aching forehead. She blinked once more and then slowly lowered her weapon.
"Go on," she rasped, waving with her good hand. "Take it! Maybe for once he'll do somebody some real good."
The animal (?) stood its ground a moment longer and eyed Margery as though equal to equal. Then with a rumbling growl deep within its chest, it unconcernedly and deliberately turned, sank its teeth into unfeeling flesh, and began to pull. Minutes later it disappeared over a ridge. The rising morning wind howled after it.
Margery stared, unfeeling, at the spot where the creature had gone, her mind devoid of any thoughts or emotions save one: Mandara, too, had misunderstood. The only "have to's" which applied to people were conditional ones. If you want to live, you have to act in certain ways. Those means grow out of the way the world works; those facts you cannot change and need to accept. But the choice of your goals as well as the choice actually to carry out the actions necessary to reach them are ultimately up to you. For people, any decision, any action and end could have been otherwise.
As the whir of the Patrol ship drifted to her and then commenced to pulse louder and louder in her ears, Margery buried her face in the crook of her arm and began to sob, quietly.
Jllywll relished the strange, salty flavor of the blood filling her mouth. It was unusual, but to her it tasted better than that of the fattest boslyn.
As she pulled the carcass into a narrow, shaded ravine to feast and regain some of her strength before pushing on, her thoughts floated to the other creature which had pointed that shiny object at her. No death had crossed the space from it to her, not as it had for the green-skinned ones.
Yet something had passed between her and that other animal in that tense moment, something Jllywll could not quite define or completely comprehend.
It did not matter now, though. She had been successful. Her family would live, and her eldest cub would one day take his place among the leaders of her sparse, scattered people. They would survive for another day, and that was the most important fact.
Other crises, other lean times would come. She would face them as best she could for as long as she could. If she deserved to live, she would. No matter what happened, though, she would never stop trying.
As she commenced to feed, her soul was at peace with itself and her world.
