"Man's Best Friend" - A new story in need of subscriber input!
Dinosaurs! In space!!
Fans of sci-fi and adventure fiction - with or without dinosaurs,
I just got the first rejection for this story. I’m hoping some input from you all can help me tighten this up before I submit again. Please feel free to tear this to pieces with your feedback! (Positive comments are welcome too…)
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"Man's Best Friend"
Rex's head perked up so suddenly that Thomas McCord went from drowsing in front of the small campfire to being fully alert in an instant, hand on the sidearm holstered on his hip. Rex's head cocked from one side to the other as he stared out into the dark, ears shifting position like a radar trying to lock in on the range and bearing of an inbound signal. He then came fully to his feet, tail held out horizontally behind him, shifting sinuously side to side in another sign of alertness building slowly towards agitation.
Tom came to his feet as well, reaching over to grab the long gun he'd propped against his pack before laying down. He circled the fire to come up beside Rex, laying his left hand on his companion's flank and running it up his spine to settle on a shoulder, feeling his companion's tension.
"What do you hear, pal?" Tom whispered to Rex.
Rex cocked his head again in response, glassy eyes reflecting the firelight as he scanned the darkness beyond. He started forward, stalking slowly outward from the fire into the deeper darkness. Tom followed, their hips gently bumping from time to time as they moved side by side away from the soft cracking of the fire and the light that spoiled their vision. After about ten paces, Tom was far enough from the spill of firelight for his eyes to start to adjust to the darkness, which meant Rex's far better night vision would already be able to penetrate dozens of meters into the night. As Rex slowed to a halt, so did Tom, settling his left hand back on a shoulder as his right hand kept the long gun snugged up into his shoulder, finger straight along the trigger guard.
Tom closed his eyes despite his quickly improving night vision and strained to hear whatever had spooked his companion. He could have activated the thermal sight on his rifle, but much of the fauna hereabouts were effectively cold-blooded and wouldn't stand out very much against the ambient temperature.
The climate was part of what made this area so attractive for folks looking to start a new life. The high oxygen content, abundant water, and year-round warm temperatures had made the equatorial zone of the planet a lush and welcoming place for agriculture and husbandry. It was also the natural range of some pretty spectacular predators, one of which might be nosing around just outside the glow from Tom's campfire.
Tom's eyes snapped open as he felt Rex stiffen under his hand, tail freezing straight out behind him and head thrust forward from tense shoulders. Tom's eyes struggled to pierce the darkness, jerking slightly to the left at the harsh, plosive Gah! that came from the darkness, something between a bark and a cough. That single sound set the hair on the back of his neck to prickling as a solid knot of ice formed in his belly.
Rex made a slight whistling sound, little more than a wheeze, not plaintive or afraid, but interrogative sounding. Tom took a deep breath and then whispered, “Go boy!”
Rex bolted off to the left into the darkness instead of leaping forward toward whatever had made that sound. Tom's head snapped to the left in surprise, and he stared blankly after Rex as his low silhouette vanished into the darkness. Another, even closer Gah! sound drew Tom's eyes back to the darkness in front of him. He dropped to a balanced crouch and settled the stock of his rifle into his shoulder pocket, both eyes open as he sighted forward along the barrel.
A crash and a snarl erupted from the darkness to his left, and Tom knew that Rex had taken down a second invisible threat. A moment later, a dark shadow burst out of the blackness in front of him, and Tom shifted his torso slightly to bring the barrel of his rifle in line with the oncoming blur. A smooth, decisive squeeze of the trigger let loose a three-round burst of 10 mm hypersonic slugs that ripped through the center of mass of something he still couldn't see clearly, but stood at least as tall as he did, and possibly twice as wide. The massive figure tumbled to the ground less than ten paces ahead and slid almost far enough for Tom to reach out and touch it with the muzzle of his weapon. Instead, he let loose a second burst to ensure the creature stayed down and then backed off a swift three steps to reestablish his shooter's stance a few meters further back as he continued to stare out into the darkness.
The snarling to his left ended with a hiss and a crash as Rex finished dealing with the other threat. Tom heard three soft but distinct whistles, the all clear from his companion, but kept his rifle snug to his shoulder as he continued to scan the darkness. The sound of measured footsteps drew his eyes back to the left, as the nightmare visage of Rex's dripping blue muzzle came out of the darkness.
Anytime Rex smiled it was intimidating, but even more so when haemocyanin-rich blood still stained his teeth. The massive foreclaw on the longest toe of each foot was also stained blue, likely from deep slashes that had disemboweled his prey. Rex stalked toward Tom's own target and gave it a single nudge with a sickle-shaped ungual, and then turned back to Tom and nodded, grin wide on his snout.
“Very funny,” Tom said. “You knew there were two of them.”
Rex chuffed, a cough not unlike the deeper, more intimidating one that had first come out of the darkness, and then bobbed his head with a breathy whistling sound.
“That one could have gotten me, you big turd,” Tom shook his head in exasperation. “Watch your eyes, dummy,” Tom said. “I'm going to take a look.”
A pale beam shot out from the torch mounted on his rifle, illuminating the dead creature in front of him. It was a soft light, designed not to carry too far or completely ruin night vision, but enough to pierce the darkness out to about fifteen meters. The glow allowed Tom to make out the six-legged monstrosity in front of him, the creature's additional pair of clawed appendages framing an open maw that was more lamprey sucker than jaws.
When it launched itself to attack, it had risen up on its four rear legs, ready to use its front pair to trample its prey, Tom himself, and then grapple with its arm-like, grasping appendages. Then it would have clamped on with that rasping, circular mouth to cause a massive wound that would hemorrhage blood directly into the creature's esophagus.
Fortunately, its natural killing strike also exposed its torso, and Tom's first burst had ripped through the core of its circulatory system and cartilaginous spinal structure. The 10 mm jacketted flechette rounds had penetrated the hide and then expanded inside the creature's soft tissues, releasing a dozen dart-shaped projectiles that blasted massive wound channels and shredded organs, cartilage, and nerves.
Rex chuffed again and nudged Tom with his flank as he passed to stalk back toward the fire. His massive claws clicked softly as his feet hit the ground, and his tail swung jauntily back and forth.
“Of all the Dinos out there, I get one with a sick sense of humor,” Tom muttered under his breath. “Do you think your ancestors were jokers too, big guy,” Tom asked, “or is that a perk of the enhancement package?”
The genetically enhanced dinosaur turned his sinuous neck to look back at Tom, hissing and whistling again. The ancient DNA of deinonychus, with some judicious enhancements, had produced the best balance of intelligence, adaptability, and ferocity to serve as working animals on planets with warm climates and high oxygen levels. They were sought after by scouts like Tom, along with homesteaders who needed protection for their families and livestock.
Dinos like Rex were also, as Tom had discovered, among the pranksters of the enhanced animal kingdom, which made the already unpredictable lives of scouts and colonists even more interesting. They weren't as bad as uplifted chimps, perhaps, who could be downright nasty. Predator-based Dinos had a more spirited temperament than most enhanced Great Apes, which tended to be gentle and even caring and affectionate unless provoked. Enhanced Cetaceans, particularly dolphins, and most Dinos from predator stock were known for their playful nature, even if their usual jokes were sometimes a little on the wild side.
Tom's last contract had been a three-year hitch on a planet that was about two-thirds water and a lot like old Earth overall. It was in the process of quickly becoming the center of aquaculture for the colonies, with oceans that were teeming with life and still mostly unstained by the impact of humans. That made for especially lucrative work, along with access to the best gear and perks.
An uplifted dolphin called Dan, named after some old Earth athlete, had been Tom's companion then. Like most dolphins, Dan had a habit of squirting water in Tom's face when he wasn't paying attention or dunking him when they swam along the surface together. It was always hilarious to the dolphins, but it tended to get old for humans after a while.
Dan had also gotten Tom out of one of the worst fixes he'd ever been in. He was out taking soundings and mapping shoals, reefs, and local currents around a developing aquafarm when his skimmer had crapped out completely with a storm rolling in.
Ships were still getting caught off guard by storms and rogue currents back on old Earth, and that was after centuries of the oceans and their peccadilloes being mapped by sailors going back to the age of sail and beyond. On an entirely new planet, everyone expected to be surprised on a regular basis. That was why his skimmer had been designed to hide from any storm it couldn't outrun by submerging a few dozen meters and waiting out the worst of it. With no power, though, Tom and his skimmer stood little chance of riding things out on the surface.
Dan insisted that he had a plan, so Tom had slipped into his drysuit and strapped on his rebreather. The dolphin had taken him down to over thirty meters, just below the effects of the storm, and then towed him all the way back to the farm, pausing every ten minutes or so to go up to the storm-tossed surface for a breath or two. They'd arrived ten hours later after Dan had pulled Tom almost a hundred kilometers. Even then, the dolphin still wouldn't leave him, despite the other humans and companions who had welcomed them in shock, hours after giving up Tom for dead when the skimmer’s beacon had disappeared. It had taken another ten hours for Tom to slowly surface and decompress, with rest stops every few meters. Dan had stayed with him the whole time, except when he needed to take a breath himself.
Tom had made it through the last six months of that tour, but even with his connection to Dan, he couldn't bring himself to re-up. He'd gotten into the water a few more times after that incident, mostly for repair jobs around the farm. The one time he'd needed to dive out in the open water, he'd been able to force himself to do it, but barely. He also spent the next few hours after the dive huddled in the skimmer cockpit waiting for his tremors to subside.
At the three-month mark, he’d finally had to put in his notice. He jumped off the rig to have a talk with Dan, trying to explain how being out there in the open water made him feel since that day. And Dan had understood, or so it seemed. With a few clicks and whistles he’d said, “Sometimes, too much water.” Then he pressed his bottle nose into Tom’s hand for a few seconds before slowly swimming away. Of course, as soon as Tom climbed back up onto the rig, he turned to the sound of a playful squeal and caught a squirt of water in the face. It just never got old for them.
He had about six months left on this tour too. He’d have to make a similar decision, stay or go, and it likely wouldn’t be any easier. Rex had been watching over him for two and half years, and aside from taking perverse pleasure in occasionally life-threatening pranks, he was also the closest thing Tom had to a friend on this world or any other.
“Just for that, you have to keep watch while I get some sleep,” Tom said to Rex airily. Rex snorted back and bumped him with his hip as they walked back toward the fire.
“I know, you're always on watch anyway, pal,” Tom responded. He slapped the big reptile on the flank and rubbed back and forth along the pebbly skin of his companion's hide. “And don't eat too much of those things. You know the ones with blue blood give you gas.” They'd worry about the carcasses tomorrow, in the light. For the remaining few hours of darkness, the smell of blood from two octaprey, one of the planet's natural apex predators, was likely to keep anything else nasty away instead of attracting scavengers.
Rex snorted again and made that same hissing, whistling sound, his own version of a chuckle. He was still wheezing softly when Tom sat back down on his bedroll and activated the mild repulsion field that would keep any rain off his head for the night. The life of a scout had its perks, beyond the genetic engineering that had brought back and uplifted species like deinonychus.
Rex plopped down next to Tom like he usually did, flank pressed up against him and tail curled around his body, with his head turned away from the fire and pointing out into the darkness, wary of anything that might come for them out of the night. Tom made sure the field covered them both to keep the rain off, and let himself fall asleep.
They finished their rounds in the early afternoon the next day, after taking some time to track the octaprey and see if there was a bigger pack or lair nearby. Rex found plenty of sign, enough to know this part of the homestead overlapped the range of a pack, but not enough to be of immediate concern. They placed the last of the perimeter posts they'd been contracted to set up, and then Tom turned his ground-effect bike back toward the cluster of buildings that more than fifty colonists called home.
The ten-kilometer trip back to the homestead only took about twenty minutes, despite the uneven terrain. The sensor grid must have been working as intended, because by the time they pulled through the main gate a half-dozen children and even a few adults had gathered to welcome them. To be honest, they were all more excited to see Rex, and that joker started preening and hamming it up before the gate had closed. By the time Tom had plugged his bike into the community power port to charge, Rex had a five- or six-year-old girl astride his back, his arms tucked in tight so that she could grasp them to hang on, while the rest of the kids clambered for their turn as he trotted around the yard.
Tom shook his head as he aimed for the longhouse, the first building that had been raised on the homestead. It now served as the meeting house, infirmary, storehouse, and whatever else the colonists needed since their individual homes had been built. A beautiful, dark-haired young woman, just into her twenties from what he could tell, met him on the steps. Colonial living could age someone quickly, but she still retained a youthful glow, while her fit figure showed the benefits of hard work and healthy living.
“Miss Hoffman,” Tom said with a tip of his hat. “Is your father inside?”
“Yes, Mr. McCord,” the young woman replied. “He's expecting you. And please, you know you can call me Louisa,” she continued.
“Well, I can't call you Louisa if you keep calling me Mr. McCord,” he replied with a smile. “It just wouldn't be fair. To me,” he said.
“Okay,” she responded with her own smile, “Tom.”
“Better,” Tom said as he stepped past to open the door for her. “Are you joining us while we go over the system?”
“Of course,” she said. “Daddy's been fiddling with it since you left and still hasn't figured it out. If I don't keep an eye on them all, they'll break the darn thing in a week.”
Tom chuckled as he followed Louisa into the great room of the longhouse. The building had started as one big room where the original colonists had all lived together as they put down the first foundations of the homestead. It had since been partitioned off into different spaces for use by the community. The great room could still fit all twenty or so adults in the community easily, and the ceiling stretched up a good five meters to the central beam of the peaked roof. Along the far wall, Louisa's father and two other men huddled around a new console.
“Tom,” a tall, broad shouldered man with brown hair going to gray said from across the room. “Good to have you back. I hope things went as planned.”
“Ran into a couple octaprey last night, Mr. Hoffman,” Tom responded, hearing a soft, sharp intake of breath from Louisa. “All good other than that.”
All three men, Jonas Hoffman and the other two elders of this group of colonists, were now focused on Tom. “How close were they?” Jonas asked. “We've had trouble before, but only well away from the homestead.”
“We were ten klicks out, where we placed the twelfth marker,” Tom explained. “That also put us about ten klicks from the route you all usually take on the way to Landfall, on the far side of the river. So that's reassuring. Rex and I scouted quite a bit further out in that area and saw some sign, but no evidence there's a lair close to the actual perimeter.”
Tom walked over to the console the men were gathered around and adjusted a few settings to bring a map up on the screen. “It was about here,” Tom said, pointing at the screen. “There wasn't much sign inward of that point, but I can't rule out a pack ranging that far from time to time. We left the carcasses there and spread some of the blood further around the area. Octaprey are smart enough to know that if something killed two of their kind, the area is worth avoiding.”
“You killed two of them?” Lousia asked, clearly unsettled. “I hate those things.”
“Well, I only got one,” Tom said with a rueful chuckle. “Rex got the other. And I agree that they're pretty unpleasant. A thousand explored systems, a couple dozen habitable planets, and this one happens to have something that looks like a cross between a lamprey and a tarantula and has the size and disposition of a grizzly bear.”
Louisa shivered in revulsion, and Tom noticed the three men around him were looking at him with something between respect and awe. The attention made him feel awkward, and so he focused everyone back on the console.
“Well, with the perimeter up now, you will have more than enough warning of anything that big heading this way—any animal over about thirty kilos, and definitely other people. They will even be able to differentiate humans from local fauna or your own livestock, in case you get any unplanned visits from poachers or other unsavory folks. Let's take a look,” Tom gestured as he started walking them through the sensor network he'd spend the past week setting up.
“With thirteen pylons around a perimeter just under sixty-three klicks, that gives you redundancy,” Tom explained. “You can lose any one sensor and still have overlapping coverage. If you lose two next to each other that will create a gap, so don't wait too long to fix it. I'll be back in a month, after the system has some time to map the area, and I'll take some of your people with me to do the first month's maintenance check. You've picked a few folks for that? At least two, I suggest, but more can’t hurt.”
“Yes,” Jonas replied. “Louisa understands this kind of tech better than any of us. She'll help maintain the base station, and will also join those trips when repairs are needed.” He nodded to his daughter, and then gestured to the two men with him. “Michael and Walter will both learn also, as will their eldest sons.”
The taller of the two men spoke up, “It's important that the future leaders of the community get this kind of experience,” he said, as the shorter man next to him nodded along. Neither so much as glanced at Louisa to acknowledge her presence, and Tom had an idea who they thought the future leaders of the homestead happened to be; it probably didn't include the young lady in their midst. He stifled a laugh as she rolled her eyes.
“That's good. Lots of redundancy,” he continued. “You need people who can turn a wrench as much as you need someone who really understands the system.” Tom doubted they caught his meaning, but he noticed Louisa was now hiding a small grin of her own. “I've found that it isn't even the sensors you generally have to worry about. It's usually the solar panels that go down first.”
“Is it because of solar radiation levels, or something else?” Louisa asked. The three older men with her seemed confused by her question.
Tom continued to explain, “Every system does have slightly different wavelengths and radiation levels coming from their primary. And yes, that will have some effect, because the factory settings are calibrated to old Earth standard, and won't optimize the photovoltaic reaction here. I did what I could to calibrate them, but they'll need adjusting again after the first month, for sure.”
“That doesn't really explain why the panels would actually go offline, though,” Louisa said, still trying to figure out what she was missing.
“Think about the temperature,” Tom prompted, while she continued to mull it over, and all three men stayed silent, clearly out of their depth.
Louisa sucked in a quick breath and held it for a moment, clearly having come to a realization. “That's right,” she said thoughtfully. “The temperature is higher than a similar latitude on old Earth, which means faster degradation of the panel layers. But still, there are hotter places on Earth with massive solar farms,” she continued, musing to herself. “It's the O2 levels, right?" She asked. “Higher temperature and higher oxygen levels mean the panel layers could oxidize faster, and fail sooner than they would on Earth.”
“Exactly,” Tom said with a smile. “You'll have to keep an eye out for discoloration and lowered efficiency. Those are your best clues a panel is going bad and needs to be reconditioned or replaced.” Tom turned to include the three men, “That's the most critical stuff, then. You have the full coverage system, which I believe you can be confident in. I'd be surprised if any octaprey make an appearance anytime soon, and you'll be able to detect any visitors—wanted or unwanted—ten to fifteen klicks out once the system is fully calibrated. Any other questions or concerns?”
“Not at all, Tom,” Jonas said. “You've been a great help, as usual. And I know the children will be chattering about Rex until we see you again in a month.”
“Yes, I'm sure he'll be excited to come back too,” Tom said with a laugh. “He loves the attention, the big drama queen.”
Tom pretended not to notice Lousia planting an elbow in her father's ribs as they all headed toward the door.
“You know, Tom,” Jonas said, at his daughter's insistent gesture. “We're having a celebration in a few days, if you care to stay with us a little longer. It will soon be ten years since we first arrived here to start building our new home. You've been helping us for years now, and you're welcome to join us.”
“Oh, well, that's um…,” Tom felt himself blushing and stumbled over his reply. “I'd really love to, Mr. Hoffman, but I'm supposed to be in Landfall the day after tomorrow to start my next job. I was hoping to get a few klicks behind me today, and um…”
Jonas Hoffman took on a stern look, one that allowed Tom a glimpse of the man who'd led his family and six others across the light-years to an untamed planet to start a new life. Louisa happened to be mirroring that look as well, and Tom realized then just how much she took after her father. He also realized he might find himself in trouble if he didn't navigate this situation properly. The problem was that he had no idea whether staying or running away was the right choice for a long, healthy life.
“Now, Tom,” Jonas said, voice as stern as his look, “You wouldn't insult us by denying our offer of hospitality after you've done so much for us, would you?” A quick glance at Louisa, and what Tom assumed was a slight glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes, made it clear there was really only one right answer here.
“No, Mr. Hoffman,” Tom said, noting Louisa's smile out of the corner of his eye. “I do have a commitment in Landfall,” he continued, seeing Louisa's lips draw into a flat line. “I'm sure you can appreciate that, but I guess I don't have to leave today. Perhaps I could stay for dinner tonight and get an early start in the morning?”
Jonas nodded in acceptance, even though Louisa was now staring daggers at her father. He was clearly ready to accept the compromise and take yes for an answer, even if his daughter had other ideas about how long Tom should stay. “Yes, that sounds like a reasonable way to let us show our appreciation and let you honor your commitment. I can't fault your work ethic, Tom. Please, join my family for dinner tonight. We'll be happy to have you join us. Louisa too, of course, since she rarely eats at home anymore,” he said with a knowing smile. Louisa blushed just a bit herself, probably realizing that everyone noticed how unsubtle she had been.
“Thank you, Mr. Hoffman,” Tom replied. “I'm honored. I don't get a lot of home cooked meals. I'll just go get cleaned up and make sure Rex hasn't eaten anyone he shouldn't have.” Tom hoped that he'd finally be able to disengage and run for cover.
Before he could make it out the door, he heard Jonas say, “We'll see if we can get a lot more home cooking in you, Tom.”
Tom let momentum carry him outside, despite the blush he could feel climbing up his face to his hairline. He looked toward the crowd of kids Rex was entertaining and gave a sharp whistle. Rex turned his sinuous neck to look in Tom's direction and chirped in response. The Dino gently knelt to let a small boy slide off his back, and then clicked his teeth together rapidly to pretend to scare the children away. The kids scattered, screaming with glee, as Rex trotted over to Tom.
“I think I'm in trouble, buddy,” Tom said to his companion. “I'm pretty sure I'm being hunted.”
Rex cocked his head to the side in curiosity as they walked towards the common bunkhouse together. Tom cast a quick look over his shoulder to see Louisa standing on the longhouse porch watching them walk away. Rex followed Tom's look with one eye and then turned forward again, hissing in laughter.
“Shut up, you turd,” Tom said. Rex bumped him hard with his hip, clicking his jaws together twice. “No, I don't think I have much of a choice in the matter either.”
Tom wasn't entirely surprised at how forward the Hoffmans seemed to be, even though he was probably a good fifteen years Louisa's senior, subjective time. Some of the groups who'd left old Earth for the colonies were very protective and selective about who was allowed to get close. Many had left specifically to get away from the influences and outsiders they couldn't avoid on an overcrowded planet.
Others were more practical. Life in the colonies was hard, and if you found someone who could contribute to the group, it was worth the effort to draw them in. Things like age, culture, and religion mattered less to many of those trying to make things work in new worlds. For many reasons, age in particular had become very fungible, with the way interstellar travel and time spent in cryo could widen the difference between objective years and one's subjective, physical age.
This was the kind of thing he'd generally tried to avoid in the past, and he had decidedly mixed feelings about that changing. He was just more comfortable out in the wild somewhere than he was fitting in with people, and especially dealing with women. If it wasn't anything serious, like crossing paths with another scout or a brief, chance encounter with someone during a holiday back in civilization, he could handle it. Louisa seemed like someone who wanted more. That would either make it very easy or very hard when he had to make a decision to stay or go in a few months.
Tom woke up refreshed, having eaten and slept better than he had in a very long time. Normally, he felt restless any time he was surrounded by more than a dozen people, but dinner last night had been pleasant. A few other families, about a quarter of the community, had joined the Hoffmans. Rex had clearly enjoyed keeping the children entertained, while Tom sat with the adults, including Louisa, for a relaxing meal of fresh food entirely grown by the community.
In a way, there were two different colonial expansions occurring. One was driven by megacorporations seeking profit from the extractables available in a dozen new solar systems. The other was for families and communities like this seeking freedom from the toxic congestion of old Earth, where the only way to feed everyone was fully industrialized agriculture and food processing.
This community raised much of the livestock once found on farms on Earth centuries before, grew many crops from Earth that had found the biome here compatible, and supplemented those familiar foods with things only found on this planet. It wasn't that Tom had tasted anything truly unfamiliar last night—he'd been living on this pastoral planet for more than two years. But the combination of locally produced food instead of field rations and the warm company had triggered a sense of comfort he hadn't really felt since he'd enlisted in the Colonial Marines and left his own family on Earth two decades subjective earlier.
Tom spent most of the evening sitting next to Louisa and had been mildly surprised at the occasional approving looks from her parents as she'd edged closer and closer on the bench. By the end of the meal, they were hip to hip, and she was force feeding Tom something called sweet potato pie, which he'd never tasted while still living on old Earth.
He had also walked Louisa home to her new house. It was modest dwelling by the standards of a community with many large families, but one suited to the first of a new generation of unattached adults coming of age on the homestead. Tom had actually claimed that Rex was walking her home, and he was just chaperoning them, to the knowing smiles of her parents and a few jeers from her younger siblings. It had all been very domestic—something he definitely wasn't used to.
Tom had kissed her goodnight, and then Louisa had kissed him back even more thoroughly. He'd politely but regretfully declined her invitation to stay the night, promising he would stay the next time he visited, if she still wanted him to. She accepted that with a soft smile and no pouting or drama, which almost made him reconsider on the spot. Still, he decided it was best to be a gentleman now and lessen his chances of being run off the homestead by an angry crowd sometime in the future.
Louisa had been there to see them off as Tom emerged at dawn from the bunkhouse set aside for farmhands and visiting workers. Her father had been there as well, and Jonas had smiled slightly when Tom had openly kissed her goodbye. Jonas had also firmly shaken his hand, and then he'd slipped Tom a hundred local credit tip for his work on the homestead over the past week.
Tom started to think his chances of surviving his next visit in a month were higher than he first assumed. Rex, in his usual mischievous manner, had also pushed in close to Louisa to demand a goodbye, and she'd dutifully kissed him on the snout. That had made Tom feel almost as warm as the kiss he'd received.
Tom also promised to watch for more octaprey sign on the way out, and even thin them out further if the opportunity presented itself. He wasn't prepared to eliminate an entire apex predator from the area and throw the ecosystem out of balance, but he could at least discourage them from getting too close to the homestead.
Now they were already about thirty kilometers past the newly emplaced perimeter of the homestead after a couple hours of travel. Tom hoped to make it more than halfway to Landfall today. Keeping this pace for another six or seven hours would make it possible for them to arrive well before dark tomorrow. That way he could avoid a late start to their next job and a contract penalty. Rex had eaten an entire goat last night to fuel his enhanced metabolism for the run today, and Tom had another strapped to the back of his bike for his companion's dinner tonight.
He also hadn't been very worried by the limited octaprey sign they'd come across. They were out there, but the sparseness of the tracks and spoor indicated this area was at the outer edge of their range. The Hoffmans and their community would have plenty of warning from the sensor perimeter, which was designed to detect anything larger and more threatening than a child.
Tom slowed his bike as he spotted a curl of smoke well off to the side of their direction of travel. He and Rex had just reached the outer border of the homestead's claim, even though they'd left the perimeter and its sensors behind some time ago. This planet had especially generous homesteading policies and granted a ten by ten kilometer parcel to every man, woman, and child willing to try to start a producing farm or ranch. That gave the more than fifty people on the Hoffman homestead in excess of five thousand square kilometers of combined territory as their claim, and each new baby added to the total.
It wasn't the broad haze or thick column of smoke that indicated a wildfire. It had the look of a controlled source—a cook fire or chimney, perhaps even something industrial. Whoever this fire belonged to was either just inside or just outside the homestead border, and that set off alarm bells in Tom's mind. Maybe there was an innocent explanation for the fire, but it was well off the most direct route between Landfall and the homestead, as if avoiding potential traffic. No one else had established any claims in this area, to Tom's knowledge. Tom had only spotted it because of the meandering route he and Rex had taken in tracking octaprey sign as they traveled.
Someone squatting, poaching, or prospecting this close to another's claim was either asking for trouble, or meant trouble themselves. There was simply too much open land to claim, or hide away in, to bother crowding potential neighbors. Tom was too far from the homestead to contact them directly to warn them, and if he linked up to a comm satellite in orbit, it would be like throwing up a flare. Anyone with ill intent was undoubtedly monitoring communications in the area to watch out for someone close enough to report their presence.
“Well, buddy,” Tom said to Rex. “I guess we're going to take a little detour. Let's circle around and come in from the direction of Landfall. That will be more innocuous if they spot us. Go ahead and take the lead. I'll be right behind you.”
Rex moved off swiftly but quietly in the general direction of Landfall, but started to curve his course so that he'd eventually lead Tom back to the source of the smoke. Tom powered down his bike to almost a walking pace, keeping the noise to a minimum. After about twenty minutes of coasting slowly along, he caught a glimpse of Rex that was clearly intentional, given the Dino’s ability to disappear into his surroundings. Rex gave him two exaggerated nods, the signal for ‘contact’ ahead, and Tom pulled his bike over to a thick patch of brush to provide some concealment and dismounted.
Tom followed Rex as he picked his way up a gentle incline, and they both stayed low as they approached a small copse of trees and underbrush. The trees were a common species in this part of the planet, standing about ten meters high. They had narrow, flexible trunks and arching branches that split into many thin, green tendrils that formed spirals as they dangled and almost brushed the ground. Like old Earth, green was the dominant color of plant life, with photosynthesis following a similar chemical pathway, and the spiral was a common characteristic of both plants and animals on the planet because of the strength and versatility it offered as a structural element.
Tom eased carefully into the tree cover, careful to stop when he could see through to the other side without disturbing the hanging fronds to an observer watching from that direction. As he peered through the foliage, he saw why Rex had stopped here. The source of the fire was hidden in a depression on the far side of this ridgeline, but another cluster of trees similar to the one he hid within caught his attention.
He could see at least two figures partially hidden by the dangling branches and tendrils. It was a perfect spot for an observation post to cover the approach from this direction. If the two had a little more discipline, Tom might not have spotted their occasional movement or the flashes that he assumed came from the sun reflecting off the scopes of their weapons, or if they were really slacking, the screens of their readers as they entertained themselves instead of keeping watch.
Regardless, anyone that doubled up sentries in an OP probably meant business. Tom had no doubt there were others watching different approaches to the depression and whatever was going on there. It also meant he would have little chance of getting too much closer himself, at least in daylight. He considered using one of the other tools in his scouting gear, an aerial drone that looked a lot like one of the local, bird-like species, but he assumed a cautious group like this would be scanning for such things.
Fortunately, he had an even better option. Tom pulled a small harness from his pack and reached over to strap it snugly on Rex's head. It contained a camera along with a few other scanners in different wavelengths. They were all passive and gave off little more of an electronic signature than the natural electromagnetic field of an animal Rex's size. Given that Rex came from the stock of one of the most capable hunters ever to evolve on old Earth, Tom was betting on the Dino getting close enough for a good look without being spotted.
“You know the drill, boy,” Tom whispered to Rex. “No heroics. Just close enough for a good view and then come on back.” He scratched Rex behind his ear holes, digging in with his thumb hard enough to get a contented, but terrifying smile in return. Then Rex slunk backwards through underbrush and moved off on his reconnaissance. Times like this reminded Tom just how deadly Rex really was. He doubted he'd spot the creature again until Rex returned, and knowing the big joker, he'd try to sneak up on Tom and scare him just for fun.
Tom pulled himself deeper into the cover of the trees and their dangling, spiraling fronds. If this group was as professional as he suspected, a mobile patrol was also part of their security plan, and he wanted concealment from all sides. He also pulled out another little piece of gear that he often used when on wildlife surveys.
The same repulsion field he used to keep the rain off when sleeping outdoors could be adjusted to work at the gaseous level, which would keep his scent masked from anything with a more sensitive nose than a human. The tech had originally been developed by the military to protect against chemical attacks and airborne biological agents. The field wouldn't prevent physical objects from passing through on this setting, so it wouldn't distort the natural movements of the foliage in the breeze. It essentially put Tom in his own little bubble of air for the time being. It let small molecules like O2 and CO2 transpire so that Tom could breathe normally, but kept volatile organics with molecular weights over about one hundred daltons from crossing the barrier.
He'd once spent several days in a hide surrounded but undetected by a massive herd of large and skittish, six-legged herbivores that filled a similar ecological niche to the bison of North America. The colonial government had commissioned his survey to learn how to prevent what had happened to the bison, while also exploring their suitability for domestication as livestock and a source of meat. The tatanka sexus burger was already becoming a thing on the planet. He had used the repulsion field then too, and only had to worry about his own stench after several days unable to move more than a meter in any direction. Today, the field should conceal him if the group had guard dogs or other animals with good noses as a part of their security plan.
He settled in to wait, laying prone to keep the OP and the depression beyond in view, but avoiding silhouetting himself among the trees. He drew his sidearm and spent a few minutes adjusting the settings just in case things went wrong. Unlike his rifle, which magnetically accelerated 10 mm slugs to hypersonic speeds, and thus was far from a covert weapon, his pistol was more versatile. Tom first screwed a long cylinder onto the barrel. Then he ejected the current magazine containing standard, all-purpose self-defense rounds. He used those more often because of their loud report than any other particular benefit, as they were good for warning shots to keep curious wildlife away.
He swapped in a magazine of subsonic antipersonnel rounds. These wouldn't be louder than a snapping twig when fired with the suppressor attached. Against an unarmored target, they'd hit with enough stopping power to put most average humans down with one or two shots to the center of mass. Against an armored opponent, the softer composite that formed the body of the bullet might be stopped, but a much smaller and denser penetrator of tungsten could still punch through all but mil-spec armor plate. And if things got really complicated, he had two extra twenty round magazines of military grade, armor piercing rounds as well. Those weren't standard issue for colonial scouts any more than the subsonic rounds were, but being a former Marine had its perks.
Tom's caution was rewarded when he saw two more men walking toward the OP that Rex had spotted. They were walking in the open and one called out to the sentries in the OP in a voice that was audible even to Tom a good fifty meters away. This group may have been exercising basic security discipline, but they were also clearly letting their professionalism lapse. He considered following these two on their patrol, since they would probably reveal any other sentries in hiding as well. But Tom knew it was smarter to let Rex do the sneaking.
Another ten minutes passed after the patrol moved on, making it nearly thirty since Rex had set out. Tom heard a soft click to his left and his heart rate spiked as he saw, out of the corner of his eye, a wickedly long, sickle-shaped claw poised a few centimeters from his shoulder, just peaking out from behind the tree trunk next to him. He traced his eyes up the trunk to see Rex's monstrous grin sticking out from behind the trunk as well, head bobbing up and down slightly as he silently hissed with laughter.
“Turd,” Tom said under his breath, causing another burst of inaudible hissing laughter. He wormed his way back from his observation position so that he could put more of the trees between himself and anyone from the other group. Rex softly slid down next to him so they could put their heads together.
“Okay, buddy,” Tom said, reaching out to gently tap his reader against the input/output port on the camera harness Rex wore, initiating a direct transfer that couldn't be detected more than two or three meters away. He pulled the footage up on his reader, splitting the screen to show a map of the area Rex had scouted on the bottom half and the captured video on top.
Rex had circled the entire area first, spotting three more two-person OPs, which he'd also marked on the map by triggering the waypoint function with a click of his jaws. He'd then ghosted up over the ridgeline and down far enough into the depression for a clear view of what was going on. He'd paused for a good five minutes to get a steady recording of the activity taking place down there. Tom was not thrilled by what he saw.
A ship was parked down there, larger than an orbital shuttle, and just edging into the size of an intersystem courier or light freighter. There were a dozen people going about various tasks below, mostly men but a few women, all armed. They had a small assembly forge set up, which explained the smoke, and could have been doing anything from machining spare parts for their ship to printing tools and farm equipment. They weren't, though, and a cold feeling settled in the pit of Tom's stomach as he watched.
The group was printing and assembling cages, which could very well have meant they were poachers here to collect exotic wildlife for the interstellar black market. That would have been bad enough, but from the figures moving up and down the ship’s ramp, Tom knew this group had other ideas. There were a handful of humans wearing ragged clothing and shock collars around their necks dragging supplies down the loading ramp. There were also a few uplifted Great Apes, one orangutan and two chimpanzees, that had been caught on the five minutes of video doing other menial tasks. They also wore shock collars as they worked, and the video had picked up an almost inaudible growl coming from Rex as he watched and recorded. He did not like what he was seeing either.
As Rex continued to record, three ground effect vehicles came down the loading ramp of the small freighter. They were four seaters, and Tom assumed that the cargo beds of two of them could carry two each of the cages that were being assembled. The third had a large, crew-served weapon mounted at a gunner's station in the cargo bed, but could still likely fit one more cage. Tom couldn't see enough detail to identify the weapon, whether it was a mag autocannon—an upgunned version of his own mag rifle—or an old Earth heavy machine gun. Either way, it was more firepower than anyone else had on planet except the single platoon of Colonial Marines stationed in Landfall.
These were slavers, and they were well equipped for it. Human trafficking had followed humanity out to the stars, along with an illegal trade in uplifted animal companions. There was a lot of money being made in providing ‘workers’ for illicit asteroid mines and other high-risk jobs, where disposable labor was cheaper than providing robotic equipment and paying good wages for the expertise to use and maintain it. There were even worse fates too, as sexual slavery had also followed humanity out to the colonies, and gotten even harder to interdict than it had been back on old Earth.
After five minutes of recording, Rex had slunk about a third of the way around the depression to get another view of the site, showing the far side of the encampment and ship. He only recorded for another two minutes, hopefully long enough to prevent any nasty surprises from something the first view didn’t show, before looping back around to link up with Tom.
As he sat there silently digesting the recording, Tom made a few notes on the map and scrolled back and forth to get a good sense of the terrain. The depression hiding the encampment had fairly steep, but climbable ridgelines on opposite sides. It backed up to an escarpment that was likely not climbable without equipment. The ship was parked in its shadow, which probably helped conceal it from overhead observation. The far end of the depression descended gently through a narrow gap between the two ridgelines toward the low-lying land that abutted the river that formed one boundary of the Hoffman claim, about three klicks distant.
There was only one reason for slavers to have set down here, only one target nearby that could interest them, and only one purpose for those cages. The thought of the Hoffmans and their community, especially Louisa and all of those children, ending up in those cages made the pit in Tom's gut go from ice cold to incendiary.
As a member of the Colonial Scout Corps, he carried a law enforcement deputy's privileges as a part of his commission. Usually, that meant little more than mediating the occasional dispute between homesteads, or dealing with drunk and disorderly behavior in a frontier town. The worst he'd handled so far had been a few domestic abuse cases, which were hard enough to deal with when the victims often struggled to accept that they didn’t have to put up with the abuse.
This was on a whole different level, and it was his other skills he intended to make use of today. In addition to his five-year hitch in the Marines, he'd had to make plenty of life-or-death decisions as a scout. Sometimes you had no choice but to burn out a hive of virulent pests that threatened a homestead's entire crop, or eliminate a pack of predators that had gotten too comfortable raiding human settlements. Both analogies fit here.
“Okay, pal,” Tom said, leaning close to Rex. “We have to do something. At the rate they're assembling those cages, we might have an hour or so before they're ready to go. I don’t think we can wait for nightfall. They'll be on the move before then, even if they plan to hit the homestead after dark.” Tom was typing away on his reader while he talked. “They can't know about the perimeter, since we just installed it. Even so, that would only give the Hoffmans ten or fifteen minutes to prepare, and there's too much firepower down there for them to handle.” He looked into Rex's glassy eyes, and thought he saw his own rage reflected back at him. “We’ll do what we can, but we still need to give the Hoffmans a chance in case we fail.”
Based on how much progress the slavers had made assembling the first of five cages, Tom figured there was about an hour before they were ready to go. Even if he broke comm silence to bounce a signal off a satellite to the Marines in Landfall, it would take them a few hours to get mobilized and arrive in force. Assuming the scum down below detected the signal, they might kick off their raid early. He also couldn’t risk running all the way back to warn the Hoffman homestead himself. Whatever preparation time that might give them, and whatever he might be able to add to their defense, he’d risk losing track of three mobile elements and ceding the initiative to the bad guys.
He finished hacking away on his reader, and then leaned in to put his arm around Rex’s neck as he tapped the reader against the I/O port on Rex’s harness. “I need you to get a message back to the Hoffmans. This will bounce to the Marines in Landfall, too,” he whispered softly into Rex's ear. “The perimeter pylons can pick up a transmission like this at about ten klicks, which means you only have to get halfway back. Give it three clicks of your jaw, and it’ll send. If you don’t feel the vibration from the return bounce, just go another kilometer closer and try again.” Rex gave a plaintive whine at the instructions. Tom took a deep breath and continued, “You’re faster than me, pal, even if I’m on the bike. You know that—you can cover twenty klicks each way in less than an hour, easy. Get there and back as soon as you can. I’ll hold off as long as I can, but I might need to kick things off before you get back. If you hear trouble, come in hard and fast.”
Rex scooted closer to Tom and nudged him with his snout, pressing it up against Tom’s temple. “I’ll be fine, buddy. Just remember that we have friendlies down there. Don’t eat anyone you aren’t supposed to…” Rex snorted and bumped his snout against Tom one more time, hissing softly as he rolled up to his feet. In seconds he was gone.
Tom pulled open his pack and started making his own preparations. He swapped out the magazine in his mag rifle, replacing his usual jacketed flechette rounds good for pesky wildlife with more of the perks of his time in the Marines—some very illegal armor piercing incendiary rounds and the advanced, high-density capacitor to go along with them. The bullpup rifle placed the heavy magazine, with both capacitor and rounds, inside the buttstock and thus deep into the shoulder pocket to improve a shooter's slew to target and stability for better accuracy. He also strapped a small cylinder, about five by fifteen centimeters, to the aerial drone he’d avoided using before.
Without Rex around to get eyes-on for him, Tom started moving slowly toward the edge of the depression to keep track of the slavers. He worked his way toward the OP closest to the escarpment on this side of the encampment, never rising from a low crawl. In the time it took him to get into position, hidden in a thick patch of brush, things had progressed further than he’d hoped down below. Four cages were already loaded in the back of two of the vehicles, and the humans and primates they had enslaved were being forced to load up the fifth into the back of the vehicle with the big gun. It had only been about forty minutes, and he was already out of time.
Tom pulled out his reader and tapped a few quick commands before tucking it away and securing the mag rifle tightly across his back. He drew his sidearm and set himself, waiting. A few minutes later, he heard voices having a quiet conversation as they walked past his current position. He had taken a big chance on the continued lack of discipline from the slavers. Yes, they put out OPs and roving patrols, but they also kept those patrols to a regular schedule and didn’t enforce sound, light, or movement discipline with their sentries.
After one final tap on the reader tucked into his pocket, he thumbed the safety off on his weapon. In a smooth motion, he rose to a balanced stance and squeezed the trigger twice, putting a single suppressed round into the base of the skull of the two members of the roving patrol. They both dropped like puppets whose strings had been cut. Tom sprinted forward past the falling bodies, set himself again and fired twice more into the cluster of trees less than ten meters away. He stalked forward and put two more shots into the partially hidden bodies, just in case. He took a knee, hidden by the drooping, spiraling fronds, and waited for a few more moments.
A few seconds later, the aerial drone he’d programmed shot up into the air from the cluster of trees where Tom and Rex had hidden before. It arced high up over the ridgeline and then dove into the depression, bottoming out at about two meters, before shooting up into the open ramp of the ship parked below. The thermite incendiary grenade, another souvenir from his Marine days composed of aluminum and iron oxide nanoparticles, burst into a three thousand degree kelvin inferno inside the ship.
Tom rose to his feet and sprinted toward the first OP that Rex had discovered, while shouting began to accompany the flames from below. He covered a hundred meters in what felt like heartbeats, and then unloaded the rest of his magazine into the copse of trees ahead of him where two silhouettes had been turned toward the chaos below. He dropped his magazine and slapped in a fresh one, moving quickly forward into the cover of the trees and making sure he’d been on target again. He holstered his pistol, pulled his mag rifle over his shoulder, and took up a position overlooking the slavers’ encampment below.
Tom hoped that the prisoners below had been far away from the ship when the thermite grenade went off, but he didn't have time to worry about that right now. Without Rex, he was still outnumbered at least a dozen to one, and his survival meant retaining the initiative. With the ship out of play, he hoped, his next priority was to ensure none of the ground effect cars made it out of the depression. Tom sighted his mag rifle down into the depression and went hot.
He let loose a measured squeeze of the trigger, sending six to nine API rounds into the machinery of the vehicle with the weapon mount. He must have hit something important, as an actinic flare of sparks shot up from the vehicle as the grav drive cut out and it dropped half a meter to the ground. Two more bursts did the same to the other two vehicles.
In a tiny part of Tom's mind that wasn't acting on instinct and making snap judgements, Tom felt a hint of relief. With the ship and ground cars out of action, the filth below were unlikely to be a threat to the Hoffman homestead. Whatever happened to him, he’d already achieved his most important objective. Without Rex to watch his back, and more worried about why his companion wasn't back yet than he was about himself, Tom knew that getting through the rest of this alive would just be a lucky bonus.
Tom pushed back from his current position until he was well out of sight from below and sprinted another few dozen meters, almost to the narrow gap between the two ridgelines. He still had an elevated position, and was now able to block any attempt to break out from the depression. He flipped the selector switch on his mag rifle from automatic to three round burst, and aimed back into the encampment to start thinning out the remaining slavers.
There was no way to be subtle about things now. The crack of the hypersonic slugs from Tom's mag rifle breaking the sound barrier couldn't be suppressed, and eventually he'd draw fire. After a dozen more bursts, at least a few he hoped had found their mark, a sharp clicking sound told him his rifle's action was empty. He reached for the magazine with the rest of his flechette rounds just as enemy fire started to pepper the ground around him. They were coming from somewhere above—clearly some of the remaining sentries had gotten into the fight—and Tom had few good choices from his exposed position.
He half-slid, half-rolled down the gentle incline and hit the bottom of the depression, running toward his best option. The confusion caused by the flames billowing out of the ship and the sparks and smoke still jetting from the three disabled vehicles gave one person an advantage against a dozen. He sent a half dozen bursts up toward each ridgeline as he ran, trying to keep the sentries’ heads down, and then flipped his rifle back over his shoulder and drew his sidearm once he was deeper into the chaos of the encampment. He was out of suppressed rounds, but more gunfire would likely add to the chaos in the encampment and work in his favor as long as he kept moving, particularly with the slavers continuing to spray and pray at anything that startled them.
He stalked through the smoke, shadow, and occasional strobe of sparks or flames trying to zero in on the panicked shouts he could hear. Twice he came upon someone aiming right at him, and only his certainty that anyone else holding a gun was a bad guy allowed him to fire without hesitation. He took two others down before they knew he was there, before coming around the side of one smoking vehicle to find himself looking at the barrel of the mag autocannon swinging his way. The aperture of the muzzle seemed to grow until it occupied most of his vision, and he dove back behind the cover of the burning ground car as the cannon let loose.
Tom continued to scramble along the side of the vehicle, trying to keep it between him and the big gun. Of course, his smaller mag rifle had been powerful enough to punch right through these cars. The autocannon was blowing massive chunks out of the vehicle as it sought him. He ended up pressed against the thicker frame of the assembly forge while the gunner continued to sweep fire across the area around him. He knew he was in trouble. Pinned down like this, the autocannon would tear him apart as soon as he showed himself, or eventually the slavers would get smart and have someone circle around the ridge behind him. He swapped in a fresh magazine for his pistol, down to just twenty AP rounds, and prepared to make a rush when the gunner was aiming further away.
He leaned out to the side of the forge closest to the narrow entrance of the depression, resigned to making a suicide run, when he saw a bipedal shadow launch itself through the air and slash first one and then the other huge, scythe-shaped claws through the the torso of a slaver trying to turn Tom's flank. The rush of joy at seeing his friend turned to mild confusion, as it appeared Rex had a haunch of goat, or something dripping blood, clamped in his jaws. The Dino snapped his head to the side and sent the bloody goat leg flying to land on the vehicle with the gun mount and then bolted out of sight. If Tom wasn't still staring at the eviscerated slaver, he would think he'd have imagined Rex's appearance.
Seconds later, Tom fell back on his butt and scrambled to the cover of the forge as three, four, maybe even five huge, six-legged shapes came barreling through the narrow gap and into the encampment. The octaprey were snapping their circular jaws open and closed as they went after anything still living, or even just bleeding, in the camp.
Tom pulled his rifle back over his shoulder, wanting something stronger to fend off the octaprey just in case, and counted out a full minute to catch his breath. He got to feet and started moving cautiously through the camp. The autocannon gunner hadn't seen the new threat in time, and Tom avoided the rasping, sucking sounds of octaprey feeding. He saw one of them charge up the incline to the ridgeline, and he assumed the remaining sentries were also being dealt with.
Tom came around the side of the ship, and to his relief, found the four human prisoners alive and huddled together. Past them, he saw the two chimpanzees, but his eyes went wide when he realized they were swinging what looked like unused cage bars to ward off an octaprey. It was not working, and the beast barreled forward.
He tried to circle around to get a clear shot, knowing that between the ship and the angle and the people in the way that he wouldn't be in time, when Rex came crashing down on top of the creature. He clamped his jaws right on the lip of the circular maw, and then arched his spine to give himself clearance to slash downward with his hooked claws, one foot after the other. As the octaprey collapsed and toppled to the side, Rex rode it down, continuing to slash away until the creature stopped twitching.
Tom approached, rifle still couched at his shoulder, but pointed away from the captives, who shied back in fear. Rex looked up at him, blood running from his jaws, and smiled with blue-stained teeth.
“Show off,” Tom said with a smile.
A fist punched Tom in the lower back, and his left leg immediately gave way. He twisted, trying to control his fall and bring his rifle around to bear on whoever had just shot him. But he was already losing strength, and his weapon bounced from his hand as his elbow hit the ground. He tried to maintain focus on the silhouette aiming at him from fifteen meters away through the blowing smoke, but his hand fumbled for his pistol without any strength.
Tom's vision started to narrow and lose focus, and he sensed more than saw the shadow passing over him, knowing Rex was charging the shooter. Also knowing that even Rex couldn't cover that distance before the slaver fired again. Fear for Rex, more than himself, caused his eyes to snap back open with clarity.
Before either Rex or the slaver could act, a baggy orange blur crashed down from the top of the ship, clubbing the shooter down to the ground with a long arm. The uplifted orangutan proceeded to pummel the last of the slavers, alternating meaty fists, until the body was just a shapeless lump. That was Tom's last view as he faded away.
Tom awoke with an unfamiliar, rough-hewn roof over his head. He heard a gasp and the patter of bare feet on a wooden floor, and then the creak of a door opening.
A familiar voice shouted, “Rex! He's awake!”
The footsteps came closer, and Louisa's face came into view, still looking beautiful despite the worried frown. He thought he saw unshed tears in her eyes, although maybe that was just tiredness, and felt her take his hand.
“I guess we made it,” Tom rasped. She nodded, but didn't speak. “How long?”
“A full day. It's the next afternoon,” she replied tersely.
Tom tried to ease himself up slightly as heavy thumps sounded on steps, but Louisa put a firm hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down, squeezing his hand almost painfully.
“Don't move, you idiot,” she snapped. “You lost a kidney, which they'll have to clone for you at the hospital in Landfall, and you almost bled out. I helped stitch you up myself, and if you tear out those stitches, I'll put them back in without anesthetic,” she threatened.
Tom grimaced slightly, wondering if she was really angry with him, or if he was missing something. Louisa was used to being in control, just like he himself was, and he'd seen how she served as her father's right hand running the homestead. She was someone who usually got what she wanted. “Yes, ma'am,” he replied meekly. To which Louisa responded with a light smack on his shoulder that sent a mild jolt of pain through him.
A mottled brown and green-patterned head banged the half-closed door open. Rex stalked over to the bed where Tom lay, big claws clicking softly as he walked. The usually affectionate Dino, who loved to bump and nudge his partner, especially if it might knock Tom off balance and be worth a laugh, seemed hesitant to get too close.
“I'm okay, big guy,” Tom said, voice sounding a little stronger. “I feel okay.” Rex lowered his head and nudged Tom lightly in the temple with his snout. “You did really good, pal,” Tom reassured him. “Got there just in time. Although I can't believe you got those octaprey to chase you. That was brilliant!”
Rex chuffed and whistled softly, nudging Tom again, and then lowered his body to the floor, curling up with this tail wrapped around him, and leaning his head up against the side of the bed. It should have been hard to make a hundred kilos of apex predator look cute, but Rex somehow pulled it off.
“He's barely left your side since you came in yesterday,” Louisa spoke. “We finally convinced him to go eat something,” she said almost accusingly, as if Rex's failure to eat was Tom's fault. He suspected Rex may not have been the only one watching over him all night or skipping meals.
“Thank you, Louisa,” Tom said, squeezing the hand that held his. “Thank you for taking care of Rex. And me, of course, but really, he's a big softy who needs someone to look out for him,” he continued with a smile, which grew wider at Rex's snort from the other side of the bed. “Did the prisoners make it?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied, taking her hand back. “The Marines brought them in, and they also helped patch you up once they got here. Otherwise, you'd probably be dead.”
“Wait, the Marines didn't treat me on site?” Tom asked, confused.
Lousia shook her head, “No, Rex brought you back,” she said. “Although he had a little help. It was the orangutan who brought you back on your bike, with Rex guiding him.”
Tom let out a single incredulous laugh, “Wow. That's a story people will have trouble believing.” Louisa's tension was starting to make more sense, especially if she and others here had been the ones trying to keep him from dying on the operating table. Lying on the ground after being shot, he had thought that might be it for him. Knowing that he had just barely survived, and Louisa had helped him pull through, explained a lot.
“Not if they've ever met Rex,” Louisa responded. “He and Clyde seem to get along great.”
Tom gave her a quizzical look. “Clyde?”“The orangutan’s name is Clyde,” she clarified. “He can type pretty well. He explained it all—the ship blowing up, how you attacked the slavers alone, Rex coming along with the octaprey, and how they got you back here. He even gave a statement to the Marines on your behalf. We have Rex's recordings of everything too.” She paused for a minute, as if staring inward. “Some parts were pretty hard to watch.”
“Yes, I imagine so,” Tom replied. “He can be pretty vicious when he's protecting people he cares about.”
“Yes, he can,” Louisa said, with narrowed eyes, fists planted on her hips. “Why did you do it?” She said, accusation in her voice. “Why not just come warn us? You almost got yourself killed, and you…” her tirade slowed a bit. “You… um… you killed a lot of them. The Marines said some looked like they'd been… executed.” Tom heard the hitch in her voice this time. Fear, he was sure, not anger. Maybe even fear of him. “How could you be sure?”
“I, um…,” Tom fumbled for the right words. “There were so many of them—the slavers, the ship and the ground cars, and that big autocannon. You don't put shock collars on people—or animals—if you have good intentions. And those cages could have been just for poaching, I guess. But you don’t need a heavy weapon like that to go poaching. And if you do, it's because you're willing to kill anyone who gets in the way.”
“Like a nosy colonial scout, maybe?” Louisa suggested softly.
“Exactly,” Tom agreed. “They would have been on top of you all so fast, and I couldn't be sure we could stop them all, even together. Something would have gotten past me.” Tom was processing the decisions he'd made the day before with a new clarity, but still came to the same conclusions. “There, I had the initiative. It's something we learned in the Marines. You hit, and hit again, and keep hitting until they're just done. Until they can’t react anymore—violence of action. It was my only choice, because I couldn't let them get to…” he was the one who paused this time, with a slight hitch. “I couldn't let them get here.”
The look in Louisa's eyes, which had first seemed to hold anger, and then fear, gradually softened. She sat on the bed and took his hand again, more gently this time. “Thank you for stopping them.” Then she squeezed his hand and continued with a fierce look, “But if you ever do anything that stupid on your own again, the last thing you'll have to worry about is a bunch of slavers.”
Tom chuckled, and then winced at the pain it caused in his side. “Yes, Miss Hoffman,” he said, pretending to be meek once again.
Louisa squeezed his hand more affectionately this time. “Don't start that again.” She paused with a thoughtful look. “All the kids are having the best time of their lives, with Rex and three more companions here. Do you think…?” She let the question dangle.
“They'll be able to stay?” Tom finished for her. “It's possible. We'll have to check with the Colonial Authority to see where they were snatched from. If no one has a claim on them…?” He shrugged. “I can think of a lot worse places for them to land. It would be good for them.”
Louisa thought for a moment, and then said, “We should ask them what they want first.” She nodded to herself, as if locking in a decision. “They should get to make the choice, especially after what they’ve been through.”
Tom squeezed her hand tightly, and felt warmth in his chest. “You're exactly right,” he agreed. “I'm glad to hear you say that. Not everyone who encounters companions understands how special they are. You have a good heart.” He said, smiling at her. “Terrible taste in men, though.” He said, raising his eyebrows.
Louisa snatched her hand back and pretended to swat Tom on the arm. “Rex is too good for you, and so am I!” She said in mock outrage, to the sound of hissing laughter from across the bed.
“Hey, I went through a lot just to keep my promise and come back to sleep under your roof,” he said. “That is, unless you're kicking me out?”
“Hmm. Not yet. You know,” she said with a stern look. “I did have something else in mind before. We'll have to see if you earn your way back into my good graces,” she continued loftily.
He took her hand again and said, “I'll have plenty of time to try,” he promised. “Besides, Rex likes it here, and he's my only friend.”
“No, just your best friend,” Louisa countered. “You seem to have made a few others. I think even Clyde likes you,” she went on with a smile.
“You're right,” Tom agreed. He reached over with his other hand to rub the top of Rex's head between his ears, while the Dino made a contented whistling sound. “My best friend, but there's always room for more,” he said, looking Louisa in the eyes and holding her hand tightly.
Author’s Note:
This is a raw, early draft—shared only with subscribers. Your comments and reactions will help shape the final version. I retain full rights, and these stories may be revised and submitted for publication later, so please don’t copy or repost them elsewhere without permission. Sharing with your friends is fine!
Thanks for being part of the journey.
— G.W. Revengér