“You’re right, Catman. I’ll go hole up with a buddy and lay low. And then? I’ll start reaching out to people I trust. Maybe it’s time we build a little resistance of our own. I’m not young anymore, but hell if I’m just gonna sit back while our whole community gets hijacked.”
I glance sideways at him. Brave words for a man with zero idea what the smugglers’ Coalition is really capable of. If some colonists have turned, that means they’ve got access to tools no civilian should have. It’s not even a fair fight.
But that’s his choice. I just hope he doesn’t put his trust in the wrong hands.
I don’t have time to babysit this brave old man.
“Hans, I’ve got to go. They left your snowbike—probably thought you were dead. You’ll need it to get around. As for me, I’ll be traveling on foot.”
“That’s gonna take forever! Even with a snowbike it’s a full-day trip!”
“Maybe by road. But I’ve got a shortcut in mind.”
“You’re not seriously planning to jump off the cliff, are you? I still can’t believe you survived that fall!”
“No cliff-diving today. My ribs still remember that little stunt. But I’ve found a more direct path—tight, rocky, but manageable. Don’t worry about me, old man. I’ll be fine.”
“Oh, I believe you. Don’t they say cats have nine lives? I don’t know how many you’ve used, but you might wanna start keeping count. Good luck out there—and take care of that girl. Neela’s a good one.”
I nod and head out.
Like I told Hans, I’m not leaping off the cliff again—even if it is the most direct route. Instead, I skirt the edge to the west and pick my way down through the boulders, hopping rock to rock where I can. I intend to find their base of operations—and bring my girl back.
Hang in there, my Purrsong. I’m coming...
22-Neela
My head is pounding and my mind is foggy as I open my eyes, cautiously. My mouth is dry, my tongue thick and clumsy—like I’ve just come out of full anesthesia. I know that feeling all too well. I had it once before, after my appendectomy at the Cydonia medical center when I was six. And it’s just as awful now.
While I try to make sense of this groggy state, I realize I’m locked inside some kind of box. The walls are greenish and semi-transparent, and the space is small—maybe five feet across in every direction. Just enough to lie down diagonally, but not stand.
I struggle to think clearly… and then it all comes back.
Prax.
Prax, pushed off that cliff—right in front of me. Killed.
A scream wells up in my throat, but nothing comes out.
A moment later, I remember the blow to my head. I reach up by instinct and feel a slight bump, but no open wound. I don’t know where they’ve taken me, but they must’ve drugged me to keep me out.
I sit up and scan the room—or rather, the hangar. I see several other cubes like mine scattered around. I can’t tell if they’re empty or occupied; their walls are completely opaque.
Defeated, I sink back into my thoughts, heavy with failure. Our mission is a disaster. But what weighs on me most is the loss of my beautiful Sadjim.
Images crash over me like waves.
His playful smirk. That mischievous wink. The softness of his velvety fur. His magnificent body. Those deep golden eyes that promised pleasures I hadn’t even imagined.
I remember every moment we shared—our endless conversations. The way he teased me for sticking to the rules, gently showing me how to loosen up, how to take a step back.
His quiet attentiveness. His nonstop banter with my brother. His kindness. His patience.
And now…
A tightness swells in my chest as I realize the truth.
I love Prax.
