The crevice starts to narrow and I flick my light on, freezing when it catches the shine of eyes ahead.
“Found one,” I say quietly. Arc and Risk will hear me. The helmet will muffle the sound from the cavrinskh…
It sees me. But there’s nowhere to go.
“I’ve got it backed into a fissure.”
“Do you need help?” Arc asks.
“Don’t think so.” It’s not aggressive. It watches me, pacing, one of its legs hanging limp. “I found the injured one.”
This is the kind of encounter I hate. The waiting game.
It doesn’t want to attack. I don’t want to kill it. Both are inevitable.
I watch it pace. I see it look for a way out.
There isn’t one.
My helmet records every move—a useless function. Something about them has always left artifacts behind in the data.
The dark spot in its forehead.
It’s easy to get distracted by the creature’s split jaw, or the spines sprouting from between the other fur along its back, but the spot is there.
Whatever it is, they don’t want us to know.
I take another step forward and it shrinks back, snarling and snapping, but not attacking…
Halting, I see the flash in my visor’s proximity censor. “Found two,” I tell them, and Arc curses.
“Already on my way.” Risk’s comm crackles, interference from the crevasse.
The second cavrinskh clings to the ice wall ten feet above my head. It’s using the injured one as a lure…Interesting.
I’m used to being stalked by them. They’re intelligent. They won’t want to wait for the others to get here.
Our guns are calibrated specifically for them. As long as I get the shot off in the correct place…
The calculations take a few seconds. The computer integrated in my helmet does them without prompting.
I don’t think I can wait for the others.
Taking one more step, I plant myself, making sure my balance is right so I can twist and…
The cavrinskh moves a moment before I pull the trigger. But it jumps straight at me.
The pulse burns through its open mouth, its body slamming to the hard ground in front of me as I turn the gun on the wounded creature.
I don’t plan to shoot it, but I don’t lower my gun.
When I don’t move, it turns, scratching at the walls, looking for a way out again.
There’s nowhere for it to go. And this time when it turns back to me, it’s… afraid.
That makes me drop my weapon. That used to be enough to make them pounce, but it doesn’t get the chance.
The detonation is startling because it’s silent.
