Biosignature Identified: Scoravex Terralis (sand hunter)
Warning: Venomous and Extremely Lethal
Likelihood of Survival: 12%
“Working on it,” I grind out between clenched teeth.
At the bend in the riverbed, I get a good long look at what's chasing me. It's also gaining, which is a nice touch. Four thick legs tear into the sand, giving away its camouflaged body. From this distance, I can see a face full of fuck-around-and-find-out teeth. There is no way I can outrun this thing.
I skid to a stop and turn to face it head-on. I make myself as big aspossible and hope to scare it off, though I seem to be the only one terrified here.
Its yellow pupils dilate when our eyes lock.
I grab my blaster, point it in the air, and fire off a warning shot. The creature stops and stares me down, unfazed. Its tail whips back and forth, excited to have something to toy around with.
I stare right back, not showing any fear. Crouched low to the ground, it lifts its snout toward me. Six nostrils open up and drag in my scent.
Oh shit.
The thick tail rises up from behind, and a hooked end with a sharp stinger points directly at me. This time, I fire right at it. The beam bounces off its armored body and it doesn’t even flinch.
I root myself to the ground, not ceding an inch. In another stroke of bad luck, my bionic arm hangs uselessly at my side. The sand hunter launches itself at me—faster than I thought possible.
It barrels straight into my chest, pinning me to the boulder at my back. I swing at its nose and eyes, anything within reach to get it to loosen its hold on me. It bites the blaster, yanks it out of my hand, and spits it away.
Drool drips out of its mouth. I grab the snout and manage to hold it closed. Its strong jaw slowly overpowers my grip. My bionic arm twitches when I try to get it to do its fucking job.
The sand hunter frantically thrashes against me. Its tail hovers over its scaly back poised for a life-ending strike. My hand slips from around its mouth and the creature seizes its opportunity.
Thwack.
Faster than lightning, it strikes. Somehow, my bionic arm comes alive and blocks the attack. It strikes a second time but doesn’t get past my metal arm. On the third strike, I let go of the mouth and grab the stinger with both hands. It sinks its needle-like teeth into my chest and I let out a guttural scream.
With everything I’ve got, I wrench the stingeroff. The sand hunter shrieks in pain and I shove the stinger into the side of its neck. It staggers backward and collapses into a heap at my feet.
My bionic arm once again hangs uselessly at my side. I drop to the ground and assess the damage. I peel off the control panel and it's immediately clear what’s broken: the neurochip is cracked right down the center.
Mentally I take inventory of what’s in my pack. What else has a neurochip I can use? As if it can read my thoughts, my visor pings, alerting me to the broken component in my arm. I carefully disassemble the visor. Using my fingernail, I pop out the neurochip. It slides right into place, and my arm comes back to life. When it comes to survival, a functioning arm is more important than a visor.
Sticky blue blood spreads across my ripped shirt. My chest throbs and burns from the bite, but I ignore the pain and stagger to my feet.
I really hope I get a friendlier greeting from the Oo’rahim.
ELEVEN
Bri
These “brethren” are making it extremely difficult to enjoy my first interplanetary adventure. A history lesson on their religious beliefs and symbolism is not my idea of a good time. All I know is they are all called brethren, and it’s super confusing. They ‘shed their identities’ to serve the goddess. Whom they presume me to be.
“This alcove symbolizes the…” My mind wanders when one of them explains the closest cavity in the wall. Each one has some significance, and these dudes are all very eager to go into excruciating detail for each one. My stomach is loudly grumbling. The single glass of water I had in my room is not enough.
I steal a glance down the hallway, looking for any sign of a kitchen or comms room. Surrounded by the brethren, they each stare lovingly up at me and their bulging eyes go even wider when I make eye contact.
I muster a smile, but it feels like a grimace. Once this tour is over, I’ll explain this misunderstanding and be on my way. Preferably with a full stomach and a canteen full of water.
“Anointed Rain-Bringer, what do you search for?” one of the little guys pops his head up and asks.
“I’m pretty hungry and dehydrated?—”
