Through the Kisandra Prism (26 page)

‘I know the secret the Malis Afar are ashamed of …I have seen your ugly mother reptile Queen with raised tail laying eggs in a nest of sticks, then sitting on them like some clucking Tarcian hen!’ The Cold-blood raises his glinting blade.

‘Tell me you flying flea sanctuary… what are you most afraid of at this very moment?’

The She-male Yarbie glances up at the sharp blade.

‘…Now let me think,’ the Yarbie answers, knowing what the Cold-blood wanted to hear. ‘Ahh I know…the sky falling and crushing me!’

Without warning the swish of a glinting blade decapitates the Yarbie’s ugly head.

But to the surprise of the watching Blodwyn, the creature’s decapitated head still shrieks insults at the Cold-blood; its body still struggles violently – as if still trying to take flight. Captain Daak smiles. He drives his blade into the decapitated body: all struggles and insults stop.

The watching Yarbies, hanging upside down from the towering dark perpendicular cliffs above, scream in anger.

The Na Idriss scout sniffs at the dead Yarbie.

‘Even a scavenger would not touch this putrid flesh.’

‘There is one creature which relishes Yarbie flesh,’ says Captain Daak. ‘Gentlemen, now we will have some sport – switch your lasers to automatic fire. You will have two targets – the attacking Yarbies and the rocks they will drop on us… Seat Simma,’ orders Captain Daak.

Simma gets down on all fours. Captain Daak then sits on the back of his Na Idriss servant, like some African chief; wiping his bloody blade on Simma’s dark robes.

The Malis Afar and the Na Idriss hold their lasers ready for the coming onslaught.

All the other Yarbies launch themselves into the air from their lofty perches with high pitch shrieks; each Yarbie carries a rock with its hind legs.

Yarbies think nothing of sustaining a high casualty rate. First they swarm into a revolving dark circle, planning their attack. The circle then breaks into four large groups; they plan to attack from every direction of the Stellar compass.

One group of Yarbies circles over Blodwyn’s head: she has been spotted! Two Yarbies drop from the group and hover above her, gazing at this strange life-form with red hair, with inquisitive sneers. She could smell their aura of disgusting urea.

‘Look!’ exclaims one She-male Yarbie, ‘a Terasil Bitch…I have tasted one before on Rilla…thin skinned and tender.’

The rallying cries from their leaders to begin the attack, force the two She-males back to their group; but they would not forget her location.

The assault begins on the hunting party. The rocks dropped by each Yarbie are smashed by a devastating salvo of fire from the hunting party’s lasers. Bat-winged Yarbies soon begin to fall, spinning like the propeller shaped seeds of a Ciletian sycamore, spiraling to the rocky ground. When around a hundred Yarbies lay still or squirming on the floor of the valley, the attack stops.

‘Hold your fire Gentlemen.’ Orders captain Daak.

The hunting party watch as the Yarbie circle their dead and dying kin on the ground. Then they dive like hungry gannets and clasp a dead or dying comrade in the hooked talons of their hind legs before flying back to their roosts in the high jagged cliffs surrounding the valley; it was feeding time!

‘Excellent sport Simma,’ announces captain Daak, addressing his Na Idriss servant whom he was still sitting on, ‘what say you Simma?’

‘Sir,’ replies Simma, ‘can you please get off my back…you are becoming heavy.’

Regaining his feet and rubbing his bask Simma continues,

‘Sir… can we eat now…? This food hamper is heavy to carry.’

Captain Daak the Cold-blood stares coldly at his servant; the Na Idriss looks nervous. A thin smile appears on the Cold-blood’s face.

‘My dear old servant Simma – who has served me well both on the battlefield and at the table – is always thinking of his stomach….very well… we will eat now…my first meal in a month.’ (Like all cold blooded life-forms the Malis Afar need only eat once a month.)

‘Thank you Sir,’ says Simma who begins to lay a white table cloth over a convenient flat rock.

Captain Daak then announces, ‘After lunch, I am calling off the hunt – the Symator would have left the area by now – besides the evenings and nights are too cold on Tarus Tarm. (Cold-bloods could not tolerate the cold it made them lethargic and slow; freezing temperatures kill them).

The hunting party settled down to their picnic, out of Blodwyn’s sight. The Yarbies high on the dark crag meanwhile were occupied, feasting on their dead and dying kin. She quietly entered the chariot and silently took off. She knew the intelligent Symator would remember her first position. She chose a higher hill further back from where she could overlook her enemies and watch out for the dangerous big cat that walked on two legs and also keep her eye on the Cold-bloods.

Landing on a higher hill Blodwyn placed the chariot in between some bushes so it was hidden form sight. She climbed out.

The new hill she had chosen gave her a panoramic view of her entire surroundings. She could now see the Cold-bloods in the far distance. Blodwyn spotted some more lovely blue berries and still out of their sight began to pick and eat the fruit. This time she made sure she carried the small Galla Quall laser for protection.

The angry sun of Sagittarius Minor was now three hand breadths from the peeks of the purple mountains of the Tarus Tarm mountain range. An eerie white mist was forming over the tall reed beds of the warm slimy swamp below: alien night was slowly creeping in on velvet slippers.

While she was admiring the approaching sunset she heard a noise behind her. It was actually two sounds: subtle noises. It was the kind of sound that had to be worked out, analyzed. The kind of noise that country folk are more adept at analyzing. Then it came to her – some living thing had put a foot on an unstable rock – when the rock tilted and made a slight noise, whatever it was took its foot off – the second noise was the rock falling back into place: she was being stalked!

Blodwyn’s sharp hearing pin-pointed the disturbance at the base of some berry bushes about thirty feet away. The red ball of sun was now kissing the Tarus Tarm Mountains and the bushes were casting eerie shadows. One shadow seemed darker than the rest, her eyes traced and outline: it was the Symator! Her heart skipped a beat.

The big cat had caught her out again. Its dirty grey and dark spots blended perfectly into the shadows. The predator was laying down, belly to ground and its back legs were well positioned to spring; yellow unblinking eyes held her paralyzed.

For several fast heart beats Blodwyn stood frozen; her pulse rate racing, her mind numb. She was only two paces from the safety of the chariot: two paces too far. The cat was in springing distance. Their eyes were locked. She knew fleeing would trigger an attack – yet she had to do something – she could not stand holding the feline’s penetrating stare any longer. Blodwyn remembered the small laser.

Very slowly she raised it and aimed it at the big cat’s head at eye level; she pressed the button. A pale blue ray caught the predator in the face. The cat shook its great head and looked around as if confused by its surroundings. The cat’s unblinking yellow eyes lost their intensity – the spell was broken. Nevertheless by the time Blodwyn had entered and closed the telium canopy of her chariot, the Symator was staring at her through the clear telium hood, in that sleepy, gentle, deceiving, look cats sometimes adopt.

It then stood up on its hind legs and placed its huge clawed paws on the telium canopy of the space chariot: testing it. Only then she noticed that evolution had been turning the Symator paw’s into clawed hands! The feline growled softly in different tones punctuated by the odd hiss and purr in a gentle friendly manner.

“My God” thought Blodwyn. The big cat, like the Stabasade was trying to communicate with me: this was spooky! Spooky by human standards maybe: but not in deep space. Blodwyn was right – this predator had vocal cords:

‘We are both hunted by the Cold-bloods…do not be afraid…strange female…I have fed well…we can escape together…you can be my new mate!’

The purring big cat beckoned her to leave the protection of the Galla Quall space-chariot and join it outside. The laser had not only confused the Symator but it had also dulled a raging appetite.

Although Blodwyn did not understand the big cat’s language she got the gist of the potently deadly invitation; she was not convinced at the cat’s relaxed and sleepy persona. (She had seen Squeaks; her fat and lazy tom cat look at a mouse many a time in an affectionate, almost caring way after it dropped the rodent into the bath tub for later deadly attention.)

The hairless Symator then began circling the craft – inspecting it like some curious car thief. The big cat’s mood was reverting back to its true nature as its feline brain began to un-scramble from the first laser blast. The big cats hunger returned; the helpless creature within the chariot was food.

Then to her horror, Blodwyn watched the big intelligent cat break off a small branch and began to try to insert it into the space-chariot to disable it somehow; time to use the small laser again. This cat was indeed dangerous.

At the second charge of the laser, the spotted Symator again shook its great head, watching, confused as the space chariot rose vertically into the darkening sky.

We are beautiful Ora Pellas who;

neither worry, toil or chew.

Our dwelling place is burning gas;

our lovely bodies a swirling mass.

We are frivolous, dangerous females,

who be sometimes one

and sometimes two!

Blodwyn took the space-chariot to a safe height and hid in some clouds that were catching the last dazzling reflected rays of the alien sunburst… she looked below … the Cold-bloods and the Na Idriss had gone, night was falling. Using the cloud as cover from the eyes of the Symator and the still feasting squabbling Yarbies, she flew higher into the dim dark mountains of Tarus Tarm and landed, she now felt a little safer.

Again there were more berry bushes, not that she was tempted to leave the safety of the space-chariot. It was now almost dark when she caught sight of many twinkling lights that looked like large fire flies around the far bushes: the lights approached. ‘What now!’ she thought.

She did not have to wait long to find out – Brindled Noops – the same species she had seen on Tarrea-one. After buzzing around the space-chariot they settled on the clear telium canopy; pressing their half insect, half humanoid faces close and staring at her they grinned with bird-like chirrups.

She had nothing to fear from these little colorful beings who were distant kin to the Lings. Soon Blodwyn realized what the Brindled Noops were interested in: the chrysalis of the Sisling hanging in front of her. She gave the chrysalis a gentle poke, it twisted, annoyed at the intrusion; the Noops giggled.

‘Hurry up you lazy little sod,’ she exclaims, ‘when are you going to metamorphose and help to protect me – that’s what you are here for isn’t it?’

The Brindled Noops giggled and gestured to her to poke the Sisling chrysalis again. Blodwyn did not realize that allowing the little Sisling to stuff itself with pollen toffee, was why it was taking so long to remain in chrysalis. She noticed that the Noops were giving her new position away by lighting up the space-chariot.

Unknown to her, the Symator had moved in the opposite direction to escape the coming cold alien night that was slowly engulfing the steamy reed beds of the swamp. However her new illuminated position had not gone unnoticed by the Bat-winged Yarbies! Try as she may, Blodwyn could not shoo the Brindled Noops away. She went to sleep; slumber came quickly.

The following morning she awoke to shrill cries of:

‘We have found the Bitch Terasil – in a nut bubble.’

Looking up overhead she could see a flock of these bold repulsive creatures flapping a few meters above the space-chariot, eyeing her. Waking quickly she started up and immediately took off. But before she could gain any appreciable height or build up any speed, she noticed a dozen Yarbies were clinging to the craft slowing it down, making it impossible for her to escape.

The space chariot began to lose height. As she could no longer see where she was going Blodwyn was forced to land with a thud. With clawed hands the Yarbies began to try to gain entry. Using her small laser was not the answer because as one of her attackers became bewildered and confused, another took its place.

Seeing it was impossible to get at her, the bat-wings had another idea. To Blodwyn’s horror they collectively began to lift the space chariot into the air, up and up to the height of over six hundred feet – they intended to drop the space-chariot from a great height – ‘that would crack open their nut!’ The intention of the Yarbies soon became apparent to Blodwyn: what could she do? “If given enough thought, all problems can be solved.” But of course she did not have much time to ponder this problem.

Gaining enough height, the Bat-wings let go of the space-chariot; her stomach dropped as she plummeted to terra firma. The aerodynamics of the craft kept it level as it fell: she pressed the start button. The falling space chariot stopped just before impact and hovered five feet above the ground.

Blodwyn had no time to celebrate; the Bat-wings had not given up, again they attached themselves to the space chariot. This had the effect of grounding it. Once again, up and up they took the craft but on this occasion over a narrow deep chasm with jagged walls. This time there would be no escape; no room to maneuver.

The Galla Qualls would never find her remains that far down. Over the deep chasm now, she looked down: it looked bottomless. The Bat-wings let go of the space chariot. They sniggered to themselves as they watched it fall.

Down. Down She fell: waiting for impact! A green spiral light flashed before her eyes, quickly turning red; was this color of impending death: red? Blodwyn closed her eyes it would lessen the horror of the impact and her inevitable demise.