Page 5 of Across the Crimson Sands

“She started here,” he explained, jabbing a finger into the hologram, “and by my figuring, she must have traveled north.”

“What makes you say that?” I asked, intrigued. If he was correct, it would explain why he didn’t want to pursue her himself.

“Footprints. Not many – the wind made sure of that – but enough to gauge her direction.”

I frowned. “She went deeper into the desert?”

Gorin sneered. “She’s pretty and, normally, obedient. But not intelligent. If she was, she wouldn’t have run away.” His voice lowered ominously. “But, and here’s the important part, you need to bring her back alive.”

I studied the terrain on the map, considering what I knew of the Sands and the dangers that lurked within.

“And what happens if I get there and find a pretty but stupid corpse?” I asked coolly.

Gorin’s face darkened as he switched off the projector and shoved it into his pack. “You’d better hope that’s not the case. And I doubt it is. Arilee is stupid, clumsy, and pathetic. It’s not her fault, after all, she is a human woman,” he added with a sage nod, as if imparting great wisdom.

“But she’s also stubborn,” he continued. “She cut through her tracking collar with a dull kitchen knife. It must have taken hours, and she left blood all over the floor. She’s determined to get away. I fully believe she’s still alive, even if only barely so.”

I stroked my chin, contemplating the risk I was taking. The frail creature I’d seen didn’t exactly scream ‘survivor.’ But I’d been in combat. I’d seen firsthand what people were capable of when faced with life-or-death situations.

Maybe she was halfway across the galaxy by now.

“Alright,” I said finally. “If what you say is true, I need to get moving. I’ll get your ‘pet’ back, don’t worry.”

Gorin slung his pack over his shoulder, clearly annoyed at having to do so himself rather than burdening a slave.

“You had better.”

I left the outpost and boarded my shuttle, prepping for the hunt. Arilee might have been small, but the Sands held dangers that would make a Nulian desert rat look cuddly.

The landing site I selected sprawled just north of Arilee’s last known location. Far enough to mask my approach, but close enough for a quick strike if needed.

As I disembarked, a bone-chilling snarl cut through the air. I’d managed to piss off the local wildlife within minutes of touching down. An alpha desert rat, its tentacles writhing menacingly, towered over me. Seems I’d interrupted dinnertime.

It shrieked, charging forward with surprising speed for its bulk. I stood my ground, mind racing through options.

These bastards had hides tougher than starship hulls and appetites to match. But they had one critical weakness – their own insatiable gluttony.

I plucked a pulse grenade from my belt, its weight reassuring in my palm. With a practiced flick of the wrist, I sent it sailing through the air. The rat, driven by instinct, snatched it mid-flight, cramming the explosive into its cheek pouch for later consumption.

Two lumbering steps later, it detonated. Chunks of rat painted the desolate landscape in a gruesome tableau. I peeled a quivering tentacle fragment off my jacket with disgust, wiped the gore away, and pressed on into the unforgiving wasteland.

My prey awaited, and the hunt had only just begun.

ARILEE

Icollapsed at the rim of a small depression in the desert, filled by a hidden spring, my parched lips trembling with relief. It wasn’t an illusion, as I’d feared in my delirium. I don’t know how much longer I would have lasted if I hadn’t stumbled upon this oasis. With shaking hands, I scooped up heaping handfuls of the cool, fresh water and gulped it down greedily until my stomach felt ready to burst.

This tiny moment of respite felt like the first flicker of joy I’d experienced since my parents were murdered years ago. The simple pleasure of quenching my thirst was almost overwhelming.

As I bent over, something dark and large in the water’s reflection caught my eye. My heart leapt into my throat as I whirled around, scanning the horizon. Nothing. Just endless sand and sky.

“Sun sickness,” I muttered, trying to convince myself. “It’s just the heat playing tricks.”

With my immediate thirst quenched, I set about cleaning myself. I scrubbed dried blood from my raw skin, rinsed gritty sand from my matted hair, and gingerly tended to the angry blisters on my feet. Tearing strips from my tattered slave dress, I fashioned makeshift bandages.

It was far from sterile, but it was the best I could manage. I needed to keep moving, proper footwear be damned. Those ill-fitting boots had protected me from the scorching sand, but they were destroying my feet in the process. Maybe the extra padding would provide some relief.

Hydrated and somewhat cleaner, I rested, just for a moment. That’s when the first gnawing pangs of hunger struck. The adrenaline from my desperate flight was finally fading, leaving room for my body to catalog its many needs.

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