Page 10 of Prize for the Alien Grumpus

The lights from her dwelling still shine through the trees. Such a fierce protector of her young deserves better than hiding in ditches like common vermin. I will find a way to repay this debt with honor.

But first, I need to dry off. And possibly find something to get rid of this smell.

The ditch water sloshes off my fur as I haul myself onto solid ground. My compad survived the dunking - Ataxian tech provessuperior once again. The primitive Earth communications network connects with a few taps.

"What manner of barbarism is this?"

A group of females screech at each other over some trinket called a Birkin bag. Another show features humans consuming insects for currency. Yet another shows females competing for the attention of a single male through increasingly desperate tactics.

"These must be their cultural documentaries." I scroll through more footage. "Though the production values leave much to be desired."

A muscle-bound male throws a table across a room while shouting about his ex-mate. "Now that's more like it." Finally, some proper warrior spirit.

The next program shows humans locked in a dwelling together, forming and breaking alliances like packs of savage beasts. "Fascinating. Their society operates on betrayal and deception."

My claws click against the screen as I take notes. According to these records, Earth females respond well to dramatic gestures and public displays of dominance. The males often present them with sparkling rocks or temporary dwelling spaces in exotic locations.

"This explains much about my liberator's aggressive response." She must have expected a proper challenge, not mere conversation.

More research reveals humans gathering in packs to consume fermented beverages and dance in synchronized patterns. Their mating rituals involve elaborate deceptions they call "dating shows."

"By the ancient gods." I shut off the compad. "These creatures are beyond salvation."

The urge to raze this primitive rock to cosmic dust grows stronger with each program. But the life debt remains. Perhaps I should count myself fortunate that my liberator only attempted to bash my skull in, rather than forcing me to consume insects or compete for her attention against other suitors.

A sleek black vehicle roars past, kicking up slush. The stench hits my nostrils - that sickly-sweet odor of grolgath biomatter. My lip curls back, exposing fangs. Those scale-skinned vermin think their image inducers can fool my senses?

"Not today, lizard-spawn."

The vehicle's open windows make no sense in this climate. Unless... they're tracking her scent. My liberator's unique fragrance still lingers in the air - vanilla and cinnamon mixed with fierce determination.

My claws extend as I calculate trajectories. The shortest path between two points involves considerable property damage, but time grows short. I launch myself through the air, rebounding off a garish inflatable snowman. My weight sends it spinning, spraying artificial snow in my wake.

The grolgath vehicle turns onto her street. Red and green lights blur past as I bound from rooftop to rooftop. My muscles burn with the effort of maintaining speed. If they harm one hair on either of their heads...

Their vehicle stops. Three figures emerge, their movements jerky and unnatural beneath their human disguises. The leader raises something that definitely isn't a standard Earth weapon.

A guttural growl builds in my chest. The life debt demands I protect her, but more than that - the thought of these vermin threatening my fierce little warrior and her remarkable offspring sets my blood boiling.

My next leap carries me onto a lamppost wrapped in tinsel. The metal groans beneath my weight. Below, the grolgath approach her door with weapons raised.

Time to remind these lizards why they called me The Destroyer.

CHAPTER 5

MEL

The zipper on Sam's Frozen suitcase whines as I yank it closed. My hands shake so bad I can barely grip the handle.

"Where should I pack Mr. Snuggles?" Sam clutches her ratty teddy bear.

"Just keep him with you, sweetie." I toss random clothes into my own bag. Socks. Underwear. That hideous Christmas sweater Mom sent last year.

Sam bounces on her heels.

"Are we going to Grandma's?" Sam asks.

My fingers freeze on a half-folded shirt. Grandma's. The lake house. Aunt Sarah's. Every possible refuge flashes through my mind, each one crossed out just as fast. Gregor knows where all my family lives. He has access to my personnel file.

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