Page 3 of Hooded

A noise echoes around the chamber. Not so close to be a threat, but close enough to be of interest. I growl, letting the sound permeate everywhere before I stalk into the darkness, looking for my next prey.

FERN

A comm device which is seriously malfunctioning, a pulsar, set to stun, and a multi-tool with limited functions. This is my inventory in the face of imminent death.

To put it simply, I’m screwed. Especially if the growl is attached to anything larger than a pikrat. And I’ve never heard a pikrat growl before.

I have to hope there is a different breed down here in the dark. I do the time honored beating up of my comm in a desperate attempt to make it work, slamming the palm of my hand against it. For an instant, the screen brightens, and I see a route light up, showing me I’m not too far from what has to be a hidden exit.

My heart leaps into my mouth. I might actually make it out of here alive and with all of my limbs. It has to be some sort of alien miracle. Right here and now, I make a vow I’m going to take up a different, new profession. Something to do with knitting, I think. Or something which doesn’t involve anything pointy at all, like making marshmallows.

Do aliens even have marshmallows? The thought swirls annoyingly around my brain as I attempt to temper mybreathing and stop the rising panic attack I can feel heating within me.

I have absolutely chosen the wrong profession. I thought I was as cool as a cucumber, but faced with imminent dismemberment, my bowels have turned to water, and I’d literally rather be anywhere else in the universe, including the boiling hot planet I was on three nova-weeks ago where I nearly fried.

“Um…” My voice cracks and I clear my throat. “I’m armed,” I lie.

For a long time, there is silence, and I’m starting to wonder if my imagination has conjured up the growl and everything else which is making the hairs on my neck stand on end.

“So am I,” a voice rasps back.

It’s a voice filled with so much violence and danger, my knees go weak, and the rest of my body freezes. The pulsar I’m holding trembles to the point I’m probably in danger of stunning myself.

The light from my comm only makes the shadows darker, so whatever and wherever this creature is, I’m like a deer in the headlights.

It’s then the comm shrieks so loudly, I nearly drop my pulsar. The screen fills with an image and flashes red and blue. Whatever is out there in the underground room is my mark. Without even thinking, I pull the trigger on the pulsar.

The entire place lights up as if I’ve set off a flare, and I see a hulk of a shape illuminated, wings and all against one wall.

I fire again and again.

I fire over and over until the place rings with the discharge and stinks of ozone. Then there is only the sound of my breathing, ragged and terrified. It replaces the noise of my screams.

“Light up,” I say hoarsely at my comm, and it brightens enough I can see my surroundings, including the body in front of me.

One wing covers its torso, a large muscular arm is limp to one side, and each of its fingers bristles with three-inch-long, onyx claws.

I shudder, my brain too far gone with terror to remember what my mark is supposed to look like. I believe he was supposed to have wings and the comm has never been wrong before.

Is it really the case I might get out of here alive and with my career intact?

Unless you can stun something too much and he’s dead.

My comm flickers a warning and the light dims again. I decide to risk it and crouch down next to the male creature. He’s a biped, even with the wings, but there’s no saying if his anatomy is anything like mine. The one thing I can confirm is he breathes oxygen as he has no tanks of nitrogen or other gas strapped about his person. I put my hand over where I think his face is, and I’m rewarded by a huff of hot breath.

I haven’t killed him! I do the obligatory air fist pump. Until I remember I now have to get him out of here and onto my ship. In the past, all of my marks have been smaller creatures who have usually gone quietly and walked in.

This one has to be well over seven feet in length, wings, muscles, claws. He isn’t going to be easy to move.

“Beebie?” I delve in my pocket for the vidra. “A little help here?”

As usual, despite all the excitement, he’s curled up and half asleep as I pull him out. He snuffles his way over to the prone alien, chuckling to himself before clamping his teeth around one of the wings.

I look down at my comm. It’s still not happy, but the exit route is still showing, even if I can’t get it to provide me with more information on the mark.

“This way,” I call to Beebie as I set off down the dark passage.

With a grunt, the little creature starts dragging the mark behind me, and by the looks of things, he’s finding it easier than I expected.

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