Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 36875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 184(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 184(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
There's a movement at the verge of my vision.
She’s alive?
She’s limping. Wounded. Impressive. Most people would have died in the first flash of flame, but her equipment must be of the older type that doesn’t go up like a stick of dynamite thrown into a swimming pool. She’s far from being out of danger, however. That sheared suit is letting in air so frigid it can snap freeze a soft-bodied creature like her in an instant. All I have to do is close the door for two minutes and she will be another forgotten creature eventually joining the fossil record of the planet.
Somehow, instinct has guided her toward my door, so close by that it’s not terribly inconvenient to save her. Against my better judgement and general temperament, I find myself braving the infernal chill and dragging her into my cave.
She’s unconscious. Wounded. So close to death that I can hardly claim to have saved her. Yet.
“I’m wasting my resources on you," I tell her insensate body. Being unconscious is no excuse for being rude. She’s put herself at risk in the pointless attempt to capture me. Look at her.
I strip the suit from her body. It will do her no good, and I may be able to salvage some of it for other uses. Nothing goes to waste out here. Her naked body is soft and curved and not at all geared to survive the kind of adventure she has foolishly embarked upon.
She’s wounded in all manner of ways. Burns from the fire. Frostbite from the cold. Scars from something she managed to do to herself before this moment.
I have a tool that can fix almost any injury that hasn’t yet become critical. She’s borderline, but I try it anyway. I don’t have a lot of experience looking after others. I’m usually the one inflicting damage.
Going through her pockets, I find the inevitable bounty chit. Holding it up between my fingers, I cannot help but laugh. They’re getting truly desperate now, throwing absolutely everybody with a ship and a death wish after me. Her arrival means my location continues to be leaked. I am going to have to move. But I knew that already.
“You’re lucky,” I tell her. She’s still not conscious. I move her closer to the reactor that is putting out enough heat energy to keep this cave well above freezing. She’s going to make it. She might wish she hadn’t.
She shifts uncomfortably. She’s not aware of the pain, but that doesn’t stop the pain from being there. I’m not usually concerned by the pain of others. I quite often enjoy witnessing suffering. Or I did, at one time. But there’s something especially pathetic about witnessing the suffering of an unfortunate, weakened creature like her.
Her pink lips part. She is trying to speak. What words does her broken subconscious hope to wring from her? Will she beg for help? For forgiveness? Will she call the name of a lover?
“Fido,” she whimpers. “Come here, boy. Such a good boy.”
I feel a strange flash of jealousy. Who is this Fido, and why does she want him to come? What makes him such a very good boy that she should remember him now in her darkest moments? My curiosity continues to grow in spite of the very limited information my captive has provided.
* * *
Lyssa
I’m dreaming that I’m on a distant icy planet hunting a dangerous alien murderer. I know it is a dream because surely, I would never be that stupid in my waking life. I’m a much more sensible person than that. I have a job and a house to make payments on. I have a fiancé.
Just before I open my eyes, I remember that’s not true anymore. I don't have a job or a house or a fiancé or a dog. That was my old life. My good life. My gone life. Now I have a spaceship, and a target.
“Wakey wakey,” a resonant voice lulls me out of the last of my slumber. I feel warm, which is strange because my last memories were of being very hot and very cold all somewhat at the same time. I think I am the first person who might simultaneously burn and freeze to death at the same time.
I open my eyes and find myself looking into a big, handsome face. It’s him. Man1k, though it is usually translated as Manik. We use numbers in place of some letters because the aliens all laughed at us when we showed up to the big intergalactic meet and greet with an alphabet containing a measly twenty-six letters. A lot of people said we should have gone with Chinese instead. There are over fifty thousand Chinese characters. Then someone pointed out that we might be expected to know them all ourselves, and so we defaulted to English, or what passes for English in 2150. For a lot of people back on Earth, it’s enough to be able to grunt and interpretative dance. At any rate, there are over ten thousand symbols in pure galactic tongue. That’s why I stick with a translation device clipped into my ear hole. Looks like a chic piercing, but it lets me seem like a smart person while remaining an idiot.