Page 11 of Ice Planet Barbarians

As I trudge onward, I’m starting to feel despair. What if they dropped us here on this planet precisely because we won’t be able to fend for ourselves? Even as the terrible thought occurs to me, I hear the sound of trickling liquid.

Water?

I stop, my heart hammering. Oh, please let it be water! If it’s water, that means it’s warm enough to not turn to ice. That means something is warm. And right now? I’d take a hot drink.

I rush forward. The water sound seems to be coming from the same direction as the weird, tall stalks. The stalks keep growing bigger the nearer I get, and by the time I find the edge of a burbling, steaming stream, the stalks are taller than some buildings. They tower over me, like a forest of bamboo shoots that stick out of the water. Each one is tipped in a pale pink, sluggish-looking thing. It’s rather bizarre looking, but maybe it’s normal for this place.

There are a few stalks close to the muddy bank that are human-sized. I grab one. It’s warm under my hand. That’s a good sign that the water’s warm too. Maybe too warm to touch. I lean down to the surface, holding on to the stalk.

As I do so, I realize there’s a face on the other side of the water staring back at me. A face with a huge mouth, jagged teeth, and bulging fish eyes. And the stalk I’m holding? Appears to be attached to its nose.

I scream and stumble backward just as the thing lunges forward, snapping at me.

I keep screaming and crab walk back, away from the edge of the water. The thing stirs, moving slightly away from the surface, its nasty mouth working. Then it sinks in and the stalk gives a small shiver before moving back in place.

Holy fuck.

Holy . . . fuck. I just nearly got eaten by an alien fish . . . thing.

I stare, wide-eyed, at the happily burbling stream. At the enormous stalks sticking out of it. At the ones that are taller than a two-story building. Are all of those . . . monsters?

I turn and run. Breath huffing, I sprint as best as I can through the snow, back up the hill. Back through the feathery blue-green trees. Screw all this. I am not equipped to deal with alien life forms on an alien planet. My lungs rasp and my ribs hurt like the blazes and I landed on my wrist back there and none of that matters because I am not stopping.

As I pass one of the strange trees, something whips around my ankles.

I barely have time to scream before the thing drags me backwards and I’m hauled, upside down, into the branches of the tree, my feet caught and bound together.

I scream over and over again, twisting, turning. The ground is at least a foot or two below me, and I can’t touch it. Down there? My club-slash-gun. I dropped it when whatever this is hauled me backward.

When nothing happens, I stop flailing and panicking and try to figure things out. I bend over, flopping through the air, and get a good look at my feet. They’re tied with something that looks like rope. If I wriggle enough . . . that definitely looks like a knot. The other end of the cord is tied higher in the branches. I whimper and fall quiet, and I just sway back and forth gently in the tree.

I . . . I’ve walked into a snare of some kind.

On one hand, this is encouraging. There’s intelligent life here, right? Which is exciting because it means we’re not alone.

But I can’t overlook the fact that I’m in a hunting snare and something could decide I’m dinner. I remember a scene in Star Wars where Luke found himself upside down in the snow creature’s cave. And I start panicking again, because I know how this sort of thing goes down. Luke’s able to free himself before the creature eats him because he’s a Jedi.

Me? I’m just a Floridian in a stolen space suit with no weapon and a busted wrist. I know how this is going to end.

I whimper and wriggle some more, working my feet and trying to free them from the noose that’s holding me fast, upside down.

I don’t want to be here when the owner of this trap comes back looking for dinner.

Wiggling my feet doesn’t work, so for the next minute or two, I concentrate on trying to stretch far enough to reach my gun. Not that I know how to fire it, but I’ll feel better if I have it. It’s getting harder to think, though, and the longer I hang here, the harder my head pounds.

It’s probably not good for me to hang upside down for a long time, I realize. How long can a human hang upside down before all the blood rushes to their head and they die?

I twist even harder, and as I do, I realize there’s something new on the edge of my vision. I stop moving and stare as a white, furry figure approaches.

Shit. It’s too late. I’m dinner.

“No,” I moan and struggle again. But my body can’t keep up with the demands I’m putting on it. My head throbs, and then I pass out cold just as the monster starts to move toward me.

At least I won’t be awake to feel it eat me.

VEKTAL

I don’t recognize the . . . thing . . . squirming in my trap.

---