Wild Beast: A Rough Sci-Fi Romance

I am smelling the wild ones.

The little animal is forgotten instantly. I did not come here to chase prey. I came here to discover the roots of my ancestry, and this scent draws me inexorably toward them.

I move as quietly as I can through the undergrowth. It is not a good idea to disturb the wild ones. They are exceptionally tribal and hostile to those outside their familial groups. I am already fortunate merely to have captured their scent. I draw it in deeper, following it. The wind blows it into a weaker state from time to time, but then I catch it richer than before.

This feels like coming home to a place I had entirely forgotten. I follow the scent like a whelp seeking its mother’s teat. The impulse to follow it has the same power and instinctual command. I know intellectually that I am approaching a pack of wild beasts that may be immensely hostile, but on an animal level I feel as though I belong here. I need to be with them. I have never needed anything so immediately and intensely in my life.

I’m getting closer. Their scent is wrapping around me, welcoming me, calling me in.

I think I can see flashes of dark fur through the undergrowth. I know their dens will be built into the side of hillocks, and probably the area around them will be cleared, the dirt from the dens spread around to cover any foliage. Sunlight is important for rearing whelps.

I pause, breathing deeply, knowing that rushing into their midst will guarantee maiming, if not outright execution. I need to approach them with respect. I need to show them that I mean them no harm. I may need to roll over and show my belly, an act of submission I have not performed in many years.

But that is a decision for a yet to be future time. For now I sit, and I watch. I drink in this experience that is being allowed to me.

A flash of fur confirms what my nose has been telling me. There they are. The wild ones. There are four or five of them in the clearing, moving about in a casual way. The wind ensures that I have their scent, but they do not have mine. A slight shift in the breeze will alert them to my presence. There is danger, but there is even more excitement running through my veins.

I cannot make them out entirely properly, but from what I’ve seen, they seem to appear physically almost identical to my own form. These are supposed to be our ancestors, but an unsuspecting third party would never see any difference between us. They are like me. I am like them. We are the same.

I creep closer to see what they are doing. I can hear feeding, chewing sounds, which makes me think they must have recently had a kill and are consuming the still warm flesh of a once living creature. I wonder what they are feasting on. I can’t smell the food, which is strange. Raw meat and entrails usually have a very distinctive odor.

I never thought I would see wild ones in the actual wild. This is a moment like no other. They are unspoiled, living a life close to… There is a flash of light beyond the foliage. It immediately strikes me as strange and out of place. I creep closer, slowly, but very curious and almost immediately concerned.

Wait. Is one of them eating from a foil ration pack?

I can see flashes of light reflecting off the strips as the male casually takes a bite of what looks to me like common dried jerky. The sort that is sold in space layaways and refueling stations across the settled galaxies for a few credits. It is rubbish, packed with fillers and with very little in the way of nutritional value. It also no doubt contains ingredients never before found on the wild world. What the honored ancestor is now consuming is barely food grade, certainly not the nourishment it deserves.

Horror of horrors, the planet has been defiled.

Someone is responsible for this. Someone has brought all the trappings of the modern universe to this planet that was designed to be an eternal anachronism.

That someone will pay.

I stay hidden. Just because someone else has made contact with the wild ones does not mean I will similarly thrust myself into their midst. The damage may yet be undone if I can eradicate the source of the corruption and quarantine the affected wild ones. In an instant, my mission has gone from careful reconnaissance to conservation mission of ultimate historical significance. Forget laying my hands on a few artifacts. I am going to preserve the whole world.

“Hey, Glorp! How’s it going?”

I hear a cheerful voice. A female voice. A human voice.