I thought initially that I would blend in perfectly with the wild ones, but having seen one that close, I no longer think that. I am a civilized Vulpari. I have a thick mane of hair tamed and trimmed into a plume that travels up and back over my head. The wild one had no such attention to personal grooming. His long hair was a massive mane extending around his head in a halo of furry fury. His fangs were longer than mine. He was more than I, more in every way.
I make up for a sudden sense of inadequacy by growling at an insubordinate.
“Brains, get back to work.”
He returns to cleaning the floors, shaking his head and making discouraging growling sounds under his breath.
I have made my decision. Scarton is right. Technology is not the way to handle this. Zipping the human into the depths of space is not a noble option.
This is something we need to handle as a pack. The wild ones likely did not respect me because I came among them as a loner. I must make a show of force. I must impress the living ancestors.
* * *
The human’s point of origin on the planet is not hard to find. It is the site of a massive fire that has destroyed thousands of years’ worth of old growth. That is where our contingent makes our landing.
At the very center of the circle of charred land, a human campsite has been razed to the ground. All that remains are a few curling charred remains of their pathetic materials. They insist on building out of materials that are flammable and then running hot current through them. It is almost as though they are drawn to the most illogical of choices and decisions.
We make a half-hearted attempt at sifting through the ashes, not overly caring what we find.
“Catalog the damage,” I instruct Brains. It is an unnecessary order, as he is already doing just that.
“Human explorers,” Scarton grunts, kicking something that subsequently clangs across the ruined ground. “They always think they have the right to claim whatever they like. Petty, weak, arrogant little creatures.”
“I wonder why the wild ones decided that this human was worthy of saving.”
“Maybe they’re storing her to eat. You know, like a pet beast that does not know winter is coming, and slaughter with it.”
“We need to find her. We need to get her away from the wild ones. And we need to contain the damage she has done by interrogating her thoroughly.”
“Blehehehe!”
A four-legged ungulate bleats at us from a distance. I recognize it instantly. Its patterns are not of a wild type. I am beginning to think that it is some form of domesticated human beast. It will be eradicated from the surface of this planet, I swear.
“That looks like good eating,” Scarton says eagerly. If there is a beast in the universe with more hunger than he, I do not know of it.
“No. It is the same one I saw before. I recognize its markings. It led me to the human once. It may lead us all back there again. Ready your weapons and prepare to capture the human interloper!”
We follow after the creature, which leads us on a merry and involved chase through the bush. It is not easy to stay on its tail. The three of us are large, heavy beasts, and we are not only following the smaller animal, but trying to do so in a manner that will allow us to remain hidden from the wild ones.
“Quiet,” I remind Scarton, who has a tendency to growl and snarl almost uncontrollably when he is on the hunt. We use him to run down prey. He is relentless and tireless, and he knows how to take his quarry to ground. But this is not a proper hunt. Like everything humans involve themselves in, it has become corrupted.
“I am quiet,” he hisses back, making even more noise than he needs to against my direct orders.
But he is not being quiet.
He is loud.
Too loud.
Suddenly, the snarling we are hearing does not emerge from him. It emerges from a pack of wild ones who leap from the trees in flashes of fur and fury,
We are no longer the predators. We have become prey, all three of us. Our pace increases, our vestigial tails tucking between our legs as we attempt to outrun a group of hunters even more tuned to the chase than we are.
The wild ones take on a four-legged stance, which makes them lower and even faster. They bound after us, moving though the undergrowth with an alacrity and speed we could never hope to match.
We never run on all fours. We consider it a sort of animal humiliation, but now that the wild ones are gaining on us, I throw pride to the wind and go to all fours myself.