Wild Beast: A Rough Sci-Fi Romance

“Beam us up!” Scarton shouts.

We cannot use the beam while the wild ones are on our tail. The risk of transporting one of them, or inflicting an accidental transport injury is far too high. This is the risk we took when we came down here. They won’t beam us up. It’s against every protocol we have. We are on our own down here, according to my strictest instructions. We will only beam up when the human threat has been handled.

“Run faster,” Brains grunts back, also going to all fours.

Scarton is too proud to take the animal pose. He begins to fall behind. The wild ones are gaining on him by the stride, and I know that within another two or three galloping steps they will have him. He will never survive them.

I stop and spin around, my hands and feet digging into the dirt. With a protective barking roar, I bound between Scarton and the wild ones, facing them and bringing the chase to an abrupt halt. I am tackled by the wild ones, their massive stinking baying bodies sending me tumbling over onto my back into a classic animal pose of submission. I have no choice but to keep it, thanks to the massive jaws poised over my throat.

Scarton and Brains continue to flee, thankfully making my sacrifice worthwhile.

I lie very still, knowing that I am at risk of being ripped apart, but that was always the risk when I chose to come here. There is nothing I can do to save myself. My life is entirely at the mercy of the wild one, the slavering ancient ancestor whose very present fangs are less than an inch away from the hot artery in my throat.

The beasts surround me, growing and snapping, pawing at the ground, displaying the most aggressive and terrifying behavior. They are testing me. They want to see what I do, if I wet myself, if I whimper for forgiveness, if I squirm like a pup and yelp for maternal help that cannot come.

I do nothing besides relax. If these teeth are my destiny, so be it.

The moment I am no longer invested in my survival or lack thereof, the teeth at my throat are released. My behavior is calming the wild one, showing it that I am no threat. I may be the captain of a massive warship, but on this planet, lying in this dirt, I must submit to survive.

These creatures do not speak, but they communicate very clearly nonetheless. They make nudges and lighter snarls, which indicate that they want me to move.

I am being taken by the wild ones. In spite of the fact that this is arguably a humiliating defeat, it may also be the perfect way into their pack. I would never have been allowed in on my own terms. The wild ones are beasts, and a beast will always demand submission before another being is trusted. That is the way of this world and all worlds beyond as far as I am aware.

Standing, I follow the leaders. There is a lot of sorting and retracted lips across teeth in my direction as the wild ones take my scent in and process it. They will be learning many things from that smell. They will know that I am a leader, and that I have many subordinates. They will know that it has been a long time since I have mated. They will know that I am like them, and yet somehow different.

I follow the leader as dutifully as any pack animal wishing to keep the goodwill of the others does. We are traveling worn paths now, presumably made by ungulates like the little one I have twice chased to my detriment.

Finally, just when I imagine that I have suffered the greatest humiliation possible, I hear a sound that makes everything so very much worse. A human female voice that dares to be cheerful.

“You’re back! Hi, everyone! I made you some soup from the bones of your last… oh, someone new!”

There she is. The human. She’s sitting in the middle of the den of the wild ones looking as comfortable as can be. She has brilliant red hair, which does not surprise me. I have encountered fire-touched females of my own species many times, more than enough to know the kind of trouble she is likely to be. Her eyes are dark and her face round. She is wearing a human suit of some kind, something designed to help her withstand weather most animals need absolutely no protection from whatsoever. If there is a sentient species in the universe less capable of surviving in its base state, I do not know it.

Further to this incredible vulnerability there is a shelter erected just outside the main den, which looks to be of human construction. It is made from sticks and mud daub.