Beneath The Argus Light

I am sitting between the ring of trees in the peaceful valley of the blue razor grass as the silver light of Argus stands high above. I have no idea why the locals call the gas giant Argus any more than I know why they call this moon Urid. They have never volunteered the information and I have never asked, since it is best to not wonder about such things. I am a guest on their moon and have no interest in doing anything to offend them. Unwelcome questions are a sure way to be removed from their space and it is a long way back to Earth.

The fire licks the clear air with its yellows and greens as a soft breeze blows the sweet smelling smoke into my nose. There is no need to cough and there is no burning sensation in my eyes, but it would be quite different if I was one of the locals. We may look similar in a lot of ways, but my hosts have very different interiors than humans.

I feel the wind shift, hair tickling my ears shortly before the sweet scent drifts away from me. The soft mint of the trees replaces the sweet smelling smoke and I find myself reminded a little of the home I left behind. My eyes close as I picture the mint leaves that ran through my fingers and wish I could find something with the pleasant texture somewhere on Urid. Ferns that are not really ferns are the closest I have found, but they are a little too soft for what I desire.

My eyes open and turn away from the fire that burns silently in the night, which is something that will never sit quite right with me. Fires are supposed to bring about the soft crackles and pops as well as the occasional snaps, but there is none of that with the wood which is not really wood. If it were not for the pleasant heat on my back to warm me on this chilly night and my shadow dancing to the flames, I would have a hard time believing the fire is still burning.

The fire is not the only thing that should be making noise. My eyes scan the dark trees, they're just a little too close for my comfort. There should be the normal symphony of insects and birds coming from all around me, but I know their silence means something is lurking out there. Just like on Earth there are predators that live in these forests, but unlike Earth the predators do not mind getting a little closer to the light of the fire to investigate a potential meal.

A snap of a branch from behind causes my body to twist in an odd way and almost lose my footing. My eyes scan across the green and yellow flames as I search for something, anything to reveal itself to me. Another snap to my left and at least I am only dealing with a lone predator, but that is not exactly a great blessing. It may not be able to surround me, but if it is one of the bigger one's it will not need to.

My heart is starting to pound in my chest as my breath quickens at the returned silence. I can feel sweat break through my pores and start to soak into my loose clothing. Something in the darkness is staring out at me and I cannot see anything to give even a hint as to where it is standing.

A sound of a loud chuff breaks the silence behind me and I turn just a little too quick. One moment I am spinning towards something and the next I am on the blue grass with blades cutting into my now exposed flesh. I force myself to sit and look for something to defend myself with, but there is nothing within reach.

I feel myself get knocked back hard and something has got me pinned as I struggle to free myself from the unknown beast. An elongated head with sharp fangs appears in my vision and stares at me for a moment. Some of it's drool drips into my mouth and it tastes like whatever is rotting between it's teeth. The drool is preventing me from screaming out as another loud chuff is released and I see it's jaws open to take my head off in one bite.

My heart is beating strongly in my chest as the creature falls to the side silently and find my leg pinned between the creature and the grass at an odd angle, which causes fire to tear through body as I scream out into the silent night. I manage to pull myself free without breaking a bone and feel the razors scrape deep into my flesh.  I look down at the unconscious beast as I tremble from the anger slowly engulfing my body. 

It is a woomber, which is as close as this moon has to horses, except horses do not have fangs and don't smell this bad under the worst conditions. I try to spit out the taste of death as my heart starts to steady and feel the breeze cool my sweat laden flesh. The pain is starting to dull as I limp away from the wretched creature that fills my nightmares.

I hear high pitched laughter from behind as I turn and scream, "Cutting it a little close, Frick."
Out of the darkness, a man with silver hair and silver eyes appears with a rifle in his hand. "I wasin gonna lets it eats ya."

That is as close as any of their kind has ever gotten to speaking English and I consider it a small miracle Frick learned even this much. Their language is mostly made up of sounds I cannot even begin to match and the translators do not do their job under the best of circumstances.

I scowl at him as I lower my voice. "Course not, Frick. You'd have to find someone else to play bait. How about you be bait next time."

He laughs hard and his voice took on a slightly higher pitch. "Yous no shoot. Yous bait."

I grin as I a soft laugh escapes my lips. "You're right, I probably would shoot you. Why do we need to keep these things alive?"

His laughter dies down and his voice takes on a more serious note. "Woomba good train. Less you wa to haul."

I shake my head and grumble to myself. "Sure they are. Just don't expect me to train them and I'm not hauling anything."

Local voices break the silence of the night with their odd tones and the rest of the troop has arrived to do the easiest part of the job. They have the supplies needed to cage the slumbering beast, which leaves Frick and I free to call it a night. He keeps promising to get me something that is supposed to taste just like good whiskey, but so far there has been nothing even close to what I like. The locals like things a little on the sweet side and I am getting tired of drinking glorified honey whenever the need for a drink strikes me.

Frick hands me a silver bottle and I poor the thick liquid onto my open wounds. The local's idea of alcohol may be seriously lacking in flavor, but it does very well at killing infections. There's a slight sting as the thick substance enters my open flesh and I ignore the slight burning sensation as it eats away at whatever might have gotten. I follow up by pouring a large mouthful into my mouth and let the sweetness wash away the taste of the horrendous drool from my tongue.

The End