The Stowaway

This is as good a place as any, thought the Hunter. He had come to a forest of jagged rock formations after tracking his quarry on Onachus for three days, and having held off sleep for the last two. Now that he had passed another midnight hour, however, he needed a night’s rest before following the beast’s tracks into the labyrinth. It would be rough, but he couldn’t abandon his sole reason for being in this barren hellscape. It was the only known place to hunt the Beowulf.

The Tarasquean Lupine Chimaera was indigenous to this solitary moon. As it became a more popular prize, the Hunters nicknamed it “Beowulf” after some long-forgotten Earth story, but following that, the species nearly went extinct. In fact, it had been years since any had been spotted in the usual hunting grounds, which some viewed as a blessing.

Hunting the mighty Beowulf was not to be taken lightly, as even the smaller adults could weigh over 650 kg, and due to an enlarged adrenal gland, they always seemed to be in a bad mood. Unfortunately, this organ was the true prize, containing the active ingredient for the hyperstimulant known as Lux. Being the drug of choice for anyone whose profits grew the longer they stayed awake and working, even one adrenal sample would fetch more than ten years’ worth of selling meat and pelts.

The Hunter assembled his shelter before tossing his pack and rifle through the doorway and climbing in. He then zipped himself into his sleeping bag and drifted off within minutes.

He awoke to a sensation so barely perceptible he was surprised he noticed it at all, but now he could hardly ignore it. With a groan, he climbed out of his cocoon and immediately realized there was a hell of a draft coming from the entryway. But again, he felt that subtle, tickly sensation under his left arm.

Raising it, he froze at the sight of what looked like a thin tendril protruding through his clothes from above his ribcage. The worm’s skin was pale and violet, and its length ran down to the Hunter’s hip, swaying as idly as a cat’s tail. Out of pure impulse, he ripped it from his skin and tossed it to the ground.

Channelling his fear and frustration, he grabbed his shock baton and pressed the worm into the ground with its point. The thing whipped in every direction, with a screech only dampened by the chattering electric charge. Eventually, the Hunter released, and the worm lay there twitching, as threads of smoke rose from its corpse. The Hunter brought out a sample container, carefully lifting the burnt carcass and sealing it away. It had only been two hours, but there was no way he would be sleeping anymore tonight.

After packing up, the Hunter resumed following the tracks between the many rocky spires, both small and large. Although the Hunter welcomed the possibility of getting the drop on his prey, he knew there was no sneaking up on it. The beast’s senses were far too sharp for stealth; hunting a Beowulf was more about catching up and killing it before it killed you.

Struggling ahead for the next few hours, the quiet crept in, turning each clattering stone into a growl and each shadow into an ambush. Finally, not too far away, a blue glow hugged the edges of the stone peaks in front of him. Emerging into a space where the ground was levelled in a wide circle, he noticed a small building on the far end, with bright blue lights illuminating the clearing.

It was customary for hunters to set up these Hunting Cabins in new areas, which were simple structures, but for the Hunter, it was quite the unexpected relief. The entry switch lifted with a low creak, and the door slid open to let him in.

The power flickered on, and harsh, fluorescent light filled the structure. There were only four main spaces: a common area with a kitchenette, and three other rooms down the hall, so working counterclockwise, he searched each room carefully. It was only when he opened the door to a second bedroom that he regrettably found something.

A stench of rot hit him as he entered, and he saw that on a bunk in the corner, there lay a person. Or it had been a person at one point, but now resembled every definition of a corpse. The body was emaciated, with dark stains outlining its silhouette on the mattress beneath, and its mouth was held open, either by the tension of its withered skin or whatever agony led to its final moments.

The head faced the doorway, and although sunken and devoid of life, the eyes seemed almost frantic in an unbroken stare. Its left arm extended perpendicular, resting on a nightstand where, just beyond the corpse’s reach, was a small tin case. The Hunter puzzled; he could see no wounds on the body or signs of struggle around the room. It looked like the person had just lain down and never got back up.

Once the shock wore off, the Hunter only felt pity as he approached the body, opening the tin case to find a small stack of pictures—what looked to be a family. He would need to bury the body when his hunt was done, but until then, he merely closed the case and placed it in the open palm, resting on the nightstand.

The Hunter had fallen behind his quarry, but he wouldn’t last much longer without a proper meal. The stove took a few tries, but he made it work with the food he had, and while it cooked, he couldn’t help but wonder what may have transpired. The man in the next room might not have been alone initially, and if so, perhaps that’s how he met his end. Naturally, that begged the question of where his possible attacker had gone. The Hunter had swept the cabin’s interior, but was that enough? The front door had sealed automatically, and anything that came close would register on the perimeter scan, so why was he so on edge?

BANG!

A clatter of metal came from the other room. He grabbed his rifle and sprinted towards it, opening the bedroom door again to find the tin case on the floor. Confused for a moment, any rational explanation melted away as soon as he looked back at the man’s sunken eyes, now fixed on the case. A faint, broken gurgling trickled from the man’s throat, chipping away at the stunned silence. Slowly, his pupils shifted and locked with the Hunter’s, projecting a desperate call for help.

The Hunter raced to his pack and rummaged until he found what, of course, had fallen to the very bottom. The Hunter returned and knelt down, attaching the pocket-doc to the man’s chest. The screen fizzled to life, and a digital voice spoke with words that dipped into distortion.

PATIENT STATUS: CURRENTLY EXPERIENCING PSEUDOCOMA CHARACTERIZED BY FULL PARALYSIS…

STATUS AMENDED: PATIENT HAS RETAINED LIMITED EYE MOVEMENT AND VOCAL FUNCTION…

PATIENT IS SEVERELY MALNOURISHED AND DEHYDRATED. PLEASE INSERT THE INTRAVENOUS LINE INTO THE PATIENT'S ARM.

A port opened on top of the terminal, through which a small needle extended. The Hunter rolled up the man’s sleeve and pulled the IV tube out of the machine, removing the needle’s protective plastic. It suddenly occurred to him that he hadn’t spoken to the man once.

“Sorry, this will sting for a second.” The Hunter inserted the line into the man’s arm and tapped the box that read ‘YES’ on the screen.

ADMINISTERING NUTRITIONAL AGENT AND SALINE.

CAUSE OF PSEUDOCOMA: UNKNOWN

SEEK AN ADEQUATE MEDICAL FACILITY IMMEDIATELY.

The Hunter sighed. The Beowulf likely wasn’t far, but he couldn’t risk leaving the man behind… Could he? Just then, the screen lit back up, and its voice returned.

CAUSE AMENDED: BLOODSTREAM CONTAINS—

The Hunter jumped as the voice was drowned out by an alarm blaring throughout the cabin. He ran back into the common area, now nearly filled with thick smoke, and found the food on the stovetop engulfed by fire. He remembered seeing an extinguisher during his initial sweep and, after another brief search, he found the canister. Spraying it over the flames, he quickly suffocated them and went to the cabin’s control box, flicking the ventilation switch.

The smoke disappeared in seconds, and it wasn’t long until the alarm stopped, but the Hunter was far from relieved. Replacing the alarm was a much softer but no less concerning sound.

“Proximity Alert.”

A small screen next to the entrance showed the surrounding area outside and registered movement on the edge of the clearing. Quickly and quietly, he grabbed his rifle from the bedroom, noticing that the man was staring at the pocket-doc.

“It’ll keep you stable while I take care of our visitor, then we can both get out of this shithole. Until then, I’ll be outside.”

The Hunter left and retrieved his belt, securing it around his torso and setting his rifle to ‘Pacify’ before he rechecked the sensor; the creature hadn’t moved. He grabbed the front door switch and, with one fluid motion, pulled it up and aimed his rifle forward just as the door slid open.

A light rain was falling, with each drop shimmering in the blue light around him. It was common for a Beowulf to outsmart its pursuer, but when he looked straight ahead to the edge of the clearing, the Hunter saw his prey.

The beast stood on guard, frozen and panting in place, but the Hunter could swear the Beowulf’s skin was wriggling. He began his approach, taking ages between each step until, soon enough, he could make out dozens and dozens of familiar shapes. All over the creature’s body was a tangle of sickly purple tendrils.

A growl seeped from its mouth as it turned to face him, and while several parasites obscured its vision, the Hunter knew it didn’t need sight to kill him. The worms writhed, and in an instant, the monster lunged towards him with a yowl, reaching the Hunter’s position a mere second after he jumped out of the way.

The Beowulf barely stopped to follow the Hunter’s movements as it pounced from one spot to the next, while the Hunter fired off his rifle’s stun bolts without much success. This was the most challenging part of killing a Beowulf. The adrenal gland was at the base of the scalp, and any damage or enough blood loss would render it useless, so it was best to stun it first.

The Hunter grabbed three small spheres from his belt and threw them to the ground. The confused animal paused, allowing the Hunter a second to affix an AE mask. Three blinding flashes erupted, accompanied by a sharp ringing and a blast of smoke. The Beowulf snorted, trying to shake off the effects, while the Hunter seized his opportunity to sprint around the clearing, attaching a thin perforated disk to every large rock he passed. He then slipped behind one of them and waited. Pawing at its snout, the Beowulf tried to sniff the Hunter out as he reached down to his belt and pressed a button.

Suddenly, his voice came from a speaker about five rocks away, which the Beowulf immediately pounced toward. The Hunter hit the creature with another stun bolt, and it turned to him, but before it could do anything, another speaker activated to its left. He was a good shot, but after several more successful hits, he began to suspect something was off. The Beowulf should have caught on to his strategy by now.

Turning a dial on his belt, the Hunter pressed the button again. His voice filled the area as each speaker screamed at the Beowulf. The Hunter threw a metal puck at the feet of the disoriented creature, and in a second, the device sent out an electrical charge, collapsing the beast.

Playing dead was one of the Beowulf’s strong suits, so the Hunter nudged it with his gun a few times before producing a flask of dark liquid. The poison poured down the beast’s throat, and the Hunter finally relaxed. Feeling the creature’s pulse with one hand and its chest rising and falling with the other, he waited until both became faint and were no more. After only a couple of minutes more, he had extracted the adrenal gland, roughly the size of a T-bone steak, and placed it inside a clear bag before pulling a tab at the top to create a vacuum seal.

The parasites still clung to the Beowulf’s carcass, determined to drink it dry. It was revolting, but it was no longer the Hunter’s problem. He returned to the bedroom to find that, although difficult to tell, the man’s eyes seemed less pained.

“I just called my ship,” the Hunter reassured him. “Charybdis probably has the closest full-tech hospital, so I’ll drop you there.” There wasn’t much to do except keep the man company, but it wasn’t long until the two of them heard the muffled roar of thrusters.

“That’s our cue.” The Hunter packed up and gently lifted the man off the bed. He was much lighter than expected and felt like he might break in two, so being extra cautious through the doorways, the Hunter carried his new passenger onto his ship.

He lowered the man to a small bunk and closed the loading door, planting himself in the pilot’s seat nearby. With the ship’s only bed occupied, the Hunter would, unfortunately, continue without the relief of sleep. Then he had an idea.

They won’t miss a tiny bit, plus it’s only smart to test something like this once in a while. The Hunter retrieved the adrenal gland and flicked a switch, revealing a mini processing station in the wall that he had for such an occasion. After extracting the tiniest sample he could and feeding it to the processor, the machine hummed and sputtered, soon producing a mound of bright orange granules. Grabbing a cup of water, he spooned a couple of portions in and mixed it until it started to foam. Lifting the rim to his lips, he was about to sip when a noise interrupted him.

He spun around and locked again with the man’s panicked eyes, but they had no pleading or agonized expression like before. It was a warning, and as the Hunter thought about it, a sickening deduction dropped in his gut. Quickly, he extracted another sample and processed it, speaking to the ship’s computer.

“Run an analysis and isolate any abnormalities.” The machine hummed again, taking a few minutes longer but eventually displaying the message:

1 abnormality found.

Tarasquean Lupine Chimaera Adrenal Extract altered by unknown contaminant.

The Hunter had a hunch, so going into his pack, he pulled out the container with the charred parasite inside. After scanning it, the computer found the species entry, which the Hunter read out loud.

“Murnau’s Lamprey, native to the planet Ketos…” The Hunter paused. Not only was that nowhere near Onachus, but it was the headquarters of Broken Boar, a new hunting guild that seemed eager to make a name for itself.

“Also known as the Ketosian Hybrid Eel, this species’ strong adaptability has made it resistant to extreme conditions. Highly aggressive, the lamprey will latch onto any animal it can, feeding on its blood. The lamprey’s venom—while harmless to most humanoids—will paralyze smaller prey.” Suddenly, the computer no longer registered the contaminant as ‘unknown’, confirming the Hunter’s suspicions. The venom of the invasive species was harmless to humans, but its introduction to the adrenal gland had created a far more intense paralytic.

He stared at the man, and although reluctant, he knew what to do. He poured the granulated Lux down a chute on the other side of him, followed by the mixture, and finally the bagged adrenal gland. He flipped another switch, and the chute’s panel closed with a flash of incineration behind it.

He groaned in frustration. He wasn’t a stranger to coming up empty-handed, but this was worse. Who knew how long the lamprey species had been there? With the Beowulves already so scarce, there was a good chance they were all contaminated already.

Slumped in his chair, he prepared to take off, but before he could, a roar permeated the ship’s walls. He turned on the rear camera and could hardly believe what was waiting outside: the Beowulf’s mate, covered in a similar army of parasites.

The Hunter thought about leaving, but some drive of responsibility wouldn’t stop gnawing at him. With another groan, he set the rear turrets to fire on the second Beowulf and the ship’s controls to hover at about twenty feet up. Setting his rifle to ‘Terminate’, he pulled the switch that opened the loading door, and lowered the ramp.

“Sorry,” the Hunter said, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder as he passed. “Hopefully, this won’t take long.” He then stepped out on the ramp and aimed down. Evading the firing turrets, the Beowulf immediately looked up and spotted him. It jumped to a nearby rock and leaped into the air, heading straight for the ship. The Hunter pulled the trigger, and three shots left his rifle, the last of which went through the beast’s forehead and out the base of its scalp. The turrets stopped, and the creature fell lifeless next to its kin.

Closing the loading door behind him, the Hunter charted a course for Charybdis. From that final confrontation, he had received a revelation. Once it got out that a hunting guild had inadvertently introduced an invasive species to Onachus, which virtually destroyed the source of Lux, they’d probably go bankrupt with all the fines. They’d likely want to eliminate any evidence, even if that meant hunting down every last contaminated Beowulf. Of course, the Hunter would be more than happy to help.