Tachivenator astrocirros

To my credit, I did not scream like a little girl when it happened. I did jump, I hit my head on the top-most tent pole, kicked over my pack, and definitely said a few words that are less than appropriate for polite company. My adrenal system is probably fried for a good two months.

I’m getting ahead of myself.

So, this morning, I encountered the locals. Or, perhaps it should be said they encountered me. I’d been sleeping lightly all night. The night sounds on Minerva are creepy as hell. Things kept whooping and booming and shrieking in the dark. I didn’t know whether they were Minervan equivalents of owls, or whether it was some flesh-eating terror that would descend on me and eat my entire camp, tent and all, in one go. So I slept with one hand on my survival knife and my emergency comlink under my pillow.

It was just barely getting light when I heard rustling in the grass. It didn’t sound all that close, but it made me jumpy just the same. So I crept to the door of my tent, flipped the silencer on the zipper (gods, am I grateful for that innovation), and opened the flap.



So, yeah, totally didn’t scream like a girl. Just swore enough to curl paint and shrivel plant life.

“Good morn-ning!” it said, and showed its teeth in a horrific grimace.

I don’t remember exactly what I said in response. It was something intelligent. “Urrhh.. “ I wiggled my fingers in a pathetic wave.

“A D’Keda yalalea,” it continued, slowly mimicking me by wiggling claw-tipped fingers. I finally managed to coax my heart back down into my chest, and my brain slowly registered that it was saying “welcome.” Things that plan to eat you don’t welcome you first, in my experience.

My voice didn’t even shake that much. “Kaganu,” hello, I said. “Doku oki Tee.” I’m Tee.

Its grimace widened, and I finally realized it was trying to give its best human smile. I found myself grinning. E for effort, dude. “Doku oki Kohric,” it continued, and turned enough for me to see that its mane ended in a tuft between the shoulders. Really was a dude, then. He was gesturing, pointing to me and the tent, and then out over the hills ahead. “Come. Tee to be with D’Keda, yes?” He had a very odd accent, and spoke English very slowly. “Tee and Kohric go. Come!”

For all that he seemed to be in a hurry, he was very patient while I broke camp. He watched everything I did, sticking his long snout into every pocket of my pack, grappling at every piece of equipment, and even went so far as to lick my computer pad. Gross! And how do you deal with that? He was as tall as a Saint Bernard, but you generally don’t make good diplomatic relations with someone when you treat them like a dog. Down! Down! Bad sentient alien! No treat for you. Yeah, great. I plucked the computer from his paws with a smile fixed on my lips and tried to distract him.

“Is D’Keda far away?” I asked.

He flicked his enormous ears and looked blank. I pulled up my woefully insufficient dictionary and tried again. “Is D’Keda tay?”

This time I knew he got it. “Tay. Far. Tay. Hai! Yes! Hai. Two days. Come! Tee and Kohric go!”

Oh great.

I finished breaking camp and we headed out. After about two hours I was huffing like I’d run a 40K marathon. Kohric stopped and stared at me intently. He reached out one hand, pointed to my chest, then swung his finger up to point at my mouth. “Tee has weak breath?” he asked. He said it like you would say “Tee has botchulism?”

Awesome. Less than a day in and my guide already thinks I’m a first class weenie. “Breath strong in a few days,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t think I was a total charity case. I tried to slow my breathing and fixed my posture. “I’m fine. It’s okay.”

“We rest much until breath strong,” he said, and flopped down into the grass.

Damn.

Three rests and some unholy number of kilometers later and we stopped for the night. Kohric seemed disturbed when I went to set up my tent again, so instead I unrolled my sleeping bag and set it down right in the grass. I hoped there were no Minervan equivalents to scorpions running around.

Kohric seemed to be pleased that I was sleeping out. He pointed to the sky. It was a beautifully clear night. "Azu," he said, gesturing to the sky.

"Sky?"

"No," he said, and pointed again. "Azu." He shifted his hand and pointed again. "Azu." Then again. "Azu." I realized he was pointing at the stars.

"Stars," I said, feeling triumphant.

He did his horrible human smile imitation again. "Yes." I seemed to have made him happy.

The scientific name for the Azu-nah is Tachivenator astrocirros. It means "swift hunter from the orange star." The word star seemed to be in their name for themselves too. Sometimes I think life has more of a sense of humor than we realize.