Page 5

My eyes snap open. For a split second, I'm back in my sterile lab at the ESD annex, the sound just a drill notification. Then the damp, minty air of Xylos fills my lungs, and the reality of my situation crashes back down. I'm not in a lab. I'm in a makeshift tomb, and something is outside.

My heart hammers against my ribs, a frantic, trapped bird.Tachycardia. Adrenaline response initiated.I push the clinical thought away. It's not a specimen's reaction; it's mine.

I crawl silently to the salvaged monitor, my good hand clutching the energy blaster. The screen, a small circle of relative safety, shows the perimeter I established. The blips from before are no longer distant flickers. They are solid, pulsing icons ofred, and they are inside my alarm's radius. Three of them. No, four.

They're circling.

Not random wandering. Coordinated movement. A pack.

I risk a peek through a small gap in my metal wall. The red dwarf star casts a bloody, weak light over the clearing, but the planet's own bioluminescence provides a ghostly, purple-and-green illumination. It's in this shifting, ethereal light that I see the first one.

It's magnificent. And terrifying.

Larger than a Terran wolf, sleeker than a panther, its body is a fluid construction of muscle that ripples under dark, mottled fur. It moves with a low-slung, predatory grace that is utterly hypnotic. Its head lifts, sniffing the air, and the true alienness of its physiology hits me. It has six eyes, arranged in two triangular clusters, glowing with a soft, internal amber light. They blink independently, giving it a panoramic, unnerving field of vision. Its jaw is... segmented. Not a single mandible, but two interlocking pieces that suggest a wider, more devastating bite.

Species designation: Xylo-form Lupus-Panthera. Preliminary observation: hex-ocular, bi-mandibular. Pack hunter. Apex... no, not apex. Not after that roar.

The creature takes another step, and a second one melts out of the shadows to its left. Then a third to its right. The fourth hangs back, near the treeline. Flanking maneuver. They're intelligent. They're using strategy.

They're herding me.

My breath catches in my throat. I am a specimen, pinned on a slide for their observation. They test the perimeter of my camp, their six-eyed gaze taking in the crude walls, the smoking wreck of the pod. One of them lets out a low, chuffing sound, a series of clicks and guttural notes. The others respond in kind.Communication. They're discussing the best way to open this strange, metallic shell and get to the soft meat inside.

They're not just hungry. They're curious. That's worse. Hunger can be sated. Curiosity needs to be... satisfied.

I back away from the gap, pressing myself against the cold hull of the pod. My meticulously constructed routine, the scientific detachment that has been my shield for the past two cycles, shatters like glass. This is no longer a research problem. This is a survival equation, and I am the only variable that matters.

The first predator, the one I assume is the alpha, approaches the wall. It nudges one of the jagged metal plates with its snout, then rears back, hissing as it cuts itself. A thin line of dark, viscous fluid wells up on its nose. It shakes its head, the amber eyes blinking rapidly, focusing on the shelter with renewed intensity. It's not just curious anymore. Now it's angry.

It lets out a sharp, barking call. The others close in.

Time to stop observing and start reacting, Kendra.

My hands, slick with sweat, move with a desperate purpose. I'd spent the last precious hours of daylight preparing for this. It was a long shot, a half-baked theory based on incomplete data, but it was all I had.

I grab the ceramic container from my salvaged medkit. Inside is a thick, volatile paste I rendered from the sap of Specimen 017, a plant with a nasty habit of bursting into flame when its seed pods are crushed. The reaction is exothermic and surprisingly energetic. Beside it is the salvaged ignition unit from the pod's emergency flare system. I've jury-rigged it to a long, insulated rod from the landing strut assembly. A makeshift torch. A prayer made of xenobotany and scavenged tech.

A heavy thud against the metal wall makes me jump. A claw scrapes down the panel, a sound like nails on a chalkboard that sets my teeth on edge. They're testing the structure, looking for a weak point.

Okay. Focus. Predator psychology. They're intelligent, but they're still animals. Fire is a primal deterrent. A universal symbol for 'stay the hell away.' It signifies a power they don't understand.

I smear the thick, sticky paste onto the head of the insulated rod. The paste has a sharp, astringent smell that makes my eyes water.

Another thud, harder this time. The wall groans. A small gap widens near the base. I see a segmented snout push through, sniffing, six amber eyes peering into the darkness of my shelter.

It sees me.

My heart slams against my ribs, a painful, frantic beat.Fight-or-flight response fully engaged. Adrenaline flooding the system. Pupils dilated. Respiration rate... critical. I am documenting my own terror.The thought is so absurd I almost laugh.

I grip the torch in my good hand, the ignition switch cold and unfamiliar under my thumb. With my other hand, I hold the blaster, its uselessness a heavy weight. Five shots. Against a pack of four. The math is not in my favor.

The creature at the gap lets out a low growl, a rumble of anticipation. It pulls its head back and then lunges, its full weight hitting the weakened panel. The metal shrieks and buckles inward.

Now.

I press the ignition switch.

A shower of sparks erupts from the unit, hitting the paste. For a terrifying second, nothing happens.Misfire. Compound inert. I'm dead.Then, with a loudwhoosh, the paste ignites.