Page 63 of Caveman Alien's Heat
“How will she talk to it if it’s under the ice?” a Gar man asks. “She would have to yell down into the hole.”
I shrug. “She will know what to do. And we should get her here tomorrow.”
I lean over the big hole the saucer has melted in the ice. I can see it there, at the bottom of a deep layer of clear water, still making a sucking noise as it sinks.
“We can go. There’s nothing more for us here.” I start walking back toward the village, and the Gar men follow, one by one.
We return as the light begins to fade. The men don’t speak as we approach the village. Their earlier bravado has drained away, leaving only a tight silence that clings to them like frost. Boys spot us and call to the others in their bright voices. By the time we reach the central fire, men have already gathered.
Riley stands near the edge of the central place. Two men linger too close to her. One of them is Prak’ox, I note. When she sees me, she straightens and even smiles. But there’s something sharp and questioning in her eyes.
The hunters begin speaking over one another.
“It melted the ice…”
“It sank, Chief, into the glacier…”
“It moved on its own, after we righted it…”
The chief lifts his hand, and silence falls. He doesn’t look at them again. His gaze settles on me, steady and measuring.
I step forward. “The saucer is no dead thing. It reacted as any living thing would when threatened, trying to escape. But this is no mere stoka or a dondar. It made itself hot, the ice melted beneath it, and it descended into the glacier. No man can reach it now.”
A murmur passes through the gathered men.
“It did this because Riley was not there. It did not understand what we meant to do. It saw strangers. It saw me held among them, their stripes different from mine. So it fled.”
Riley shifts beside me. When I glance at her, her brow is drawn, but she gives the smallest nod, as if agreeing to the shape of the lie.
The chief’s eyes flick to her. “For you?” he asks her directly. “It would return foryou?”
Riley hesitates, just long enough to be real.
“It might,” she says. “It acts differently when I’m there. We don’t understand it fully, but it knows who I am.”
The chief scratches his chin. “If so…”
Shaman Crelt’ax steps forward, unhurried, his expression almost gentle. “What the Plood ship knows is Darkness,” he says softly. “That is what you saw. You claim it can fly. Well, if it were trying to escape, wouldn’t it fly? No, it’s not escaping. It’s waiting.”
I turn to him. “Yes, waiting for Riley to return.”
“No.” The shaman’s voice remains calm. “Waiting for what it serves.”
A few men exchange glances.
“The Plood ship,” he continues, “knows who it serves. It waits for its master.”
“The dragon,” someone whispers.
Crelt’ax does not look at the man. His eyes stay on the chief. “You have heard their claim. That the dragon can be commanded. That their chief holds such power.” A faint smile touches his mouth. “Then let us see what comes.”
The chief’s fingers rest on the haft of his new hatchet. He taps it once against the bench, a slow, thoughtful rhythm. “And if the dragon comes, what then?”
“I will meet it,” Crelt’ax replies. “As I was taught. As old Shaman Baret’ax taught me. As all shamans know, the Darkness can be spoken to, bound, commanded.Iwill command Praxigor the dragon, and the Gar tribe will be the mightiest tribe on Xren.”
A stir runs through the men, loaded with excitement.
I step forward again before it can take root. “If you leave the saucer where it is, it is lost, buried beneath the ice. But Riley can call it back. She has done so before.” I let that hang, then add, “We will go. Alone, if needed. Your men may watch from a distance.”
