Page 81 of Caveman Alien's Heat
“We’ll try something before we land,” I promise. “And it looks like we’re getting close. Slow down!”
In the distance I spot the wide rock with the caves, nearing fast. The saucer does slow down, and I start looking for a place to land.
“Fly closer to that pole,” I instruct the Plood, idly wondering how it can understand what I’m saying. But I don’t really care that much - the saucer is a mystery and will likely always be one. But I know something it can do. “Now stop, Hover here.”
The saucer hovers a hundred feet above the village. Below us, the Gar men spill out of their caves, some half-dressed, some already armed, all of them staring upward. The common circle fills quickly. Spears are raised, but not thrown. No one quite knows what they are facing.
“Destroy that,” I command, pointing at the screen.
A heartbeat later, a flash answers me. The totem pole explodes into splinters and fire. Thecrackechoes across the rock as burning fragments rain down into the circle.
For a moment, no one moves. Then the shouting starts. Men scramble back, some dropping to their knees, others dragging each other away from the flames. A few stand frozen, staring at the fire and the saucer as if it might speak.
“Land there,” I say, pointing to the center of the circle. “Turn so the hatch faces the rock.”
The saucer descends slowly and deliberately, a controlled lowering, like a predator choosing where to place its weight. The Gar men retreat step by step, opening a space for it. Their formation breaks without a word.
When the hull settles a few feet above the ground, the hum deepens, filling the air. Smoke from the burning totem drifts past the screens.
I glance at Nator’ax. “Shall we try?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. His gaze sweeps the circle, measuring distance, counting men, reading posture. When he speaks, his voice is low. “You stay inside. If they rush, you burn them.”
Then he turns and moves to the hatch. It opens with a hiss that cuts through the noise below.
Nator’ax steps out.
The reaction is immediate. Several men flinch back. One raises his spear, then lowers it again when nothing strikes him down.
“Chief of the Gar tribe!” Nator’ax calls, his voice carrying easily across the circle. “Come forward.”
There is a pause before Chief Hoker’iz steps in from the edge of the gathering. He moves slowly, deliberately, stopping well outside striking distance. His eyes flick from Nator’ax to the hovering saucer and back again.
“Warrior Nator’ax,” he says. “You return.”
Nator’ax stands with his hands empty, his posture relaxed in a way that somehow makes him look more dangerous. “I don’treturn.I have come to claim what is mine.”
The chief’s gaze hardens. “You fled our judgment.”
“I rejected your false justice,” Nator’ax replies. “And now I stand above you with power you don’t understand. Hand me my sword.”
A murmur ripples through the gathered men.
The chief glances at the burning remains of the totem pole. “That was the center of our tribe. Carved by our Ancestors. You destroy it and expect-”
“I know what a totem pole is,” Nator’ax cuts him off. “And only a tribe with honor deserves one. It ismyjudgment that this tribe has none.”
The chief holds his gaze. Around him, the men shift, uncertain, glancing between the saucer and Nator’ax.
Nator’ax takes a single step forward. “If you refuse, I will do more than burn wood. I will break your caves, scatter your people, and leave this place empty. You have seen a fraction of what I can command. You will have no tribe.”
The threat hangs in the air, heavy and undeniable.
The chief exhales slowly, then turns his head. He barks a command. One of the men runs to a nearby cave, disappearing inside. The rest hold their ground, but none step forward. When the man returns, he carries the sword belt with both hands, as if it weighs more than it should. He hesitates at the edge of the circle.
“Bring it,” Nator’ax says.
The man approaches, each step careful, then stops several feet away.
