Rogue hunters
“There is no sign of the traitor,” D’tak says in a stern voice, stepping onto the bridge of the cloaked rogue hunter vessel. He stands at attention; studying his hunt leader from a safe distance.
Flade’ha growls deep in his throat and his brow furrows with uncontrollable anger. He clenches a battle scarred fist and struggles to resist slamming it against the console before him. No need to create unnecessary damage.
Flade’ha hungers for a fresh hunt. His eyes narrowing, as he views the small ooman town through the front display screen. Even just one ooman skull would do him good. Even more, would make this trip worth the effort. However, none of the inhabitants of this compound are worthy of his hunter prowess.
His mind runs through the options, searching for an exception. There are the two oomans, a male and female, who stumbled over each other after the dust storm cleared—pawing at each other’s body and clothes. Flade’ha had been close enough to grab the male and slit his tender throat with the deft swipe of a wrist blade. Yet, he had resisted.
Entering the building with the broken glass front, without being observed, Flade’ha had learned it held only one other occupant. A very old ooman, who wiped at the counter with a dirty rag and made harsh whistling sounds to himself.
Glor’s suit communication device had specified various other oomans milling around the ooman compound. Many of them old or infirm. Another ooman male had arrived. Staying only long enough to pump a foul-smelling liquid into his ooman land vessel, and leave in a cloud of dust. That ooman had at least been a fine specimen. With arms of taunt muscle and a formidable stature. However, the ooman had left without incident. A shame.
The remaining oomans’ casual reaction to their friends’ abrupt exit and disappearance had given Flade’ha reason to stop and reconsider. Did these oomans even know they were being observed? Had they seen the hunter’s arrive? If not, would it be against directives to alert them by performing a sterilization sweep?
So, Flade’ha has decided to wait. Glor will be returning from reconnaissance soon. If Crank and his ooman female companion return, Flade’ha will be waiting for them. He will make the traitor watch as he snuffs the life from his ooman lover. The more she fights, the more agony the hunt leader will inflict. He will make an example of these two. One that no future yautja will forget.
"D'tak," Flade'ha says in a guttural voice. "Bring up all of the information we have on this...Traitor. I want to be sure there is nothing we've overlooked. Also, find out what you can about the inhabitants of this ooman compound. Why would they have need of a transporter? What is the significance of such a place? If there is more here than meets the eye...I wish to know about it."
"Yes, Hunt Leader," D'tak says and marches straight-backed out of the vessel's bridge.
Flade'ha sneers and leans back in his flight chair. Red output readings, and indicators, light up across the large console in front of him. Flade'ha throws his head back with a throaty chuckle.
This descendant of Cha'tal will pay for the error of allying with oomans against his own kind. Flade'ha will see to it.
The Diner
Hector glances over at the table where Paul Bunyan has kept up residence for seemingly forever. A distressed expression twists the older man's face, and he throws his dingy towel over one shoulder. He slowly approaches the unoccupied table and removes the untouched glass of vodka and orange juice he placed there merely two hours before--awaiting Paul's return.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Sue, the postal worker, breezes back into the diner. With a loud sigh, she plops down on a stool and removes her USPS hat. She pulls the newspaper on the counter closer to her-- intent on finishing her business from this afternoon. Hector barely notices she has come in.
"Hey, Hector!" Sue exclaims. She crosses one leg over the other and spins to face Hector. "You okay, Hec?! I don't think I've ever walked in here a single time...Without you greeting me with some kind of wonderful hello. What you thinking about over there?!"
"Have you seen, Paul?" Hector inquires. He grips the mostly full glass in his hand as if his life depends on whatever answer Sue gives.
"No, Hector. I haven't," Sue says. "Not since before I left this afternoon. Is something wrong? Has Paul gone missing? I thought maybe he'd gone to the men's room. You mean, he's been gone for hours?"
"That's exactly what I mean," Hector says. No mirth in his voice.
Sue scrunches up her face and looks around. After a moment, she shrugs and becomes noncommittal. She tries to make Hector see reason and stop worrying.
"He's a wino, Hector! He could be anywhere. I'm sure, he'll show up whenever he's ready to," Sue says.
"I'm not so sure," Hector retorts. He places the glass of alcoholic beverage back on the table where it came from. "This afternoon, there was a scuffle. Between Paul and that big guy...The one with the oversized jacket and cute girlfriend. I heard a lot of noise, came back in here, and saw Paul flying through my window over there."
For the first time, Sue notices the broken front window. She places a hand over her mouth, both eyes growing wide.
"Did you call the police, Hector?!" Sue questions, her hand still over her mouth.
"Wasn't no point," Hector replies. "By the time I got out there...There wasn't a soul in sight. Craziest thing though. Had us some kind of freak storm. A downburst, I think. Couldn't see for a little while. Then, like I said...Everyone was gone. Figured they went for cover somewhere. But Paul...He hasn't been back."
Sue shakes her head and peers at Hector with a solemn expression. Hector's mood change has left her almost speechless. She has never seen him this alarmed before.
"I don't know what to tell you, Hector!" Sue says. "I guess, I don't know him like you do."
"You're right about that," Hector says. "Now, even if Paul is a wino. As you call him. He wouldn't run off like that. Paul and I are real close. Almost like brothers. We trust each other. I've been to the dark side with alcohol as well. That's why I let him stay here. I figured I might be able to help him find his way back from the darkness. Kind of the way someone once did for me. My wife and I...We may not be together anymore. But she saw me through some bad times. Figured I could at least do the same for old Paul. Now...If you'll excuse me, Sue. I'll go fix those steak and eggs, I know you like so well."
Hector switches his towel from one shoulder to the other. He strolls purposefully into the kitchen, without glancing at Sue one single time.
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In the kitchen, Hector flips Sue's steak with one hand. While also stirring a separate pan, containing scrambled eggs, with his other hand. He whistles softly as he prepares the food. A large shadow passes over the counter and stovetop; and Hector whirls around.
When he finds nothing, and no one, behind him; Hector allows his eyes to wander over the entire kitchen. Turning back to the stove, he flips Sue's steak for the last time.
"I think you're getting too old for this, Hector!" Hector mumbles to himself. He reaches for a plate and spatula.
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Sue jumps at the sight of the kitchen's lightweight double doors swinging unbidden. The doors eventually slow and then stop swinging altogether. Sue peers over at the broken front window. A draft?
Going back to reading her newspaper, Sue flips through it to get to the editorials. Behind Sue, Glor studies her hunched, seated form.
The ooman female is definitely not a threat. She carries no weapon, and her flimsy blue armor is no match for a combistick or shoulder cannon.
The odd fragrance emanating from the ooman female's body is both sweet and nauseating. It overpowers even her natural mammalian scent. Glor turns from the female and stalks quietly toward the open space at the front of the diner.
Climbing out of the broken window, Glor heads for the hunters' vessel. Only nine oomans occupy the entire compound--not including the three which escaped. Or the ooman male in the large noisy land vessel. His stay had been brief and without incident. Most of the remaining oomans are not armed, are female, or are of advanced age. There will be no hunting this day. Flade'ha will not be pleased. But, when is he ever?
Both humans within the diner go about their usual business. Having no idea how close they came to certain death.