6. Thivoll

6

Thivoll

I wake up to pain.

It pulses through my body, pounding in my skull with an insistent rhythm. I groan, hoping the cryosickness wears off soon. I've read about it, but never thought I'd ever experience it. It's so typical of the genali to steal our tech and never bother to access our upgrades.

We fixed the pain response issue generations ago.

Then it occurs to me they likely use the improved version for themselves and intentionally use this one to torture people.

Thela curse them. I somehow feel complicit even though I wasn't even alive yet when we invented it.

I hear a beep next to my ear and awkwardly shift my bound limbs around so I can look toward it. A screen is flashing a completed countdown.

That's odd.

A moment later the transparent cover slides back and a petrichor scented breeze wafts in. The sounds of insects and small animals hum through the air. I haven't heard the rustling of leaves in years and this isn't the context I would have chosen to become reacquainted.

Clearly I'm on a planet.

I take in a long breath and confirm it's not one I've ever been to before. Which means we aren't in manticorid space. So there could be many unknown dangers out there and I'm tied up like a tasty offering. I reek of genali blood from where it's caked in my fur, causing it to pull uncomfortably.

Nothing like a blood cocktail to invite predators.

The blood was well earned. A growl rumbles through my chest, and I bare my teeth remembering their deaths.

Except, it also feels wrong.

It goes against the beliefs of my people. We had our bloody millennia of galactic empire. Leaving it behind was no small feat and no one wants to revisit those days. And yet . . . if we don't we aren't going to survive.

Reality is rubbing up against idealism and the friction is painful.

Even after all those years I spent imagining what it would be like to be on the Sentinels it's hard to accept that I so violently took lives.

I huff out a breath. Best to not think of that right now and get myself out of here.

I can't quite get my hands high enough to unbind them with my teeth. So I set about the painful process of repositioning and bending around until I'm able to pull up a leg and use one of the claws on my left paw to slice through the cord binding my hands. I hiss as I catch the inside of my right wrist.

The blood soaks into my chest as I unwrap the rest of the cord.

From there it's a simple matter to free my tail, which is pounding to let me know I've been blocking blood flow by laying on it. I'm still bleeding heavily as I pull myself out of the chamber, my purple blood smearing across the chamber as I leverage myself up and out.

My vision swims as I look around. There is a heavy canopy of bright green above me, the long brown tree trunks with rough bark leading down to an understory of mostly purple plants.

I swivel my ears, listening for any of the telltale wet sounds of genali, but only hear a variety of fauna. I take another long breath to confirm that none of the slimes are nearby, then look at the forest surrounding me. There are broken limbs, wheel marks, and what look like the footfalls of a heavy animal between them.

My whiskers droop as I try to work through it, but I'm distracted by the flow of blood dripping from my fingers.

It's an awkward process, but it doesn't take me long to cut a strip of the strapping and tie it around the wound. That should speed up my scales shifting.

As I bind the wound, an image of the genali's horror-filled eyes flits through my mind.

It should bother me that I killed them.

Shouldn't it?

My mind pulls away from the thought of killing, like a practiced response. And yet there is no niggling horror or the tremor of regret passing through my limbs. I'm at peace with causing their deaths.

Which is what bothers me, of course.

I wonder what my sire felt when he killed them? It's a thought process that has plagued most my life and as always, there is no answer.

For now, I can simply avoid the slimes and leave philosophical issues for later.

I keep listening for sounds of the enemy but it's a lack of sound that I suddenly notice. I turn back to the cryochamber and confirm that I no longer hear its gentle hum.

Did they really put me in a chamber without a backup power source?

It's a simple matter to puncture the thin metal with my claws and rip off the protective paneling to find out. After a quick inspection, I confirm it has all the usual components. There's simply no power to keep the nanites active now that I'm no longer in it. Typical crude slime manufacturing.

But what if it isn't?

There are several known planets where technology is rendered inoperable—for a variety of reasons I never bothered to research. Could this be one of them?

I try to narrow down the options. My eyes unfocus as pieces of overheard conversations filter through my mind. I remember the many calls with my mother where she shared her latest vidfeed-induced fear for my safety. Then I remember the slime talking about how valuable I was.

I let out a snarl as I figure it out. I'm on their Thela-forsaken hunting ground.