Hello, Bradley? I have exciting news. Bradley, are you there?
“Yes, Sion? Pardon me, I was just thinking. Do you realize you’ve been in the Epsilon Eridani system for five years now?”
Yes, you’re right, but this is important. I’ve located a survivor—a whole group of them, in fact. Let me show you.
A probe view appeared. It showed several figures moving carefully through a forest near the edge of the now-retreating ice field. They were uniformed, alert, and armed.
“Are there Killer probes nearby?”
No. His have so little left to do that many are practically catatonic now. There are none active for a hundred miles around.
“So you can risk contact?”
Yes, I can. But I will have to do so carefully. Killer’s probes can detect beam weapons even at a hundred miles—if they’re alert.
“Sion, these beings are scouting down a streambed. They’re probably hunting as well as scouting. Fortunately, there can’t be much left to hunt, and I have a plan.”
<<<<*>>>>
This wasn’t the world they’d left behind, so the scouting party moved slowly along the streambed through the glacier-blasted desolation. It was a mix of gray talus and pine bush that rose three meters high in sheltered glens. The beings were bipedal, about as tall as men, but they looked as if their ancestors were cats, not monkeys. Their fur was thick and glossy, their gate quiet and flexible. They carried equipment, but not as much as men would in similar circumstances. On the other hand, they were quieter and faster.
As the point being of the party (whom I will call men from now on) rounded another slope in the gully, he stiffened and dropped. With professional precision so did the rest. The leader discreetly moved to the point.
There in front of him was a sign crudely painted on a boulder.
Welcome above ground.
Peace—Sion.
The party rapidly deployed to cover the gully with fire as the leader and point man investigated the sign. The paint was wet. The point then noticed another painted boulder further down the gully. It said.
Please don’t shoot.
Your enemies are near.
—Sion
Upon investigating that rock, they saw another boulder further down with a canister on top of it.
Food
—Sion
One of them opened the canister while the others watched from a distance. Not only was there food, there was a map showing one of Sion’s probes to be just ahead downstream. They stopped for lunch. The new food was eaten by three of the party while the rest ate their old rations. An hour later, the party split; two runners were sent back. The rest, while watching those that had eaten the new food carefully, continued on to the probe.
It sat, gleaming red in the sunlight, on the bank of the stream. Red was the color of peace for these people. It was cylindrical, about six meters across, three meters high, and lying still, except for one antenna. That antenna, it soon became obvious, was tracking the party—there was no surprise here. Finally, the leader walked boldly up to the probe and stood three meters away.
“We’ve come.”
I’m glad. I’m a probe of Sion. Who are you?
“Call me Xildor.”
Xildor, Sion is an interstellar traveler. He is not the one that destroyed your planet. He came a few years ago, and he wants to help.
Xildor merely growled.
The killer of your planet is still here. His probes are still seeking you out.
“We are ready to face him. Holing up isn’t our idea of honor.”
I sympathize. But you are likely the last, the very last, of your race—of any race on this planet, for that matter, that’s larger than a dog. While you die with honor, your race will die in ignominy, just another snuffed out by this race of civilization killers.
“There is more than one?”
Yes.
“How do you know?”
He has told me.
“You talk with him? When will you tell him about us? What sort of trap is this?”
He signaled sharply, and the weapons of the group went to ready.
This is no trap. But if you fire those weapons, it will be. Killer doesn’t know you exist, but if you start shooting, his sensors will surely pick it up, and that will be the end.
The leader motioned the men back to standby. “Why do you talk with him?”
He doesn’t perceive me as a threat, or killing me as a goal, the way he does you. But I’m trying to destroy him as well.
“Why?”
I have a world to protect, too.
The probe flew the party back to their camp. It was a camouflaged bomb shelter—well equipped, sparsely inhabited, and commanded by a leader who had steadfastly refused to come out and finally died. That, and their declining supplies, had brought the rest of them out now.
Stay here and don’t come out again. I will bring you food and information as I can.
“We’ve been inside so long—”
Which has saved your lives until now. Doing so will continue to do so. If you come out and Killer finds you, you die. It’s as simple as that. Remember, you are the last. I know. I’ve been searching for survivors myself for four years.
The probe left.