Steph Bennion - Paw-Prints of the Gods

“Crap,” Momus said glumly. “Just me, the stars and a frigging mental cat.”

THERE WAS A SHARP WHITE LIGHT, silhouetting a fleeting image of a tall figure in black, then Ravana clamped her eyelids shut once more. It hurt to breathe and as she tried to move her chest muscles went into spasm, making her wince. Yet the air was warm and alive with the unmistakeable hum and clicks of life-support systems, subtly different to the background noises she had become used to in their stolen vehicle.

Her eyes still closed, she ran a hand across her blanket covering and felt the soft mattress beneath. When she flickered her eyelids open again the figure remained next to her, unmoving yet watchful in the stark light of the room. Ravana’s thoughts went back to the nurses in her cell and in a panic she tried to lift herself up, then crashed back into the warm embrace of the bed as a renewed bolt of pain seared across her chest.

“Please,” she whispered. “Let me out of here.”

“You’re going nowhere,” replied a kindly voice. “Your lungs have been knocked for six and you need to take it easy for a while.”

It was a woman who spoke, using reassuring crisp English tones that were a long way from the Indian accents of the nurses. Ravana’s eyes slowly adjusted to the brightness and she stared warily at the tall figure standing at her side. The pale-skinned young woman wore a black jumpsuit of an old-fashioned design, made of a denim-like material with dramatically flared legs and shoulder straps instead of sleeves. Her hair, several shades too red to be natural, was bundled into an untidy knot on top of her head that highlighted a squareness to her features more handsome than beautiful. Her bare arms were marked by numerous white scars, with an indistinct tattoo below her left shoulder. The woman looked back at her with a curious expression that revealed both caution and concern.

Ravana lifted her head. She lay inside the passenger cabin of a personnel carrier, one larger but otherwise not dissimilar to their own crashed vehicle, though they did not seem to be moving. Behind the woman was another bunk, upon which she saw Artorius lying tucked up and apparently asleep. There was no sign of the greys.

“You rescued us,” Ravana murmured. “You said you couldn’t. Who are you?”

“My name is Kedesh,” the woman told her. Reaching over, she took Ravana’s hand and squeezed it gently. “Try not to talk. Asphyxiation’s a sticky wicket for the lungs!”

“Kedesh,” repeated Ravana. “My name…”

“I know who you are,” interrupted Kedesh. “Rest a while, Ravana. Then we’ll talk.”

By the time Ravana felt recovered enough to climb out of bed, the long Falsafah night was coming to an end and the faint glimmer of a Tau Ceti dawn was upon the eastern horizon. The other bunk was empty and upon investigation she found Artorius and the greys sitting at a table towards the front of the cabin, tucking into a variety of food packs laid out by their host. Kedesh stood nearby and as Ravana approached, the woman greeted her with a smile and motioned for her to take a seat.

Ravana caught a glimpse of the scene outside the nearby cockpit window and paused. Barely twenty metres away, the rear end of their stolen transport rose over the edge of the crater with its airlock door hanging open. As if the sight of the crumpled vehicle was not enough, her bruised ribs and headache were doing their best to remind her of their brush with death. Artorius too looked slightly worse for wear. The greys were as fresh as ever.

“Ravana!” greeted Artorius, speaking through a mouthful of food. “You’re alive!”

“Am I?” she murmured, taking a seat. “I haven’t died and been sent to Naraka?”

“Thraak!” protested Nana.

“I apologise,” said Ravana. She looked at Kedesh. “My grey friend says I should be grateful that you came to our aid, which of course I am. It’s just that after what we’ve been through, dying in a ditch in the middle of the desert seemed almost inevitable.”

“Artorius kindly gave me a copy of his amazing translator programme,” Kedesh told her, indicating the greys. “Would you like some tea and cake?”

“Tea!” exclaimed Ravana. “You remind me of a friend back in Newbrum.”

“And cake,” the woman reiterated. “Your blood sugar levels would have taken a hit after that trauma. Besides, tea and cake is so civilised, don’t you think?”

Kedesh moved to the kitchen area. She returned carrying a tray, upon which were a couple of antique ceramic cups and saucers, a china pot with a spout and a small plate upon which were slices of dark fruit cake. Ravana did not know whether to be more amazed at the presence of tasty confectionery so far from anywhere or at the wisps of steam rising from the pot. Kedesh lowered the tray to the table and Ravana watched in fascination as the woman added a dash of milk and sugar to each cup, placed a tiny metal sieve upon the first and poured the dark brew. Ravana had never seen anyone make tea the old-fashioned way before. Artorius already slurped on a juice carton.

“I’ve heard a little of your trials,” said Kedesh. “You’ve had a rough time.”

“You could say that,” murmured Ravana. She eyed the cake hungrily.

“Fwack fwack,” Stripy intoned solemnly.

“Thraak,” agreed Nana.

“And we don’t want to go back,” Artorius added stubbornly.

Ravana took the offered cup and sipped the tea with a hesitation that turned to gratitude as the sweet comforting nectar slid over her taste buds. Kedesh smiled, took a step back and leaned against the transport’s curved wall. She nevertheless seemed ill at ease, as if unsure of what to do with her unexpected guests.

“It is I who should apologise,” Kedesh said eventually. “You would never have ended up at the bottom of a crater if I hadn’t bowled a googly. My response to your plea for help was also rather poor. I’m sorry if my actions came across as just not cricket.”

“Err… okay,” said Ravana, slightly disconcerted by the odd turn of phrases.

“Rest assured I’m playing for the home team. I have no truck with Dhusarians!”

“Truck?” asked Artorius, puzzled. “What truck?”

“Then who are you?” Ravana asked Kedesh, ignoring the boy’s question. “You said you knew who I was. Why did you think you weren’t allowed to help?”

“Too many questions!” Kedesh looked flustered. “We should get moving. Where were you heading? There’s nothing out there within a thousand kilometres of the Dhusarians’ dome,” she added, gesticulating towards the windscreen.

“Ravana is taking me home,” Artorius declared.

“I’m trying to get back to the Arallu Wastes,” said Ravana, seeing Kedesh frown at the boy’s unhelpfully vague reply. “I came to Falsafah with the Bradbury Heights University archaeology dig. I don’t suppose you have a convenient spaceship nearby?”

“Sorry, no. How did you end up in the hands of our alien-loving friends?”

“Thraak!”

“Yes, I guessed the feeling wasn’t mutual.”

“I’m not sure,” Ravana said cautiously. “They gave me tablets that nearly scrambled my mind for good. The last thing I remember before waking up to those horrible nurses is being at Arallu Depot, which was two weeks ago. My father was expecting me to be there to call him again today,” she added sadly. “Or was that yesterday?”

“I can’t help you there,” said Kedesh brusquely. “It’s nigh impossible to get a clear signal to Aram’s servermoon from Falsafah. It sounds like you went out for a duck and were grabbed from the depot. What about you and the neands?” she asked Artorius.