Chapter 19
We travel in silence through untouched lands leading to Arabia Terra. My companion is asleep, and I'm deep in thought.
I don’t regret a single thing that happened between us—quite the opposite.
I’d hoped for it. Planned it. What I hadn’t anticipated was this overwhelming urge to mark Neela.
The process isn’t complete—far from it—but it’s begun.
I’ve scented her neck more than once, and I’m dying to do it again.
Should I tell her that some deep, primal part of me has chosen her.
.. for life? And what if that’s not mutual?
As we round a bend, I stop abruptly, jolting my beautiful Human awake. A pack of wolves, which I’d failed to notice in my distraction, is feasting on prey. Problem is—they’re right in the middle of the road.
I grab my pistoblaster, set it to stun, and hop out of the vehicle.
“That’s a lot of them,” Neela notes wisely.
“Thank you, my sweet, for the stunning insight,” I reply, full of sarcasm.
There’s no missing the five massive canines turning toward me, their bloody maws soaked in fresh kill. Beyond the metallic tang of blood, I catch another scent—one unmistakably feline. That’s the victim. Her and her kittens, I correct myself, spotting two more tiny bodies.
Sadjim don’t eat our own. Ever. Regardless of our primary bloodline. This isn’t rage I feel. It’s sadness—for the young mother and her babies. But this is nature. I don’t blame the wolves. They need to eat too.
Still, they don’t like how close I’m getting to their feast. All five start inching toward me, lips curled back, drool dripping. Charming. But I’ve neither the time nor the patience to go around. I fire a wide stun blast and knock them all out instantly.
Predictably, Neela rushes over from the vehicle.
“You didn’t hurt them, did you?”
“They’re just out cold. By the time they wake up, we’ll be long gone. Come on, help me drag them off the path.”
She kneels beside the largest and together we pull it a few feet to the side. We do the same with the other four. Soon, the only thing left is a half-recognizable feline body.
“A manul…” my beautiful Human murmurs sadly.
To spare her the task, I move the mother and her two kittens to the side myself. Then I clean my hands with some snow I scoop from the roadside.
My left ear swivels sharply. I freeze, listening. No doubt about it—there’s a faint sound coming from a den nearby. A tiny mewl confirms it—one baby made it.
The sound leads me to a burrow hidden behind a bush. I reach in and pull out a little puffball, barely ten pounds. The kitten stares up at me, growling and hissing in fear, trying to claw my hand. He smells the blood. His mother’s. And he doesn’t know if I’m a threat.
“Oh, he’s adorable!” Neela coos. “What are we going to do with him?”
“His mom’s dead. He can’t be more than five or six months old. He won’t survive alone. Best we could do would be to end his suffering quickly. He wouldn’t feel a thing.”
“Are you out of your mind?” she gasps. “Maybe that’s how things work on your world, but not on mine. Not with me. He’s healthy, uninjured—we are not killing him.”
“How do you expect him to feed himself? His mother wasn’t just nursing, she was out hunting lemmings too. Now she’s gone. He’ll starve.”
“Not if we take him with us,” she declares, hands on her hips.
“Fine. So you’ll nurse him and go rabbit hunting every day to meet his dietary needs, right, Purrsong?”
That tight line of her mouth says exactly what she thinks of my suggestion.
She knows I’m right. This little guy’s adorable, sure—but doomed.
And considering our situation? Taking in a wild animal isn’t exactly brilliant strategy.
But Neela’s not thinking with her head. She’s thinking with her heart.
I know a lost battle when I see one. I pick up the little fuzzball, stare him down, and let out a deep, low growl.
He stops his hissing and scratching instantly, staring at me, stunned.
He sizes me up. I do the same. He’s about two feet long, tail included—striped, fluffy thing about a foot of that. Flat little face, tiny round ears.
I carry him by the scruff back to the vehicle, Neela beaming behind me.
I know this isn’t my best idea ever. But how the hell am I supposed to say no to that radiant woman?
Even so, I doubt this kitten will make it without real milk.
Still, if he survives... I might just be the perfect one to raise him.
After all, if anyone can train an orphaned feline, it’s me.
“She’s so cute!” Neela squeals.
“Yeah, well— he’s a boy,” I chuckle.
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. And just so you know, he’s now our responsibility. He’ll depend on us completely. I can’t guarantee he’ll survive without his mother. There’s still time to leave him here.”
“Not a chance. Let’s go.”
We hit the road again. Neela’s full attention shifts to the backseat, where the newcomer’s whining and inspecting every corner.
Eventually, she scoops him onto her lap.
I let out a few low, reassuring rumbles—inaudible to Human ears, but effective.
He calms and dozes off in her arms, curled up and content.
Outside, the weather takes a turn. A snowstorm is brewing.
I weigh our options. Camp out in the restricted zone and risk being buried?
Double back to Human territory and find a shelter unit?
I mapped the next relay post—about thirty miles from the last. But going there might cost us valuable time against whoever’s chasing us.
I finally veer toward the border. Better to have the comfort and safety of Confed facilities. Plus, the idea of a real shower is... appealing.
Unfortunately, visibility sucks. I’ve lost all visual reference points. We haven’t gotten far, and I’m completely disoriented. I consider stopping and waiting out the storm.
And then I see it.
A greenish silhouette in the blizzard. A shelter.
No way. I must be totally turned around—we’re supposed to be far from the main road between Cydonia and Arabia Terra. Neela sees it too, judging by the relieved sigh she lets out.
A few minutes later, we pull under the recharge porch. I could’ve driven us right to the door, saving twenty feet in the snow—but I’m not cutting corners on safety. The vehicle needs to recharge.
I grab the kitten under one arm, Neela under the other, and guide us to the building with difficulty. No idea if someone’s inside—but this isn’t a guest shelter. It’s the same size as Neela’s home. If it’s occupied, I’ll need to convince them we mean no harm and ask for asylum.
Lucky us—it’s empty.
The silence inside is almost shocking after the howling winds. I do a quick sweep with the kitten trotting after me. He spots the garden corner, digs a little hole, and does his business. I praise him with gentle words and a scratch between the ears.
Back in the kitchen, Neela’s inspecting the supplies.
“No powdered milk. These shelters usually have some just in case. But this place feels more like an abandoned home.”
“I agree. I’d say someone lived here until maybe two or three days ago. The garden’s pristine. And the resident’s scent is still strong.”
“Where’s Pallas?” she asks.
“Who?”
“Pallas! The kitten. He needed a name, right? Manuls are also called Pallas’s cats—I don’t know why, I didn’t check the file. But I think Pallas fits, don’t you?”
She’s serious. In the middle of all this, she wants to know if I approve of the name. I shrug and say,
“Sure. Pallas it is. He’s in the garden. Needs space to run, and this place gives him a bit of it.”
Now that naming’s out of the way, concern returns to her face.
“There’s only soy milk in the pantry. I doubt it compares to his mother’s milk.”
I figured as much when I agreed to this. But if he’s six months, he might be able to wean. It’ll be rough, but if he’s strong, he’ll survive. It’s the best shot he has.
“Check your Earth database. See what soy milk’s missing nutritionally. Then we’ll improvise.”
She rushes to the lounge screen. A few taps later, she’s reading: soy milk has ten times less calcium than mother’s milk. It’s also lacking critical fats and proteins for growth. Her brow furrows, but then she straightens, determined.
“Soy milk will be the base. We’ll add DHA omega-3, vitamin and mineral drops, and powdered seeds for calcium. We’ll try to recreate his mom’s milk as best we can. But for the protein... can I count on you? Ideally, we want him weaned quickly.”
“Of course. I’ll take him hunting with me.”
I see the little flicker of distress in her eyes, followed by a resigned nod. Yep—Pallas’s only chance is to learn to fend for himself. Once the weather clears, we’ll go after lemmings together. He won’t catch any—too young—but watching is the first step.
After his meal, Pallas curls up and sleeps on the lounge sofa.
***
Two days of snowstorm later, the weather finally clears. About time. I need to stretch my legs—and hunt.
My lovely companion’s still asleep, worn out from the intense activities we’ve enjoyed these past two days. She’s lying on her stomach, one hand under her pillow, long dark hair splayed out around her like a halo. I let her rest…
Pallas follows me everywhere. He sees me as his surrogate parent—though he turns to Neela for his cuddle quota.
For what I’m planning, I keep only my pants on. I scoop up the kitten and head outside. I set him down about a hundred yards away, once I hear a familiar rustle in the snow. Prey, also eager to stretch their legs after the storm.
We slip quietly through the forest. He watches my every move, trying to copy me. His curiosity and excitement are palpable.
I stop near a moss-covered hole and show him how to blend in—nearly invisible. He mimics me clumsily but tries hard. We wait. Breathe. A rodent scurries out. I leap. One bite to the neck—done.
The others won’t come out now—they’ve heard. But the hole thirty feet away? Still full of opportunity.
I lead him there and let him take over. Pallas nods, eyes glowing with anticipation. He crouches behind a bush, tiny paws trembling. Then—bam! He charges, snow flying. The lemming darts away, zigzagging. Pallas chases. I follow at a distance, ready to step in.
The lemming turns—sees me—hesitates. Just long enough for my little guy to pounce and catch him by the scruff. I growl my approval.
He doesn’t finish the kill, just plays with it. It’s normal—play is part of the hunting process. It helps him learn control and burns off adrenaline. He’s doing great. His weaning will go smoothly.
Before we head back, I skin the prey and give him a few strips of raw meat. He chews happily. I do the same, just to show him—even though I vastly prefer my food cooked.
We find Neela ready to go. I wrap her in my arms and give her a searing kiss. She kisses me back with equal fire—pure male satisfaction achieved. I inhale the scent behind her ear… Perfect. She smells like me now. No doubt.
“Ahem!” she coughs, pulling away. “Good morning, Prax.”
“Good morning, beautiful. Sleep well?” I murmur, brushing her lips with another kiss.
“Not really, if you recall,” she retorts with a playful glare.
She can glare all she wants. If she thinks that’ll get me to slow down—she’s dreaming. She can handle it. I know she can. I flash her a wicked wink full of naughty promises.
“Pallas with you?”
“Of course! The little rascal did great this morning. Got his protein dose. I’ll let you handle the rest. We’re almost ready to leave.”
“Perfect. By the way, now that the storm’s passed, comms seem better. I heard people chatting on Channel 59—Arabia Terra’s, not Cydonia’s.”
“And what were those fine citizens saying?”
“Oh, nothing important. Mostly just talking about the snowstorm.”
“Makes sense. No reason folks from Cydonia would be able to reach across territories—not with your primitive tech. Let’s check it out.”
Back in the kitchen, Neela restarts the pitiful comm device. Static. Then a few irrelevant announcements.
“You can shut that off. We’ve wasted enough time here. Let’s move.”
“Technically, it should be called the CATC—Colony Arabia Terra’s Communication—but yeah, you’re right. Let’s go!”