Chapter 21 - Prax
My senses are tingling—someone’s watching me. I tear my eyes away from the jaw-dropping view just long enough to catch her staring. No surprise there. My Human’s gaze is practically dripping with appreciation.
I like that she’s into what she sees—that my not-quite-standard looks don’t put her off. I mean, I’ve got fur. Claws. A nose that twitches when I’m amused. And she still looks at me like I’m a gift-wrapped dessert.
Not that I’m complaining. I happen to adore everything about her—those curves, that coppery skin, that dark mane of hair I want to run my claws through for hours. In short, she’s mine, and I plan to keep it that way.
I flash her a toothy grin and throw in a teasing wink.
Yeah, I’m counting down the minutes until I can get her alone again.
Sure, we’re still new, but there’s already a depth between us that feels.
.. permanent. Maybe that’s why I can’t help myself—I keep leaving my scent on her neck, rubbing my pheromones into her skin like I’m branding her.
Anatoli interrupts my delightful thoughts.
“You see that crescent-shaped peak off to the right?” he says, pointing. “The administrative building sits at the base. Dozens of rooms. That’s where Constantin and I stay when we’re down at the center. It’ll take you a good twelve hours to get there.”
Then, casually, he calls out over his shoulder, “I’ll take care of the cat-man. You handle the other two!”
“Deal!” Constantin replies with a nod.
Weird. My neural implant translates their exchange instantly, but I can feel they’ve switched languages—and I don’t recognize it. It’s not the French Neela speaks, nor the English those Coalition thugs used. And yeah, I’ve spent enough time around Kiran to know I’m the cat in this scenario.
Then Anatoli shouts, “Now!”
What the—?
I’m so focused on Neela, I don’t see the move until it’s too late. He slams into me—hard—shoving me backward. Off balance, I stagger, arms flailing for traction. He hit me with everything he had, and it’s enough. I go over the edge.
I snarl in fury as I fall, helpless.
Branches smack into me on the way down, the first impact knocking the air clean out of my lungs. Then another. And another. No matter how hard I try, I can’t grab hold of anything. My fur gets scraped raw, even ripped in places. This fall goes on forever.
Damn it. This hurts.
When I finally crash into a deep layer of snow, the breath I manage to drag in is wheezy and pained—but I’m alive.
Barely.
Everything hurts. I’m one giant bruise, and I’m pretty sure I cracked at least one rib—maybe two. Dark spots dance in my vision, and I have to fight not to black out completely.
I stay still for a few seconds, sucking in cold air and trying to rewind what the hell just happened. The two humans betrayed us. I don’t know if the old man was in on it or not, but it doesn’t matter. They took Neela.
And now I have to go get her back.
Carefully, I roll off the snowy cushion that spared me a splatter-shaped death and take stock of the damage.
Luckily, that coat I wore to “protect their delicate human sensibilities” saved my fur from worse tears.
My arms and legs are a mess of shallow cuts, and I’m missing a few tufts of hair, but all in all, I’m functional. Not graceful, but functional.
I read up on Terran felines once—apparently, they always land on their feet. I don’t. I landed on my side like a sack of bricks. But hey—still breathing.
Anatoli kindly pointed out where their base is. That’s probably where they’re taking my female. They better not have hurt her. If they did... I’ll make sure they regret it.
But before I start charging off in heroic fashion, I need to confirm they’ve actually left. What if they stayed behind to enjoy the spoils? I have to be sure. Which means climbing back up that cliff.
I lift my eyes and study the cliff face I was thrown from. It’s steep—almost vertical—and easily stretches close to three hundred feet high.
Under normal circumstances, I could scale it in just under two hours. Sadjims are built for this kind of thing—flexible, agile, capable of leaping effortlessly to catch a ledge.
But this isn’t a normal situation.
I fell. I’m injured. And those injuries are going to slow me down.
No use wasting time. I have to get going.
I need to get back to my beautiful Human.
Before I begin what’s sure to be a brutal climb, I inspect the rock face, scanning for a more workable route. I trace a potential path with my eyes—one that zigzags slightly across ledges, small shelves, and natural handholds.
Then I start moving.
My fingers feel for grips. My feet search for secure footholds. The reddish rock is icy, unforgiving, and sharp in places, but I’m not thinking about the cold. I have one very powerful reason to reach the top as fast as possible: Neela.
My muscles burn. The two fractured ribs in my side scream with every stretch and pull, but I keep climbing. Every movement is calculated, every shift in weight intentional, as I focus entirely on the next protruding edge I can latch onto.
The wind whistles past my ears. I can feel the sun’s warmth fading quickly behind me, shadows growing longer across the wall. But I can’t afford to be distracted. I have to stay alert.
Several times, my fingers nearly slip from a slick patch of stone, but my claws help me dig in and hold. My heart is pounding. My legs tremble. My breath comes in ragged gasps—still rattled from the fall—but I push forward.
Neela would probably lecture me right now about how reckless it is to free climb with fractured ribs. And she’d be right.
But I don’t care.
Let the injuries get worse. Let the pain shred through me. I’m alive—for now—and that failed attempt to kill me isn’t the first I’ve survived.
Right now, none of that matters.
What matters is this cliff.
And getting to the top.
Almost three hours later, I reach the top.
Too late.
The vehicle is gone, and all that’s left of Neela’s scent—and those bastards’—is a faint trace on the wind.
Hans is still here, unconscious, lying where I last saw him.
I can’t help Neela right now. But I can help him.
I kneel beside him and check him over. He’s alive. Just unconscious. With a lump on his head that looks like a second skull trying to hatch. I’m no Human doctor, but I’m guessing being out cold for three hours isn’t ideal.
I stand and listen. It’s getting dark. The traitors are gone, and the house is empty. Good. We’ll use it as shelter tonight.
I spot the waterproof pack that must’ve been tossed out of the vehicle. Idiots didn’t even check what was inside. I sling it onto my back, grit my teeth through the pain, and scoop Hans into my arms. My ribs scream, but I ignore them.
His skin is cold and loose. I’ve never touched him before, so I don’t know if that’s age or injury. I lay him on a cot and throw a blanket over him. Then I make him something warm to drink. He wakes up after a few sips.
“Enough! You trying to kill me, boy?” he croaks.
“You’ve been unconscious for nearly three hours,” I tell him.
“Ugh. Must’ve gotten a concussion. That dumbass Constantin really clocked me.”
Good. If he’s cursing, he’s improving.
But his blackout means I’ve got no info on Neela.
“They took her,” I say tightly. “They took Neela.”
“Damn it. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. You even warned me something shady was going on in the colonies... I didn’t think it was happening here. Ugh... my head... I think I’m gonna puke...”
He lurches to the sink and loses the little water I just gave him.
“I need to rest,” he mutters. “We’ll talk later, Cat-Man. If you’re still around.”
“I’m leaving tomorrow. Gonna shower and clean myself up first.”
I help him to the bedroom, then step into the shower. It’s too short, but I don’t feel like hacking into the system to remove the timer. I scrub my fur clean and lick the wounds I can reach.
Later, I crash on the couch and send Kiran an update—only to find a message waiting from him.
Hey, you two.
Still no word from Esteban. If he’s not with you, something’s wrong. Meg and I had a few “courtesy visits” but nothing serious. Just a nice little family doing chores with a loud kid. I doubt they’ll check on us again.
Furball, if I understand your tone, you and my twelve-year-old sister have gotten cozy. If she’s okay with it, fine. But hurt her, and I don’t care how tall, strong, or noble you are—I’ll come for you.
Neela, Meg sends kisses. Take care, both of you. Keep me posted.
—Kiran
I chuckle. His threats are adorable. Whatever our usual bickering, I like this proud, honest Human who fiercely protects his own.
I reply:
Hey Human,
Bad news. Whatever’s happening in Cydonia has spread. Two Human traitors ambushed us. They left me for dead and took your sister. My advice? Keep pretending to be harmless. Neela would want you to protect your family. Don’t trust anyone.
I’ll find her. You have my word. A bonded Sadjim never abandons his mate. Never.
—Prax
P.S. Can you please stop calling her twelve? It makes me sound like a creepy old man. She’s twenty-five in Polarian years—twenty-four in Earth time. I insist.
I send the message and crash for a few hours before daybreak.
***
After a few measly hours of sleep, I get myself ready.
Poking around the kitchen, I stumble upon a disturbing discovery.
Hidden in a drawer, I find a transmitter—Coalition tech.
Which means Bully made sure to equip his new allies with modern comms gear usually reserved for smugglers.
Considering the CCC signals from Cydonia don’t even reach this far into the Arabia Terra plains, it’s obvious this little device allowed Vassili Porkoff to warn at least Constantin and Anatoli about our arrival.
Who else they’re working with in this zone of Mars is still a mystery. But my instincts tell me the conspiracy runs deep—very deep—likely all the way up to the top of their organization. In other words, this Do-yun guy is almost certainly involved. That’s where I’ll find Neela.
Before heading out, I make a detour to the bedroom to check on the old man. He stirs the moment I activate the door.
“Heading out already? Give me two minutes to get up and share some tea with you. There’s something I’d like to say before you go.”
“Of course, Hans,” I reply, though all I really want is to get moving and find my mate.
Three minutes later, we’re leaning against the kitchen counter, steaming mugs in hand. Hans, hair wild and beard unkempt, studies me with quiet intensity.
“I think I’ve recovered enough to make it back to my place. You think that’s safe?”
“Honestly? No idea what these guys are really up to. Sure, they didn’t kill you—but they still left you unconscious out in the cold for hours. If I hadn’t found you and warmed you up... Do you have a friend who could take you in quietly for a while? Someone you trust?”
He nods slowly, his hand running through his graying hair.
“You saw what they did. You saw them try to kill me. You saw them attack Neela. That makes you a witness. Same as Neela. Same as Esteban.”
He exhales sharply, looking more alert than he did last night. That bit of rest clearly did him some good.
“From where I’m sitting,” he says, “it’s like our leaders have been covering their tracks for months—and now they’re shifting into open action mode. Like they want to overthrow the system... but they’re still disorganized, not sure whether to hide their crimes or just start owning them.”
“You’re not wrong. They’re getting bolder—more willing to eliminate anyone who threatens them. My guess is, they’re trying to lock down their new power structure. Which means it’s not safe for you to go back home.”
“You’re right, Catman. I’ll go hole up with a buddy and lay low. And then? I’ll start reaching out to people I trust. Maybe it’s time we build a little resistance of our own. I’m not young anymore, but hell if I’m just gonna sit back while our whole community gets hijacked.”
I glance sideways at him. Brave words for a man with zero idea what the smugglers’ Coalition is really capable of. If some colonists have turned, that means they’ve got access to tools no civilian should have. It’s not even a fair fight.
But that’s his choice. I just hope he doesn’t put his trust in the wrong hands.
I don’t have time to babysit this brave old man.
“Hans, I’ve got to go. They left your snowbike—probably thought you were dead. You’ll need it to get around. As for me, I’ll be traveling on foot.”
“That’s gonna take forever! Even with a snowbike it’s a full-day trip!”
“Maybe by road. But I’ve got a shortcut in mind.”
“You’re not seriously planning to jump off the cliff, are you? I still can’t believe you survived that fall!”
“No cliff-diving today. My ribs still remember that little stunt. But I’ve found a more direct path—tight, rocky, but manageable. Don’t worry about me, old man. I’ll be fine.”
“Oh, I believe you. Don’t they say cats have nine lives? I don’t know how many you’ve used, but you might wanna start keeping count. Good luck out there—and take care of that girl. Neela’s a good one.”
I nod and head out.
Like I told Hans, I’m not leaping off the cliff again—even if it is the most direct route. Instead, I skirt the edge to the west and pick my way down through the boulders, hopping rock to rock where I can. I intend to find their base of operations—and bring my girl back.
Hang in there, my Purrsong. I’m coming...