Flikka - Rescue Mission Pt-6

posted 23Apr2017

         "Flikka - Rescue Mission Pt-6"
          By: Ed Conen



 After a last look back at the pirate base, Flikka turned and trotted away down the far side of the ridge.  She left behind her a small plume of smoke spreading from the spaceport's office area, several blaring alarms, and a lot of confused and panicky pirates, most of whom had no idea what was going on or what they should be doing.  Poor training and communications from paranoid pirate chieftains afraid of being ousted by their own underlings were all to Flikka's advantage.

 The first thing Flikka wanted now was distance!  Before the pirates got an organized search going she wanted to already be out of reach if at all possible.  She had asked her former captor about the south exit as a distraction, and then left the base in a northeasterly direction.  Flikka deliberately did not go directly north, directly opposite to her red herring, as that would be too obvious.  In fact, northeast was also a ruse.  The direction she really wanted was west, back towards her original rendezvous point and Bitey.

 It took a while, due to the circuitous route she had to take to avoid exposing herself, but Flikka eventually put a couple of klicks between herself and the pirate base before cautiously topping out on a small peak for a look around.  A deep breath and big sigh of disgust was her only comment as Flikka peeked between the broken rocks atop her lookout.  Rocks, rocks, and more rocks as far as she could see in all directions except back toward the spaceport from which she had so recently escaped.  Plenty of rocks in that direction too; all lined up in ridges running from planetary northwest to southeast.

 "Okay, let's take the easy way for a change," Flikka said to herself.  Another quick look around and she slipped out of the rocks and headed down a narrow 'sheep' trail into the shallow valley leading southeast.  In the process she "accidentally" let her tail brush some snow from the top of a rock outcrop.  A few meters down the trail she crossed a narrow patch of snow and left a pair of almost clear paw-prints for her trackers to find, continuing to point them southeast.  Almost a klick later she did it again, but less obviously.

 With the valley floor to follow now, Flikka was travelling faster.  At well-spaced but odd-length intervals over the next few kilometers she would occasionally let her tail brush snow from a rock, or leave a partial track at the edge of some cover.  After that she let all signs of her passing just fade away.  Finally she came to a complete halt halfway up a narrow trail leading to the top of the ridge opposite the one over which she'd entered this valley.

 Flikka cautiously approached the ridge top and peeked over into the next valley for a careful look all around.  When everything looked clear, she scrambled across the ridge and into cover on the far side.  To let her hunters know they were still on the right track, she managed to leave a tuft of fur scraped off on a sharp rock and then another partial paw-print when she 'slipped' in some loose gravel as she made her way down the far side and into the new valley.  It was at this point that Flikka first heard sounds of a small flier and instantly threw herself under the nearest cover.  "Now that's cheating," she said as she peered out at the sky.

 Once the scout had cleared the area, Flikka came out and stood rubbing her newly bruised shoulder as she looked all around, listening carefully for any sound of the scout's return.  When all appeared clear, she quickly backtracked to the top of the ridge and hunkered down in her nest of large rocks again.  All the previous scrapes, partial tracks and such had been deliberate clues to lead her pursuers to think she was escaping towards the southeast.  Now she was being ultra careful to leave no sign whatsoever.

 Flikka studied the valley she was backtracking into.  With fliers now actively searching for her, she carefully plotted her course back up the valley.  It was a difficult job because she had both to avoid her original path down the valley and to constantly have some cover nearby in case another scout-flier showed up.  All this had to be done while leaving no sign of her current trip back up the valley.

 When all seemed clear, Flikka moved out.  At first she went a little slow as she developed a feel for the valley.  She was being very careful not to let her tail leave brush marks, and no paw-prints either.  She tried to not even brush against rock outcroppings to leave bits of fur or scrapes.  It seemed unlikely that the pirates would have a bio-tracker, or personnel capable of using it properly, but she didn't want to take even that chance.

 Flikka warmed to the valley quickly and by the time she'd gone most of a kilometer was quite comfortable.  After about a klick-and-a-half, Flikka found a long, bare rock ledge and left the trail.  Finally headed west at last, she breathed a sigh of relief.

 This was becoming a long and roundabout route back to Bitey and Flikka's stomach was thinking more and more fondly of the Synth-a-Meat rations stored in his locker.  Flikka was really regretting losing that second hunk of roast when she raided the security and communications control room.  With a wistful shake of her head she tightened her non-existent belt and moved on.

 The work of merely moving along the valley was both tedious and intense.  The fact that she'd neither seen nor heard any sign of more scout-fliers or other signs of pursuit, or even any life at all, made picking out and following the safest and most concealed route tedious.  Wanting to stay alive made it tense and demanding, but very necessary.

 Unlike the valley she'd just left this one was a little more accommodating of life.  There was more of the moss and lichen growth about that the woolies grazed on.  It also encouraged water to congregate into a stream meandering through the low places roughly down its center.  Ambitious; it had even attracted a small secondary stream running in from the north to join the first.  It was here that Flikka made her next stop for water.  This gave her a choice of three sheltered ways to run if she had to.

 Flikka found the stream frozen over when she approached.  Of course at these temperatures it generally stayed that way.  "I'm just glad it doesn't freeze all the way to the bottom!" Flikka thought as she pulled out the dragon knife to cut a hole so she could drink.  She stuck the knife through the ice and froze.  After thinking a moment, she dried the knife on her fur and put it away again.  Cutting or chopping at the ice with a knife would leave clear evidence that she had been here.  Using a rock to break the ice would be almost as bad since there was no known native life with hands capable of doing that, and the ice was too thick to just drop a rock on and expect to break through.  That flier showed the pirates were actively searching in this area so Flikka dared not leave any non-natural signs around.  At this point in her thinking Flikka just shook her head and then dropped to all-fours again, unsheathed her claws and began to dig.

 As her feral mode of digging sent the ice flying out between her hind legs Flikka reflected on her feelings.  Normally this activity would have been nothing to her.  She would barely have noticed had she been on a regular 'feral' retreat or even just playing with kits; but, somehow, under these circumstances it just felt... undignified, or even just plain wrong.  Was it the humiliation of being captured so easily by the pirates and stripped to her fur while lying helpless that made her feel this way?  Luckily the job went quickly so no one caught her in such an embarrassing position.

 Flikka finished digging and drank her fill, but in several short snatches.  She needed that drink, but not the chill that came with the icy water.  Between drinks she rested and contemplated whether to move on or stop here and wait for dark.  This time it was a pair of scout-fliers working in unison that made her decision for her.

 When she first heard the fliers Flikka ducked, then gradually raised her head to look over the edge of the high creek bank.  What she saw made her dodge back and head for the deepest shelter she could find, fast.  The two scouts were moving in unison, one following each of the two ridges that walled in the valley.  The width of the valley made it unlikely that she'd been seen down in the creek-bed.  After all these were actual valleys and not just overgrown gullies.  Still...

 It would be interesting to know why there was this group of valleys all running straight and parallel; almost as if some giant had reached down through the scant clouds and raked them out with her fingers.  "Interesting; but not my job today," thought Flikka.

 With the pair of fliers following the ridge crests towards the southeast, Flikka looked to the northwest and north before deciding to follow the branch of the creek coming in from the north.  It would lead her out of her way, but was narrower and banked by higher walls which would give better concealment and more possibilities if she needed to seek shelter in a hurry.  Right now she just wanted to get away from her current position in mid-valley and up towards the ridge where the banks were much higher and there were more and better places to hide from airborne searchers.  After that she would wait until after dark to cut westward back across the valley and continue on to Bitey's hiding place.

 Even at their distance these new fliers looked like much better equipment than the single flier she had dodged earlier.  With the better scout-fliers now joining in the search for her, Flikka took this as a sign that "The Admiral" had arrived in-system and taken a hand in things.  

 The straightness of this group of valleys meant it took a while for the slow-flying searchers to get out of sight; but, once they did get out of both sight and sound, Flikka took off running.  She avoided snow and stayed off the ice so as not to leave tell-tale scratches with her claws.  About a hundred meters along she came across a notch in the creekbank and ducked into it to check her back trail.  Nothing; neither sight nor sound.  Good.  She waited several minutes to give anyone lurking about a chance to get impatient and give themselves away.  Flikka looked all about, but gave particular attention to the path behind and ahead.  The next decent cover looked to be at least one hundred and fifty meters away and that's where she headed next, again at a near run.  She continued on like this for over a kilometer, angling for the northern rim of the valley.

 By now the creekbed was getting noticeably steeper and Flikka was running almost entirely uphill when she found a nice cut-back under the bank and out of the cold wind.  It was small enough to be less than obvious from the outside but still large enough to stretch out and relax tiring muscles.  This, Flikka decided, would at least be a good place for a real rest, then she would continue on at a slower pace.

 When she went in to see about making up a nest, Flikka was pleasantly surprised to find her refuge had a floor deep in dry sand with a soft blanket of light grayish moss grown over it.  With a true smile of pleasure, she happily relocated a few rocks and then flopped down on the moss.  "It's amazing at times how little it takes to make a truly comfortable home," Flikka thought to herself as she snuggled down.  To her, this sand-filled niche in the rocky wall of a creekbed was the most beautiful place she'd yet found on this frozen planet.  Smiling contentedly, Flikka thoroughly stretched every tired muscle from her ears to the last claw on her last little toe, yawned hugely, rolled over onto her back, flopped her tail twice against the moss, and fell instantly and thoroughly asleep...and woke up a half hour later with cold feet.

 Flikka sat up with an unhappy groan.  She sat there flexing her toes and trying to rub a little warmth into her feet.  Finally she crawled out of her soft and 'cozy' nest to walk around with a low, muttering growl.  Since she was up anyway, she decided to go and give the valley another looking over.

 Nothing had changed except the position of the sun.  There was no sight, sound, or scent of any other people or fliers.  Now that she was considerably higher on the slope of the valley wall, Flikka had a much clearer view of the overall landscape.  For the first time she could look over a large piece of this planet in daylight from a decent vantage point, and with enough time in hand to actually let the overall view sink in.

 To Flikka's mind, when seen like this, the world held a certain, austere...beauty.  Stark; but attractive to a creature who still thought fondly of a lost, wilderness childhood, albeit on a more colorful, and warmer, planet.

 It wasn't exactly a colorful landscape, but an artist trying to paint what at first looked like a boring monotone of earthy colors would quickly find him or herself filling the pallet with shades of reddish-brown along with many subtle reds, yellows, hints of purples, a few pinks, and even occasional tiny sparks of gold.  On the living side would be the faded greens and greys of various mosses and lichens with many shadings of darker greens and even a bit of silver highlighting.  For more contrast there were the near blacks of deep shadow and the glaring white of snow fields.  Added to that the moving patchiness of the woolies and what Flikka had come to think of as "dire wolves".  All in all a much livelier and more variegated painting than originally anticipated.

 Flikka stood and watched the patterns and colors of the valley for a while; the shadows of a few small scattered clouds drifting across the landscape provided a gentle rippling movement to the scene.  With a sigh she let her eyes go to a soft focus and wondered if maybe she should be the one to paint that scene.  "It would be another nice hobby to enjoy while crossing deep space, and it would be a valid excuse for avoiding hyber-sleep for a while."  Flikka grinned inwardly and flicked her ears.  "Hunh!  I'm getting so many hobbies now I could almost go in the guise of a traveling arts and crafts trader.  People are going to start wondering about me."  Then she laughed out loud, "Maybe I should get a pet.  That would really get them talking!"

 Feeling better now, Flikka yawned and picked her head up.  She'd been dozing on her feet with her muzzle propped on the lip of the creek bank.  Now that she was feeling better and more relaxed, Flikka returned to her nest.  This time she fluffed her fur before curling into a more natural position for the cold.  She tucked her hands and feet in close and covered them with her fluffed out tail, then turned her head in and pushed her nose under too.  One deep breath later, followed by a long, softly rumbling sigh and Flikka was fast asleep again.

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