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« on: 02 September, 2017, 04:11:35 PM »
The cry from a waking Sand-screech marked the first rays of the rising sun breaking the jagged horizon. It was colder here than homeworld, but the mork generated enough body heat through his saddle to keep the edge off as it thundered along the desert floor. He was thinking about his mate as his fur stirred pleasantly in the wind, but he was aroused from his reverie by the familiar frosty aches of age in the joints on his bare arms.
His blaster bounced in its holster on his hip. It felt good. A fine weight to it, even the slight gravity difference here did little more than make the gun feel more powerful, more ‘definite’. A good weapon. Passed on to him by his brood-father, and his father before him.
Now he had taken the gun and his loyal boys to this new world. It had seemed a good place to keep a low profile for a while, far enough off the main track to not attract too much attention, and with plenty of rich pickings to be had. He liked it here. The atmosphere wasn’t too different from home, smelled a bit strange, that’s all. The light though, the light was different, more…blue. Played havoc with distance vision. It had meant a small change in tactics. Now they hit hard, hit fast, ambushed their targets where possible, and got out long before reinforcements could arrive. Seemed to be working ok so far. He and the boys had a lot of valuables stored all over, ready for transport off-planet.
Only downside was the food. The meat was good alright, there was plenty of it, and easy to catch too. Just maybe too easy. He and his boys liked a long hunt, to work up an appetite. These beasts are too easy to catch, no fight in them. There’s no satisfaction in it, he thought, but he reckoned it was a small price to pay for such a succesful venture.
These last few days though, he’d come to realise the time was coming when they’d have to move on. Soon the authorities would seek outside help, someone tougher than these local farmers-turned-deputies. Someone who knew how to shoot, and who wasn’t dropping their droppings at the first sight of him and his boys coming at them, guns blazing. He hadn’t gotten this far in life by not knowing when to move on from a good thing.
Just these two more jobs then, and he would put it to the boys that it was time to find a new place to hunt.
The day was brightening quickly as the Esmeralda supply caravan slowly came into view from the canyon below. As he and his boys crested the ridge on their morks, and began their charge down the steep hill towards the wagons, Bubo ran his tongue over the points of his fangs. He was hungry. He’d have to remember to keep one alive for afterwards.
“Ride, boys! ZAP THE SAPS!”
THE END.
I hope people remember Bubo, a brilliant character from one of my absolute favourite Strontium Dog stories. Hopefully he has a child somewhere who might carry on his work zappin' the saps.