From the Belly of the Beast

From the Belly of the Beast

  by Shannon Lee Martin

  Copyright 2013 Shannon Lee Martin

  The starship was rocked by more fire from its enemy, the last blasts finally destroying it. Unnoticed in the explosion was the swift departure of a single escape craft, the only one the pirate vessel had the luxury of owning. The occupant was lucky to escape his would-be destroyer, the hunter lurking about the remains of his shattered vessel.

  The former captain of the pirate vessel Jeopardy plotted a course for the closest system in range of the tiny craft's limited stardrive engines. The trip would take weeks, and the captain wondered, fleetingly, if his ship was stocked with enough water and rations for the journey's entirety.

  When he really thought about it, he imagined not. He had been so sure before now that his vessel would never be destroyed, certain that he, Jorus Heifman, scourge of the United Empires, would never be taken alive.

  * * *

  Blabuel Draa awoke as he did any other morning; hungry, tired, angry, and desperately wishing for more sleep. But he knew he couldn't return to his erratic dreamland. Responsibilities hindered him, and no one in the community would let him forget it. They had all, long ago, grown weary of his ability to sleep well past the middle of the day. His community was a small one, and had many children to feed, so he and the few other men capable had to go out and hunt for the community's well being.

  And hunting was one thing that Blabuel hated doing more than anything. Many hunters better than himself had died hunting in his neighborhood forest. The only things left alive and worth eating were the Klarng dragons, possibly because they ate everything else in the forest that was edible, or so it was believed by everyone Blabuel had ever met. Maybe the other creatures of the forest had just learned to hide themselves more easily over time, and survived hidden in abundance.

  Oh well, it was a job of glory, after all, for hadn't he survived more hunts than anyone? Perhaps that was why his responsibility was greater than the rest. The best would kill the most and the quickest, wouldn't he?

  After going through the morning ritual that would prepare him for the rest of his day, i.e., dipping his head in the nearby river and donning his hunting pack, Blabuel gathered the rest of the hunting party, seven others not nearly so capable as he was at the killing of the Klarng dragons -- perhaps because they had never before hunted one -- and he went out hoping the day's luck would be on his side.

  Today, Blabuel decided to hunt somewhere far from the village, so that he might increase his risk of finding a Klarng. Sometimes finding one was difficult, as they were on many occasions, but the times they were found in abundance were unlucky ones. Finding more than one dragon at a time would certainly mean death, even for him. That's why the other hunters always attacked first. Training, he called it. Thinning out an overripe population, by order of the chief.

  Blabuel hated it. But what could he do, after all? Orders were orders, and since he knew that he, too, would one day become chief, he must continue to do as he did, which was survive. When he became chief, he would have to pick the next great hunter, and pass on the secrets of survival. Maybe he wouldn't tell the first few fellows those secrets. Maybe they could be some fellows he didn't care too much for anyway, eh?

  * * *

  Jorus Heifman knew he wouldn't make it. The weariness of the journey, and his lack of nourishment, would not allow him to survive the G forces his body would have to endure for entry into the planet's atmosphere. It would be miraculous if he did so, but he could still never survive the crash. He was adrift, out of fuel, with nothing to break his fall. A crash was better than the slow starvation and madness that would come from drifting alone, and unequipped, through space.

  So to make matters easier for himself, he drank some of the liquor he'd saved, to celebrate in case he arrived somewhere without The Law, and arrived there safely. Since none of that would happen now, Jorus came to peace with himself and his life, and began drinking, and singing.

  "La laaa laa laa, la la la la la, la laaa laa laa, la la la la la, an da queen, she came, came ta dance wit' me, and we danced until a quarter ta three. She took my hand and we went away, to her bed, ta' strip and play, la laaa laa laa, la la la la la..."

  Jorus went on like that until his senses were numbed beyond feeling, and laughed silently as atmospheric entry and the queasiness that came with it began.