The Hunted

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The lesser gravity of Earth gave the two creatures a free, bounding stride as they walked down the slope toward the pens. The myriad facets of their eyes caught the morning sun with the iridescent gleam of oil on water. As was the rule when inspecting the penned creatures, they both carried the tiny silver tubes which, when properly aimed, blocked all neural impulses except those necessary to sustain life.

To the two of them, the penned creatures were a source of excitement. Thome, the elder of the two, said in his piping voice, “A new lot came through yesterday. I want to get your opinion.”

They stopped and looked through the electrified wire. Riss, the younger, made a high thin sound of satisfaction. “Excellent! They are in fine shape. Look at that one.”

They both looked with proprietary pride at a young naked man who stood and stared sullenly at them. He was well over six feet tall, heavily muscled, his tan skin marked with the white scar tissue of many wounds. His blue eyes seemed to flare with the instinct to kill as be looked at the two outside the fence.

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