Moko sniffed and writhed. His finger, injured during the afternoon hunt, was aching mercilessly and a huge hematoma underneath the nail was throbbing to the beat of his heart, lagging a little behind and completely blowing his mind. For some reason, this barely noticeable delay was especially irritating. The pain would yank Moko awake the moment he was starting to drift off to sleep. It was time to go back to the spring; icy water would make his finger go numb, giving way to a short relief.

The hunter rose and limped towards the village outskirts, where the rustling of the brook blended with the nightly symphony of crickets. Only the thought of the cold water seemed to make him feel better.

The icy current instantly washed away the pain, making the finger go numb. Moko breathed a sigh of relief. The next moment the hunter heard the thin buzzing of a mosquito. Moko shook his head, not realizing that the strange “mosquito” was drowning out the running water. The sound grew, the tone alien, as if…made of iron. And it was coming from the village. A second later, Moko felt the earth tremble under his feet just before the drums of the sentries began to beat out their rhythm.

***

The leader had decided to press the refugees into sentry duty. The first refugee had appeared a month ago from the Red Steppe, barely alive. He was silent, staring straight forward with cold, dead eyes while he himself resembled a dirty, bloodstained jackstraw. In the evening of that same day, after talking with him, the Leader told the tribe about the Beast. Everyone understood that this had something to do with the fall of the Star that had occurred a little more than a month earlier.

A couple weeks ago, another two refugees, almost children, appeared from the Stone Forest. Like the red haired guy from the Red Steppe, they had also survived by sheer luck. The first one survived because he was on his way home after a night hunt, whereas these two had snuck out of the village for amorous affairs, away from the eyes of their parents. None of them had been home at the time of the attack.

The leader decided that the refugees were at least aware of the way the Beast would show up, so they ought to hear it earlier than the tribespeople. Perhaps he was right, but his wisdom did not really seem to help the tribe…

***

A huge flat round stone was hovering over the huts. Its edge illuminated a white fiery thread and it was almost completely covering the settlement.

Screams were coming from behind the pounding drums.

There were torches, flickering.

All of a sudden, the white thread around the “stone” flashed, blinding Moko for a second. He blocked out the bright light with his hands. The drums and the screams fell silent at the same time. When the hunter looked at the village again, it was under an illuminating hat that looked like an upside down bucket. The flat “stone,” the bottom of the bucket, was illuminated too.

The ground beneath Moko was starting to shake even harder. A dark mountain from across the hill started to crawl towards the village. It loomed over the village huts and the “bucket” illuminated it from below. To his horror, Moko began to recognize human features in the mountain.

The Beast.

The creature sat down, taking its time to examine the village. Moko was examining the Beast too.

This was, without a doubt, a man. An incredibly huge man, with a disproportionately large head for its size. But still, a man.

The beast thundered to a spot by the stones near the village and, with one hand, opened the top like a bottlecap. With the other hand, the beast reached inside the shining “bucket.” Rummaging through the huts, the Beast pulled out its hand, holding one of one of Moko’s fellow tribesmen between two enormous fingers. The monster brought the man to its eyes first, then lowered it onto the “rock”...

***

Markus started up the engines.

The mood was pretty filthy.

He hated “picking up the natives,” but he needed the money to feed his little sister and younger brothers. Their parents died during the Intergalactic Transport Base disaster, leaving him with the three little ones to take care of.

It was fortunate that their father’s old boat was still running. The old man had taken good care of the piece of junk to keep it in good condition.

Mister Kremm, the restaurant owner, offered the boy a job to make some extra money. He said that pickled natives were selling really well and his clients just adored them. Since they had become quite rare in the Confederation, he had to fly to the outer rim of the Universe, but the trip was well worth the effort. Markus could get forty credits for a single dish of a dozen natives!

For thirty-five credits Markus bought an old stunner from the market. He still kept up with the order of a hundred individuals per hunt. Mister Kremm promised to pay the boy five credits for ten live natives. As for dead ones, Mister Kremm told the boy that he might as well eat them himself.

Markus sighed and put on his headphones.

“Yes, Mister Kremm. I’ll be there in the evening. One hundred and thirty-six. Alive. Why so few? There were just three nests. Couldn’t find any more. No, the boat didn’t go anywhere but here. What do you mean by four? Well, the deal was… Well, mist…”

The boy removed his headphones.

Tears ran down his cheeks.

The old starship took off from the ground, hovering for a second before the roar of the engine became deafening and glowed red. Finally, once the ship had enough energy to launch into space, it plunged into the purple-black darkness of the predawn sky.

Markus heard Mister Kremm’s last words echoing in his ears, the words he had spoken before the connection was lost: “Beast. Lazy beast.”