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Running Water was not amused. Tonight was supposed to have been the night of the third and final rite of her ordination. She'd checked the alignments herself; there wouldn't be another night as auspicious as this one for the remainder of the season. Now her initiation into the priesthood would have to be delayed again_on account of the High Priest getting completely shit-faced that evening. Yes, his wife was a vicious, emotional vampire bitch--they'd met--but the man still had his gods-damned _duties.

She was pacing in the dusty street in front of her hut, bathed in wan torch light, cursing at the small night creatures scurrying in the trees beyond. Thus, she was not in the best frame of mind for observation when the entire street was lit by a brilliant white flash. Only when a clap of thunder failed to follow did she turn around and look in the direction she thought the light had come from.

There was nothing, no clouds or other hint of weather; nothing at all save for a faint and fading glow of some kind near the horizon.

* * *

The missiles were not particularly bright. There were, after all, spaceborn anti-ship ordinance of a not-terribly expensive make. So when one of them detonated and subsequently the target disappeared from the sensors of the others, they naturally concluded that they had made a successful kill. The fanned out a bit to ensure that the target hadn't simply snuck away in the confusion, but it never occurred to them that the long smoking furrow in the earth and the toppled, burning trees were significant.

Levus was afraid to move in his seat, due to a half-serious fear that he would discover one or more body parts absent. "Is everyone...intact?" he asked.

His question was answered by an almost musical chorus of groans.

"I think so," said Marcus.

"That was fun," said Fafnir.

"I think one of me might be dead," said Lucky. "No, wait, I take that back. It's just dark in there."

Levus gazed around and attempted to assess the damage. Everyone on the bridge was slowly disentangling themselves from their automatic seat restraints, all of them apparently functional. There were plenty of red telltales all over, but no blaring klaxons, suggesting that no part of the ship was in immediate danger of exploding.

The view out the window was less promising. The shovel-nosed bow of the ship seemed to have buried itself in the ground. Other displays showed patches of burning forest dotted all along their path, to say nothing of several freshly felled pieces of lumber. If there was anything remotely intelligent operating those missiles, the Fund's respite would be brief.

"Good news is those missiles have returned to station," said Fafnir, monitoring the ship's passive sensors.

"Lucky, get outside with as much camo-cloth as we've got and try to cover up that trench." The furrow left by their landing was, all things considered, fairly short: just a few ship-lengths. Levus figured they should have enough material on board to camouflage it against casual observation. "And put out those fires if you can."

"Oh yessir, right away sir." If Lucky's huge black eyes were mobile, he'd have rolled them. Most of him got up and left the bridge, heading to the cargo bay.

"I've already camouflaged the ship. There's a stream within range of the burrowers that we can dump our heat into." Fafnir paused, squinting at his display. "I'll be damned..."

"What is it?" Levus stepped gingerly over to Fafnir, not entirely confident in his ankles yet.

"The Lookeeloo, it's intact. In fact, it's asking why we've dropped out of contact."

Levus looked over Fafnir's shoulder. "That's mildly inexplicable."

"Not really," said Marcus. "We weren't attacked the minute we arrived. They left us alone until we started to probe the surface. We told the Lookeeloo to scan the rest of the system. Whoever set up those defenses must have programmed them only to attack anyone who took an active interest in the planet."

"Hmm. I'm developing the suspicion that our missing patrol ship isn't missing at all. I think they are on the surface, and I don't think it's an emergency."

"You think the mined the planet to ensure their privacy? Why?" said Fafnir.

"I think they're busy here and can't be bothered to keep tabs on space. They've set their defenses to take out anyone that might locate them, but otherwise not attract attention."

"What's on the surface that would make them care enough to do that?"

"No idea. Maybe they're abusing the locals, or want to set themselves up as god-kings or something."

"Delightful. So, assuming that we aren't killed in the next five minutes, what is our next move?"

"We call for help."

"We can't use the ship's transmitter. We might have fooled the missiles with our little maneuver, but if we send out a full power signal they are going to find us."

"Marcus, where exactly did we land?"

"Very close to the eastern shore of the main continent, just beyond the foothills of the coastal mountain range." Marcus smiled. "Ah, I see."

"Right, if it weren't for those mountains we'd have a line of sight right to the Lookeeloo."

"I get it," said Fafnir, "we should be able to tight-beam the probe and have it relay back home."

"I wonder if this was one of the possibilities the cooperative envisioned." Levus wasn't sure if he wanted that to be the case or not.

"Agh! Fuck! I fucking burned myself!" screamed the one drone-body of Lucky remaining on the bridge. The three mammals turned in unison to look at the displays showing the outside. One of which revealed a dog-sized cricket doing the drop-and-roll on the forest floor, a discarded fire extinguisher by its side.

* * *

The little matter of her ordination resolved, Running Water, newly minted priestess of the Alo Calid Bone-Singers, was free to tackle the next obstacle on her path to ultimate spiritual achievement.

As it happened, she and the other temple priests had been able to throw together an ordination just before dawn. The High Priest proved able to fulfill his function with the a little help from a strong (actually, toxic) dose of jitter-root tea, and a lot of help from the assistant High Priest. He took them at their word when they told him that the ceremony had been a thing of gravity and ineffable mystery the next morning, having no memory at all himself.

Although she was now a priestess de jure, she still had to under take her pilgrimage to the Sacred Mound if she wanted to be accorded the full respect of that title. Nominally, she was already the chief spiritual authority in her village, but until the pilgrimage was done she couldn't perform the office (or at least, nobody would show up at the spirit lodge on Fifthday); she suspected the elderly priest currently filling the role was clinging to life solely in the hope that he might see her fail before he did.

Unfortunately, right now Running Water had a more immediate problem. As (nominal) priestess, one of her duties was to oversee the hospitality of the village toward guests, merchants, and other visitors. What worried her were the strangers who kept barging into the village lately from their encampment somewhere out of sight. Their accents were strange but not incomprehensible, and their dress wasn't startling foreign, but their behavior was utterly alien. They strode about the village like they were lords of all they surveyed, immortals who had abased themselves just walking on the same ground as her people. Yet, see had never seen them do anything that might justify that attitude. All they did was ask questions.

So far they hadn't made any threats against anyone. That they could have handled; they knew how to give brigands a proper reception. But these men (and they were all men) had made no demands, no threats, and so far nobody had reported anything stolen. Running Water had spoken to them several times herself, and it made her skin crawl each time. They simply didn't care, about anything apparently, their politeness as reflexive as the opening and closing of a flower with the time of day. They showed no sort of emotional reaction to the villagers in any of their dealings, except perhaps for mild confusion when their questions went unanswered.

It was a reaction they presented frequently, for they asked about nothing save the Sacred Mound. Water found this to be a coincidence that strained even her admittedly generous credulity. The villagers pleaded ignorance of the matter, which was mostly true; such sacred matters were forbidden to the uninitiated. Water and the elder priest had taken turns weaving a rich and detailed basket of evasions, generalities, and various non-committal noises. At first, the strangers came by only once a week or so to try to wheedle information, but now they were arriving almost daily.

Running Water suspected that, very soon now, there would be a radical shift in their relationship, and that she had better decide what she was going to do before then.

* * *

Levus, Marcus, and Fafnir set out from the crash site around dawn, and by mid-afternoon they had the village in sight. The village was nestled in a depression between the gentle rolling foothills, excavated further by the river that abutted the village. The hill west of the village had eroded severely, its eastern face now a steep rocky escarpment in contrast to the grassy slope of its western side. A collection of sparse clumps of scraggly trees dotted the ridge line, overlooking the village, and it was here that the three stopped to plan their next step.

After the usual bickering, they decided that Marcus and Levus should head down to the village while Fafnir kept watch. As heavily modded as all their bodies were there was very little chance of getting down without attracting attention. Levus and Fafnir were both of a similar canine phenotype, based in fact off the same husky template with same erect triangular ears and fluffy tails. The main difference between the two was that Levus' fur was a lavender and white mix, while Fafnir had more of an azure tone over his white base. Marcus himself was downright hominid, with little more than a lot of brown fur and a monkey tail.

With that pool to draw from, finesse was pretty much out of the question. They settled on Levus and Marcus together for two main reasons: first, Fafnir was twice as big as either of them and about as diplomatic as a stoning; and second, he was the best choice to cover them from the ridge if things went south.

It didn't take long to spot a trail leading down the hill face. The plan was to, as directly as possible, ask the villagers for the quickest way on foot to a gap in the mountains wide enough and low enough to get a laser signal through. They had no idea how the neoprimitives would react, but they hoped their appearance would be suitably awe-inspiring as to, at minimum, get them decent directions. They also planned to ask if the villagers knew anything about the patrol ship crew, time between screams permitting.

Marcus and Levus struck out on the descending trail while Fafnir began to set up his camp-cum-sniper's nest. The trail down was slow going, winding over loose rock piles and around boulders in the places where it wasn't a washed-out trench. The slope was gentle enough that they could hike the entire way without resorting to free climbing, but it was still steep enough that they took a break at a natural terrace about half way down. The trail was tiring with gravity as their (treacherous) ally; the hike back up promised to be a bitch and a half.

Neither man was an accomplished hiker (or athlete of any other stripe), and the bottom of the trail found them bent over and panting vigorously. Still, they had arrived on the valley floor without major injury, an operation they declared a victory by technical decision.

Near the trailhead was a shallow rocky ford in the river, clear water flowing lazily over. It was almost autumn on this hemisphere, the snow melt was exhausted and the exposed rocky banks of the river told of much higher water levels at other times of the year. They would cross here to reach the village, a little downstream and on the other side. A bend in the river hid the village from direct sight.

In contrast to the rough trail down the hillside, the trail on the far bank was practically a dirt superhighway and they made quick and easy progress. The earth was hard packed with a great many foot and hoof prints, although the lack of wheel ruts was telling. The trail looked as through it received a fair amount of traffic, but they saw no one else for the duration. They both wondered if that was luck, or a bad omen.

Almost an hour after they left Fafnir behind, Marcus and Levus reached the outskirts of the village. It was more or less what they had imagined. Long bark covered huts of varying lengths were scatted along a dusty path. Just beyond the huts were cultivated fields filled with various unidentifiable crops, and irrigation ditches leading back to the river running along one side of the village. There was no wall or stockade protecting the village, just an ornamental frame built around the road as it crossed into the village. Evidently these people belonged to some greater sociopolitical organization for protection, or else had no real security concerns to begin with. There was no sign of sentries at the entrance, or lookouts on the road leading in.

In fact, there was nobody to be seen at all. Marcus and Levus paused just outside the entrance.

"Looks like nobody's home," said Marcus.

"They're here. Look." Levus pointed to a few thin curls of smoke rising from holes in the roofs of some of the huts. "You don't leave cooking fires unattended in a wooden hut. Plus, these people are clearly farmers, and you don't get to take many days off from subsistence agriculture."

"So, they're hiding from us."

"Or ignoring us, hoping we'll go away. I guess they aren't going to be overawed by our presence after all."

"Just terrified or indifferent. Perfect." Marcus glanced around at the thin fingers of forest that came down from the deeper woods beyond the village and embraced the village on three sides. "They must have scouts out of sight in those trees. Let them know we were coming."

"Maybe. Or maybe they had already locked up for somebody else." Levus gestured towards a patch of empty grassland. "That looks like pasture, and the grass is low, but I don't see any livestock grazing. I think they've been penned up already. I'm not a rancher but I don't think they could have pulled the whole herd in in just the time it took us to come down the ridge, assuming the spotted us right away."

"Even better. The villagers come pre-terrified for our convenience."

Marcus and Levus were not, by nature and their own admission, men of action. That was what the hired thug was for. Both of them felt an inclination to dicker outside the village, neither wanting to be the one to suggest what to do next. Fortunately, they were rescued before the tension became unbearable by a third party.

A figure emerged from one of the largest huts.

I didn't take long to see that the figure was a woman, and that she was coming right towards them. She was short, not more than 170 centimeters, she was well muscled but still with a healthy roundness in the right places (which spoke of a fitness born from necessity rather than vanity). Her most striking feature was a deep olive complexion that seemed different from the skin tone usually described by that word, a color that did not quite seem to be a part of the human baseline palette. Her clothing was simple, a tunic-like shirt with short leggings and soft looking shoes, all made from a mix of hide and rough cloth. She worn no jewelry or bright colors that either man could see.

Marcus and Levus stood and waited just outside the archway as she came towards them, until coming to a stop herself just inside of the arch. She squinted and blinked a few times, looking from one man to the other, until apparently satisfying herself that they were both real.

"Well, you certainly look like gods," she said, one eyebrow slightly cocked, "although in the old stories gods usually make more of entrance." She spoke an accented, slightly dialectic version of Low Panglossic Two, and the two spacemen had little difficulty understanding her. Both breathed a slight sigh of relief that the founders of this place hadn't gotten into any con-lang bullshit.

"Sometimes even gods get pressed for time, lady," said Levus.

"I see. That would no doubt explain your great haste in entering the village and seeking us out." She gestured to the wooden frame marking the village entrance, which Marcus and Levus had come to a stop in front of. She looked about to speak, then stopped as all three heard a distant sound, a rustling noise coming from the woods at the edge of the village.

The woman's demeanor shifted noticeably. "You both look tired," she said, "no doubt from your long journey from...heaven. My name is Running Water, priestess of this village, and it would be my great honor to invite you into my home." She made an elaborate bow, but for all her apparent hospitality her eyes never left the woods.

That fact was not lost on Marcus. Before Levus could reply, Marcus none-to-subtly elbowed Levus in the ribs, and nodded in the direction Running Water was fixated on.

"We, uh, accept your gracious hospitality," said Levus.

"Good," replied Running Water. Without further ceremony--or other warning--she grabbed the nearer Marcus by his sleeve and began almost dragging him towards one of the wooden huts. Her frequent backward glances were all the incentive Levus needed to follow closely.