Resurrection

“Non posso… ” the lobster-like alien beside me whispered in perfect Italian as we pushed our way through the marshy vegetation, a forest on this excessively wet and gloomy world. I could not continue onward either.

“Si, signore Ttch*lok,” I responded in the same tongue, nearly choking on the liquid glide in the middle of his name. In response to his request I looked for some place of refuge below the thick canopy. Some place where we could safely hide.

Ttch*lok was my first and only convert on this ungodly miserable planet. Six months it had taken for me to find one of these semi-intelligent, hard-shelled beings who had responded to the Word and I was not about to lose him.

I was not worried for myself, for whatever punishment my shipmates could bestow on me would be insignificant in comparison to what my convert would suffer. My friend would be entirely consumed if we were discovered.

I could not let him be eaten by those cannibals.