02/20/2025 Snippet, PICKMAN’S MODELS.

Needed more conflict.

…

“There was a sentry,” Reithner told him, her voice now guttural and strained. Her rifle had a light on it, which she used to shine on a tumbled heap at one corner. “Or perhaps a madman. Take a look.”

Tobias looked, and immediately suppressed his inclination to take a closer look. It was a person, sex not immediately obvious, age not immediately obvious, hairless, mottled skin, and bleeding out in that oddly slow way you got on the Moon. The eyes were open, staring, and so bloodshot that they were almost pure red.

“I assume there was no attempt at communication?” Tobias asked.

“The only thing it communicated, sir, was its intent to disembowel my men. See the scratches in the caporal’s suit? It did that. With fingernails.” Reithner waited a moment, possibly to see Tobias react in surprise. When he did not, she shook her head. “At any rate, sir, it was trying for the air hoses when I started shooting. A bullet at least put it down.”