The Last Hour of Gann

by R. Lee Smith

Meoraq had not moved more than his eyes or his spines in all this time, but at that, he suddenly stood up. He took two steps, unhurried, and slapped Scott right out of the air even as he was leaping away. He caught him before he hit the ground, pulled him close, then said quietly, “Lizard?” He said it strangely, softening the z and rattling on the r, but he said it and it was easy to hear because no one else made a sound. Meoraq tipped his head to the side in that way he seemed to think was threatening and said, once more in lizardish, that no one sent him anywhere and if S’kot or any other human (he said that oddly as well, drawing out the ooo-sound and hammering a hard T on the end) thought otherwise, he would…something. The word he used was not a familiar one and in this context could have meant anything. Whatever he said, he sounded like he meant it. And then he tipped his head even further on its side and asked if S’kot understood him. “Yes,” said Scott at once, his eyes huge. Meoraq asked if he was sure. S’kot apparently heard nothing but hisses and grunts (he exaggerated the animal quality of these sounds; Scott flinched hard both times) of a lizard when Meoraq spoke. “I…” Scott rolled his eyes wildly back at Amber, waxen-faced. “Say something, for God’s sake! What does he want?” “What does he want?” Amber huffed out an angry, humorless laugh and rubbed a final time at her unwounded mouth. “He wants a fucking apology, Commander.”