bowgun. He found a grellup vine, picked a few of the yellow pods, and put them in his pouch. He worked his way through the hedges and around the smaller trees growing out of them and returned to the river. He threw a line in the water and leaned back against a jelt tree’s trunk. He looked overhead and saw the giant ging trees’ branches extending more than forty feet over the river. It was those trees that had overgrown the shoreline that prevented the repair facility from being seen by raiders. The breeze coming off the water was cool, and he felt at peace. He thought about the long walk back to the community and hoped he didn’t catch too big a fish.
Most of the giant ging trees had been cleared from the planet when it was settled and developed. By the time El Prado was named one of the Provincial Capitals, they had all but disappeared. It was only after the Searcher’s destruction of the planet’s population that they made their comeback. The gings grew to become the rulers of the forest, and the local ecology that had once built their existence around them began to flourish. The lowest branches were more than fifty to seventy feet above the ground, and all other trees in the forest grew in their shadows. The local trees would only grow to within fifteen feet of the lower branches and no higher. They would also grow no closer than fifteen feet from the giant tree’s trunk. If they came closer, the giant tree would absorb all the water out of the encroacher. The trunks were dry, but the tops were loaded with moisture. The top of the trees collected rain water and dropped moisture to the floor of the forest far below, which nourished plant life under it. Thick undergrowth and hedges crowded the spaces between the gings. Nothing would grow over the giant roots of the trees, either. These roots often ran for hundreds of yards aboveground to merge with the roots of other gings. It was these roots that provided pathways through the forest. Attempting to cross the natural hedge rows that grew between the roots was an exercise in futility. Plant life struggled for the safe, fertile soil between the root paths and grew too dense even for the Torg to break through. The trunks of the giants were the intersections of the forest. They were also the most likely place for Torg attacks. Bowguns were always at hand when one approached the giant trees’ trunks.
Scotty thought he was getting a nibble when he heard a thrashing in the dense brush over the hill behind him. He snatched his bowgun up and activated the generator with a thumb press. The arrows were an invention of Kip Brown. When an arrow was fired from a bowgun, the sharp barbs at the end snapped out along with the stabilizers. This made the arrows extremely easy to take from a quiver as well as being safe to handle. They were foot-long, smooth shafts until they were fired. It also made loading the arrows into the bowgun an easy operation. They were bundled in groups of ten, and could be pushed into the magazine quickly.
He eased toward the huge tree, listening for approaching danger. The noise continued unabated as he walked up the hill and around the giant tree to investigate. It could be a Torg, and he was taking no chances. He eased around the tree and saw a small Zord pinned to the ground by a huge branch. He had almost missed it, but the movement of the branch gave its location away. Small was a relative term in that the Zord was easily thirty feet long.
Scotty looked up and saw that the Zord had flown in to attack a greck nest for an easy meal. It had landed on a branch next to the nest and it had given way, falling on top of the Zord pinning it to the ground. The Zord was not screaming, and Scotty thought it didn’t desire unwanted attention. The Zord struggled, and then saw Scotty standing on the ground above it with a raised gun. It snarled and opened its long, wide snout to show four rows of razor sharp teeth. Scotty put his finger on the trigger and aimed at the Zord’s heart. He just couldn’t force himself to release the arrow.
Scotty lowered the bowgun, putting it on safe. This Zord wasn’t going anywhere. The two stared at each other and Scotty wasn’t certain what to do. This was a very young Zord, probably still a child, and he saw the Zord’s wing was damaged by the falling limb.
Suddenly, a huge Torg burst through the underbrush and rushed the trapped Zord. Scotty raised the bowgun up in a smooth motion and thumbed off the safe switch without taking his eyes off the charging Torg. He leaned into the shot, and pulling then releasing the bowgun’s trigger. Firing his bowgun took less than a second. He hit the Torg in the only place that would stop it; between the eyes. The arrow buried itself to the feathers. The Torg came crashing to the ground and skidded to within two feet of the trapped Zord, which had closed its eyes in anticipation of its death.
After a moment, the Zord opened one eye and saw the dead Torg in front of it with the protruding arrow. It looked at Scotty and saw the bowgun still in his hands. The Zord looked back at the Torg, then stared at Scotty without blinking.
Scotty stared at the helpless Zord for a long moment and made a decision. He slowly knelt and put his bowgun on the ground. He then removed his quiver and placed it beside the bowgun, went to the towering tree, and began climbing to the lower branches. He looked around and climbed higher. He finally found what he was searching for. He took out his short sword and hacked the branch from the tree. It fell sixty feet on the other side of the tree from the trapped Zord. Scotty climbed down and began cutting small branches from it. After ten minutes, he had a thick shaft about fifteen feet long. The Zord remained strangely still and quiet as it watched him cut the large limb. Scotty walked over to his bowgun and the large creature appeared to know its death was imminent. Scotty placed his two swords on the ground next to his bowgun and walked over to the injured beast with the long branch.
Scotty put one end of the shaft under the branch pinning the Zord’s wing and lifted until he could get his shoulder under it. He stood and lifted the huge limb pinning the Zord until it was clear of its wing. The young Zord pulled its wing free and scrambled out from under the branch. It then turned and looked at Scotty. Scotty noticed the huge creature grimacing with pain as it dragged the damaged wing.
He went over to the limbs he had hacked off his improvised shaft and looked at the Zord, then at the limb. He walked over to his swords and picked one up. He heard the Zord snarl behind him. Scotty ignored the danger signal and began cutting small branches and sprigs off the limb. He turned and looked at the injured wing, then turned back to his cutting. The Zord stopped snarling and watched what he was doing.
Scotty looked back at the damaged wing and cut the limb to a smooth, six-foot long shaft. He then sat down and took the fishing wire from his pouch. He cut five, six-foot long strands and tied hooks to each end. He then laid the sword down, picked up the shaft and wire strands, and walked toward the Zord.
The Zord stared at Scotty but allowed him to come closer without snarling. Scotty said, “If you don’t get this wing repaired, you’ll die.” Scotty then held the shaft up against the bone that had been broken on the leading edge of the Zord’s wing and sized it against the opening. Scotty put the five wires in his mouth and put the shaft up against the break in the wing and pushed the two broken bones together. The Zord snarled its pain and Scotty quickly took the strands and pulled the shaft tight against the broken bone. The Zord’s skin was so thick, the hooks penetrated and held without penetrating too deeply. Scotty stepped away from the Zord and slowly backed up the hill. The Zord stared at him with its yellow eyes and watched him pick up his weapons and leave.
Later that afternoon, Scotty came back to see the Zord had consumed chunks of the dead Torg. He couldn’t see the Zord but knew it was there. The Zord watched him approach and snarled. Scotty put his weapons on the ground and carried two buckets of water he had brought from the river. He placed them in front of the injured flying beast, backed away, and left. The Zord watched him go and then drank both buckets. For the next two weeks, Scotty returned with buckets of water and replaced the ones he had brought the day before.
On the fifteenth day, something remarkable happened. As he approached with the buckets he saw the Zord flapping its wings. He put the buckets down and watched as the Zord looked at its wing, then at him. Scotty knew what it wanted. He went back to his pouch and returned with a small pair of hook removers. He walked slowly up to huge animal and took the hooks out of the Zord’s wing. When the final hook was removed, the shaft holding the broken bones together fell to the ground. Scotty backed away, picked up the two empty buckets along with his weapons, and turned to leave.
“Why did you not kill me?”
Scotty stopped dead still, shocked at the Zord’s question. He didn’t hear that question. It was in his mind. He slowly turned and looked at the Zord and said, “I couldn’t just let you die. You’re young and have your whole life in front of you. Killing a being that is defenseless is wrong. Not trying to help one that is injured is also wrong.”
“Were you not afraid I would kill you?”
“Yes, but I had to try. You would have warned me my efforts were doomed to failure if you tried to harm me when I lifted the branch.”
“What would you have done if I did?”
“Your injured wing wouldn’t allow you to move quickly enough to catch me. If I couldn’t help you, I would have ended your suffering with my weapon. I couldn’t let you die in a Torg’s jaws.”
The giant creature stared at Scotty and said, “I have always considered your kind no different than the Torg.
