Then I found something new, something I had to study for a few seconds because I couldn't believe my own eyes: the remains of a campfire. The ashes were cool, so it had been out for a while, but it was undoubtedly someone’s cooking fire. Little, pure-white bones scattered the area around it. When I picked one up, I found gouges and scratches on it. Something had used a sharp tool to remove the meat.
At first, I thought it must be another survivor from the Revenge. It made sense, and it was what I hoped for. But military personnel were trained to leave no trace of cooking fires when in unfamiliar territory. Had the fire been used by one of my shipmates, they would have done their best to hide any evidence they were ever there. The only other explanation was local, sentient life.
All the aliens mankind had encountered before were, at best, semi-intelligent. The smartest ones were the Xeno, but even they ran mostly on instinct. The campfire was evidence of something different.
As I stalked further, a new odor began to overpower the earthy, flowery scent of the jungle. This one smelled more dangerous than any so far. It was sooty and acrid. It smelled of industry, and as I walked, it became so heavy that I had to stifle a cough. Something was burning, and unless it was one of the trees I’d seen so far, which I doubted, it wasn’t wood.
It might have been coal. I’d never actually smelled a coal fire. Everything on Mars ran on fusion, fission, or batteries. Either way, any center on this planet able to create that much stink must have had a degree of technological proficiency. Industry was the only thing that came to mind, and where there was industry, there was a lot of workers.
A little further, and the smoke became thick enough to see rather than just smell. The trees thinned out, and their trunks and leaves took on a sickly, brown tone. Some of them drooped, as though they hadn’t been watered in a long time. I thought it was more likely that they were being poisoned by the black smoke trapped within the canopy.
I decided to get a closer look. I searched the sky for the darkest patch of smoke and headed in that direction. Even if the locals turned out to be unfriendly, gathering intelligence on their numbers, equipment, and apparent disposition would be helpful.
I slowed my pace and used trees, bushes, and shrubs as cover. It wasn’t long before I found the first building. The structure was roughly square-ish, and, based on the rust, appeared to be inexpertly constructed of corrugated steel. There were other materials I couldn't identify. What I could see, however, were bits of tech mixed in with the trash.
I crept a little closer and paused as I took in the sheer number of structures in the clearing. I could see all the way down a street, or alley. As far as my vision allowed, there was nothing but shanties. Most were either dull gray or rust-red, but others had smatterings of faded colors. One yellow-painted piece had a black shape painted on it, which resembled something a Federation squadron might use as a logo. It didn’t look like anything in particular to me, but it was distinct from the rusted garbage around it.
Most of the houses had more trash piled on their roofs. Some of the pieces resembled bits of fuselage. Others appeared to be swept-back wing parts from a kind of aircraft. There were boxes that could have been computer equipment, bundles of tangled, colorful wires, and lots of bottles, weaved baskets, and rubbish.
But what really caught my eye were the creatures that populated the area. Each had lean torsos with four arms stretching into three-fingered hands with stout opposable thumbs. Their leathery skin was mostly gray. They resembled goblins from ancient literature.
Some of them carried piles of trash, mostly on their wide, hairless heads. Others were followed by miniature versions of themselves—probably offspring. All wore rough-hewn garments that also appeared to be made of trash. And they were all filthy. They probably smelled bad, but the smoke prevented me from finding out how bad. I didn’t mind.
The vast majority scuttled back as a larger alien of the same species walked by. It wasn’t the alien that impressed me; it was what he was carrying: a rifle. It didn’t look like any model I knew, but the frame, the barrel, and even the grip, made its purpose clear.
It was designed to kill. The local species were intelligent enough to craft ballistic weaponry.
The firearm looked as if it might be in decent shape. There were lights along the side, and they were bright. If nothing else, it had power, though I had no idea what it used for ammunition.
I debated darting out of the bushes and disabling the goblin to take his weapon. But a move made in haste could rouse the whole town against me, and I had no intention of being pursued back into the jungle. Also, where there was one wielding a rifle, there’d be more.
I tore my eyes from the device and crept further along the edge of the town, observing the locals while making sure they couldn’t do the same to me. I stopped when I saw two familiar things.
The first looked like a waterskin. It appeared to be made of plastic, but it hung from a nearby tree branch and had something like a stopper at one end. Under it, one of the aliens appeared to be sleeping. A tool resembling an ax lay next to it on the ground.
