Lost Cargo by Hollister Ann Grant, Gene Thomson Page B

the surface as it had looked from space.
    More traces of the Elemental’s skin showed up on the opposite bank along an overgrown path that wound away to the west. He stared into the woods. The creature had headed toward the city, as he’d thought it would. He would never be able to find it without the tracker once it adapted to a civilization with conflicting smells and thousands of hiding places.
    Moments later, he came across fabric scraps lying under a thicket. He folded the scraps into the pack on his belt. Either a storm had blown them there by chance or the intruders had tried to mark the area. Now there was a faint chance he could sense them if he came across their path.
    The Elemental’s trail followed the creek for miles and grew stronger around small burrows hidden in the underbrush near the water’s edge. Tech 29 knelt down by the trampled ground. No rustles, no heartbeats. The Elemental had probably sucked the creatures out of their holes.
    Eventually the trail descended into the gorge, passed through the tall grass along the banks, and crossed the broad brown creek back and forth several times. The Elemental had pursued something else here. Traces of its skin in the woods said a struggle had taken place, but the messages on the ground were too old to decipher. Then the trail wound up a rugged slope behind an ornate stone building. The sounds of the city rumbled beyond the building’s walls.
    The trail grew stronger here, and wider, suggesting the Elemental had gone in many directions over several days and returned to the same place.
    Tech 29 stood at the edge of the woods, trying to decide where to go next, when he sensed something else: food. The tantalizing smells wafted through the trees. Starving and dehydrated, he crept across the grounds to a terrace with open glass doors.
    Somebody’s home. An overweight local moved from a round table loaded with food to a large brown chair made of animal hide where he plopped down and stretched out his thick legs. Locals in bright uniforms sprinted across a huge screen. Nothing new there. Locals were in love with their screens and games all over the galaxy.
    And the game made a good distraction.
I’m invisible. Go on. Be bold or be hungry
. Tech 29 slid the screen door back, slipped inside, and peered over the top of the table, but he was too short to reach the food with the incredible smell. He grabbed a shiny green cylinder and popped it open.
    Some kind of fizzy liquid. Good enough.
    The alien pulled off his mask and took a swig. His cluster of eyes bugged out. Amazed, he swigged the rest. Fabulous, the most delicious stuff in the universe. Seconds later, his insides erupted, gas shot out of his mouth, and he shrieked just as cheers erupted from the game.
    “Keisha, the quesadillas are getting cold,” the male local called.
    “Okay,” a female local called back from another room. “I just want to finish this post.”
    “You’re missing the playoffs.”
    “Two seconds.”
    “Keisha, you better get off the internet.”
    “I’m coming, I’m coming. Just get off my case.”
    The male noticed Tech 29, slowly put his food down, and gripped the arm of the chair. His mouth fell open. More cheers and a roar from the crowd came from the game.
    “There’s an alien in the dining room,” he said.
    “Yeah, right.”
    “There’s an alien from outer space in here and he’s trying to get the quesadillas.”
    “Terrell, you’re so full of bull. You’re the king of bull.”
    Still parched, stomach grumbling, Tech 29 grabbed another shiny green cylinder and a colorful bag from the table.
    The male’s voice rose. “I’m telling you, there’s an alien in here. He’s three or four feet high with a big head and a bunch of eyes and he’s got a Mountain Dew. He just belched. Now he’s stealing the Doritos!”
    Tech 29 couldn’t understand the local’s words, but he understood the meaning. His camouflage wasn’t working. He could sense the man’s excitement