#4

Four long, slow years after the Thane Beartacare debacle, a sleek silver ship touched down on the moon, opened its rear hatch, and extended a long ramp, down which, after a moment, a squadron of Blue level Sparrows marched in their identical blue heat-shielding suits.
Sparrows have no use for or interest in ceremony. They made no speeches, did not slowly look around in awe at the deep red alien landscape stretching out in every direction. They had no audience – this landing was not being broadcast to the world. Each member of the squadron merely glanced at the controls on the wrist of its suit, acknowledged that it had not yet suddenly died from the heat, then looked up at the leader of the squadron, awaiting instructions. The leader nodded at two members of the team, who nodded back and trotted over toward Thane Beartacare’s pod and perfectly preserved, collapsed body, both of which were coated in thick layers of red dust. Mr. Beartacare’s arm was wedged under his body, still clawing at the heat that had pierced his underequipped suit and made it instantly impossible to breathe.
The body was carefully straightened out, carried back to the Sparrows’ ship and stored respectfully in the cargo hold, per instructions. Later it was returned home and buried at the foot of his memorial statue.
With Phase I of their mission complete, the Sparrows turned their attention to their next set of instructions. Large devices designed to examine the ground and atmosphere were unpacked; meters and dials and sensors were read and their readings noted down. The Sparrows worked quickly, never pausing to speak or look directly at each other, only stopping once in a while to tilt their heads at the leader and await further orders.
They, like all Sparrows everywhere, were so intent on their work that they only faintly heard the rattling, clicking noises that crept toward them from over a craggy ridge. One Sparrow was busying itself with a clumsy seismograph which it was attempting to fasten to the crumbling ground when it heard a sound that was slightly louder and more pronounced than the vague sounds before, and it paused, looked up, and turned around.
Standing on the ridge, eyeing the Sparrow curiously, was a seven foot tall dark green creature, standing upright on four thin pointy legs. It had an oval body covered in scales, and four long, thin arms that ended in sharp thorn-like things instead of hands. Its back was a domed shell; its head was just a small bulbous knob, with no discernable eyes, and two prickly pincers jutting out from the general area where there could have been a mouth.
It was making a soft rustling noise, its pincers vibrating calmly:
shimmershimmershimmershimmershimmershimmershimmer
The Sparrow tilted its head curiously.
Fierce sounds of snapping and clicking emanated from the creature’s body as over a dozen more sharp thorn-like limbs jutted out from underneath the shell, all of them much longer than its four main limbs, and most of them thrust themselves forward and sank easily through the Sparrow’s heat suit, feathers, flesh, and organs.
The Sparrow looked down with genuine surprise at the limbs carving it open, cawed once mournfully, then slumped, becoming just dead meat on skewers. The creature seemed to appreciate this, drawing the Sparrow toward it, tucking it effortlessly under one of its main arms, and disappeared back behind the ridge with a faint clicking that died away almost instantly.