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CHET GABE

Chet felt dozens of eyes drilling a dozen holes into his body, and he felt like they were drawing all of his darkest secrets to themselves.

What’re they thinkin’? Whadda they think I am? Whadda they think I’ve done? Do I look suspicious? 

“Hello,” a voice said warily. “Where do you come from?”

Chet started and then narrowed his eyes. He glanced toward the man who spoke. When he saw that the stranger had a hand on the hilt of a sword, he instinctively grasped his whip. It’s cold metal surface sent a surge of strength rushing through his fingers and up to his head. He seemed to feel Maverick’s hot breath whispering down his neck.

He’s ‘bout six foot, I’d say, and ‘bout your build. Look at ‘is eyes. They’re steady; he’s the kind ‘a guy who’d do what he’d have too, but he ain’t lookin’ to kill. Ya got this, boy.  

Chet’s face was as blank as the desert sky.

Oh, I’ve got it, alright.

But I do I want to have it . . . 

Then Chet realized that the man had asked a question, and that meant it would be good to give an answer.

“Not here!” He said, forcing a lopsided grin.

He’d had lots of practice grinning. It was a raider’s trademark. Unconsciously, they had all developed Maverick’s look and walk and talk.

But none could beat Maverick.

No, Maverick beat all.

The other man relaxed and dropped his hand at his side. Chet’s muscles were still tense, but he slowly let his own hand slide away from his whip.

All good, all good.

He looked at the man again and realized that he didn’t look much older or younger than he himself was.

His nerves tingled.

Bash it all, they all look to be in their teens or twenties. Why’d they make me so nervous?

Chet subconsciously dug his fingers into Brand’s soft hair. He’d always had a hard time with folks his age; it didn’t matter where he was.

“I’m Aydin. We’re stuck here,” a man with brown hair said in a voice so hoarse he could’ve passed as a camel. Chet’s lips twitched despite of himself. Indeed, the man was staring at Brand with what looked like combined shock, pleasure, and awe. He walked forward with a hand outstretched.

Does he wanta shake? I don’t think e’s a threat. He might be sick, by the sound a his voice. Calm down, jist calm down, Gabe. 

Chet started to hold out his hand, but the other fellow had his clenched fist held out to Brand’s big nose.

Chet immediately brought his hand back to his hilt.

He might be contagious anyway. 

The man looked at him with hopeful eyes. “May I– please?”

Wait, what does ‘e want — oh, ‘e likes Brand. E’s even greetin’ him the right way, bash it all!

Chet nodded slowly, still surprised. His thoughts were all a jumble, and he didn’t have time to sort them out.

Chet watched Brand lower his head and puff happily as the man scratched behind his ears. The man smiled, and a warm feeling came into Chet’s chest.

The guy likes camcals. ‘E likes Brand!

“What’s his name?” the fellow asked quietly.

Chet blinked several times before answering. “Brand.”

“Hmm, Brand,” the man murmured softly, and the camcal’s ears twitched toward the sound of his voice.

This was a fellow he could relate to in some way. If he was going to get information, it would be from this man. Chet took a deep breath.

Hopefully I can keep this from being awkward.

“Where are we?” He asked.