Blue Blood

   Indigo once spanned the skies from dusk to dawn. It brightened ever so lightly when the morning came despite the planet’s three suns. At least, that was how the elders described it until the night of the fiery sky. The current generation rarely saw one of those suns through the elusive wisp of a black cloud. They spoke of heavens blackened by the flames trailing the giant metal insects screaming to the surface. Many had never heard these legends, believing their lives always included their oppressors. Then again, upon arrival, the visitors almost entirely eradicated the indigenous population.

  The beings who spilled out of the blazing bug when it landed swept the natural resistance under the rug. Each uprising was mercilessly stomped flat so none could follow in those footsteps. As far as the public knew, such things never happened. Klik was one of the few who knew about revolution firsthand.

   Human. Klik heard them use that term in an effort to differentiate themselves from the locals. They said it to themselves more than those they repeatedly struck to the same effect with whatever blunt instrument was in hand. Where humans bled red, Klik’s people bled blue. Just another example of that species’ cruelty if you asked him. The two races were easily distinguishable from one another if you looked. Klik knew the term they used when they thought his people were out of earshot. The humans called them bugs.

   Klik had seen it all in action when his father led a great failure of a revolution that had cost the man his life. There was no way he was going to repeat those mistakes. He would restore his family and his people’s honour if it was the last thing he did. Already, unlike his father, Klik had a secret weapon none before him did.

  Deep within the underground catacombs where humanity had forced them, they kept a man. Something about him had made him different to Klik from the moment they stole him away from his people like they had stolen everything from the planet’s inhabitants. By any measure, he was a small man, yet he offered no resistance against his captors’ jabs and strikes. Klik’s brethren were unimpressed by the man’s silence, resolving to heavy blows instead of words. They were more curious about whether or not their prisoner’s blood was blue.

  Klik chatters his mandibles to one of the guards placed on the man’s door. The guard who steps aside to let him in mumbles something under his breath about wasted time. A growing number among them were beginning to voice impatience. It was slightly worrying that some felt emboldened to say it in his presence. He hoped to make his move before any overzealous fool took an eager step to set the plan back.

  Once inside, he learned he was already too late. Red covered the walls and floor around the crumpled heap that had been Klik’s hope. He spun around just in time to catch the flash as the mumbling guard fired at him. As he fell, Klik remembered his father’s glassy stare when he too met his fate.