Mikhail Volkov stared at the poor people in front of him. The houses were small and filthy and the people were literally animals - half animals anyway.
A half pig waddled away quickly, looking back nervously. He was the first, but a half sheep followed, almost running. The rest left soon after, mostly sheep and pigs, going inside, locking their doors.
Mikhail looked around again, noticing the arid farmland and the bony cattle. One cow, miraculously not a half cow-person, was looking into a dry creek that ran near the village, if it could be called that. There were crops, but they were mostly withered. Some sort of drought.
A breeze ruffled his fur and teased at something on his head. He glanced down at his body while raising one hand to his head. Fur! And an ear? He was a half animal an well! A wolf. No wonder the pigs and sheep ran. They should fear him.
This was a shit dream.
He thought back, remembering the space program he had been working on. Parts of the Russian space program were being privatized, hoping to follow the success of the American billionaires. His father had bid for rights and Mikhail had been appointed to manage the program.
The Kosmigruzovik was a heavy rocket, designed for hauling materials into orbit. Sure, he had cut some corners to save money and line his pockets, but it was still within specification. Besides, the engineers would have alerted him if anything was wrong.
He had only been on site to commemorate the initial launch. Who would have expected the rocket to explode, much less throw part of the cargo compartment at the viewing shelter, which was supposed to be safe …
“The failure wasn’t yours.” A voice whispered in his ear, interrupting his last memories. “I saved you, caught your soul and transported you to a new world. Everything here can be yours.”
“Pizdets! This is shit! Where is the capital?”
The strange voice didn’t answer.
Mikhail looked around again and stomped toward the nearest shack. The plaster exterior was deteriorating, revealing straw bales behind them. This was the house the first pig person had run into.
“Little pig, little pig, let me in.” He growled the words and the reverberation in his throat felt good.
“No!”
That wasn’t how the stupid rhyme went. He grabbed the door and yanked it open, tearing the hinges off of the useless frame. The terrified pig person cowered back as Mikhail stepped in.
“Little piggie, which way is the nearest city?” At least they understood each other.
The pig shook his head.
Mikhail looked around the room. There was nothing of value. Well, almost nothing. A bucket of clean water sat on a small table. Water was valuable during a drought. He grabbed it and stalked to the next house.
This one was wooden, better built, but the wood framing was dry and brittle. The wooden door had a small window and he could see another pig person inside. He didn’t ask, just pushed against the door. The dry rotted wood frame split, fracturing as the door crashed down. A cloud of dust rose around it.
He stepped inside. “What can you tell me, piggie? Where’s the nearest prosperous city?”
This pig shook his head as well.
“Do you want me to eat you?” A low growl. He wasn’t really hungry, but he would need food before he left this shit hole.
The pig shook his head vehemently, then pointed to a cabinet. “There’s water and food. Take it.”
Mikhail opened the cabinet door to find some kind of watertight bag made of hide. It had a long strap that he pulled over a shoulder. A pouch of dried meat was next to it. Some kind of biltong. He grabbed it and turned back to the pig man.
“Where do you get water if the creek is dry?”
“We pray for it.”
“Pray?”
The pig pulled a medallion from under his shirt. It was metal, with some kind of rune carved into it.
“Give that here!” Mikhail grabbed and yanked it over the little piggie’s head. He ran his thumb over the rune and could feel something inside. Something alive.
He turned and left, ignoring the cries behind him.
Most of the tiny village was made from straw bale structures, like the first house. There were a few made from clay bricks, but this was the only wooden structure. Looking around, there were no trees, so any wood at all had to be imported. Maybe that pig had been important.
He looked at the next house, it was one of the brick structures, but the clay was cracked and dry. He was certain he could break into it as well, but also certain there was nothing in this town worth the effort.
He left, heading northwest along the dry creek bed. He put the medallion around his neck and carried the bucket carefully, trying not to spill the water. He didn’t know how long it would take to reach someplace nicer. Some place were he could prosper.
The strange voice spoke up, “You have ten inventory slots available, would you like to store the bucket?”
“Yes. How do I do that?”
It answered this time, giving instructions, “Imagine placing the bucket in a slot. The more valuables you add, the stronger you’ll grow.”
Mikhail did as instructed, then added the waterskin and pouch of meat. They each took a separate slot. Pulling them out was just as easy. At least the trip would be easier this way.
The next day, he found a place where the embankment had collapsed, diverting the stream to the southwest, away from the filthy town. He considered for a moment, then continued upstream. If the animals had wanted help, they would have paid him.
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