The day was chilly as the breeze swept across the land. The wind was sweeping in from the pole, across the vast plains, bringing winter with it. Grain, newly introduced to be planted and genetically engineered to flourish on the planet, had all been harvested and no longer waved beneath the red sun. The field was surrounded by carefully twisted steel wire with little points held up on wooden posts, marking the matron's property to all who might see it. Other fields were short grasses specially chosen to be delicious and nutritious for the animals that grazed on the fields.

The moo-moo's that normally contently grazed had all been moved to a different field.

Except for a small handful of dead moo-moo's scattered across the field, out by the creek.

A handful of Treana'ad were moving across the field. Four were workers, only two meters tall, wearing moo-moo tender hats and moo-moo tender wraps that the Terrans called serapes. One was a Matron, four meters tall and resplendent in her glory.

The last was a warrior, wearing a moo moo tender hat like the workers but the serape around his torso was a different pattern. While the workers were wearing single pistol belts, the matron was wearing crossed pistol belts.

The warrior was wearing a battered moo-moo tender hat, crossed pistol belts as well as carrying a rifle of steel and wood with marvelously engraved decorative brass pieces. In a shoulder rig was another pistol, hidden by the colorful sarape.

The warrior also had the pebbled look that males got when they got older.

That was unusual and remarkable on its own, since until very recently, males, especially males of such obvious breeding lines, rarely lived long enough to gain that appearance on their carapace.

The six Treana'ad were all moving toward where a silvery, saucer shaped craft had set down in the field, surrounded by a complex runic pattern that had been pressed into the grass by the craft's engine.

Outside of the saucer shaped craft stood four figures. A meter and a half high, they had long, spindly limbs, long necks, and large wedge shaped heads, the wider part at the top where large, completely black, almond shaped eyes stared at the world around them. Their gray skin was slightly shiny in the lights from the silver saucer.

In front of the four spindly gray creatures were two moo-moos. Both were laying on their sides. Their stomachs had been ripped open, the intestines spread around. The flesh peeled back from their skulls, and they were both missing their left rear hoof.

The Treana'ad arrived, the matron moving over to talk to the gray skinned creatures, three of which were wearing olive drab green ponchos, the fourth wearing nothing but a gun belt across the body. The matron nodded as all four held out badges, bright golden stars with inscriptions.

The large warrior moved over to the dead moo-moos as the warriors whispered to one another. The warrior touched the intestines, moving them slightly, then moved to examine the wounds in the belly. He checked the skulls as the matron whispered quietly to the gray sexless creatures with the large black eyes. He checked the leg with the missing hoof, lifting it slightly, turning his head back and forth to get a good look at it.

The breeze swept away a lot, preventing him from getting a good read with his antenna, but he still looked over everything carefully as he stood up and walked slowly around the dead moo-moos. He could smell the warrior's distress and the matron's anxiety and anger that someone had desecrated her valuable and cherished moomoos.

The matron stood next to the four gray bipeds, watching as the warrior moved in slow circles around the dead moomoos, reaching down to tap the butt of the power rifle from where it was hanging down his back, the carrying strap pulled up over his head.

The warrior slowly moved over to the other oddities.

Four groupings of large orange gourds. One at each compass direction. The largest orange gourd was almost knee high on the warrior, surrounded by a cluster of smaller gourds.

They were all carved with terrible, malevolent expressions. Triangular eyes. A triangle nose. A wedge of a mouth with only a handful of crooked square teeth. The smaller ones were somehow more terrible and fearsome appearing, the badly spaced crooked teeth triangular instead of square. All of the gourds had curves of green vine that had hardened, attached to the top of the gourds. The vines connected all the gourds together, woven into a braid that swept behind the biggest one, which had a sweeping braided pony tail of green vines that separated from the large green stem at the top of the gourd.

The warrior crouched down several times to examine the gourds carefully.

The workers, the matron, and the gray skinned bipeds all whispered to one another as the warrior reached out, grasped the stem at the top of one of the large ones, and lifted it. A round section of the top came away and the warrior looked inside.

The matron sagged, bringing one hand up to her brow and giving a loud sigh, swooning as the warrior reached inside the terrible orange gourd. The workers rushed forward to support her as the warrior drew out a glob from inside the gourd.

It was of wax, with a thin braided fiber of cotton inside. The end that had stuck up was scorched. The bottom was wide, where the wax had run down from the heat to pool around the base.

The warrior touched it with his antenna, tasted the wax, then put the wax back inside and replaced the lid.

The gathered observers, including the swooning matron, watched in shock as the warrior reached down, onto the ground, and picked up a handful of tiny wedges. Yellow at the wide end, orange in the middle, with a white tip. The warrior touched his antenna to one, then put it in his mouth, chewing slowly before spitting it on the ground.

The warrior stood up, slowly moving around, looking at each cluster of gourds, around which was littered a circle of the colorful wedges.

One of the gray bipeds, dressed in a poncho, leaned over to the one without.

"Dude, put some clothes on," the poncho wearing one whispered.

"I'm not afraid of what nature gave me," the nude one said. It stepped forward, spreading its arms, letting cold breeze play over it. "Ahh, brisk."

The warrior moved up to the matron and stopped, looking around.

The warrior slowly drew the pistol from the shoulder rig and everyone held their breaths even as they stared at it.

It bore a resemblance to the standard issue Treana'ad plasma pistol, except for the orange tip at the end of the barrel. The plasma exciter wheels on either side were not spokes plasteel wheel, were not gray-green color. Instead they were solid, white with red curves. The plasma chamber was bigger, the aiming fins larger, and it had what looked like white material decorating the plasma chamber. There were rings at the end of the barrel of the pistol that were red and white, almost decorative.

The warrior stared at the pistol for a long moment, then reholstered it.

"What... what transpired here?" the naked gray biped asked.

"Such savagery," the matron said, shivering. "My poor moomoos."

The warrior looked around slowly.

"Another fearsome malevolent gourd killing, matron," the warrior said. "Just like last year."

"Will there be more?" one of the workers asked.

The warrior nodded. "Without a doubt," the warrior clicked.

"Can we catch the killer, stop the killings?" the matron asked, wringing her hands together.

The warrior looked around, reaching into a pocket on his sarape. He withdrew a set of Terran mirrorshades, modified for a Treana'ad, and slowly put them on, careful not to disturb his battered moomoo tender hat.

He motioned at the fearsome looking gourds, all staring at the group, at the mutilated moomoos.

"If fate smiles on us," the warrior said.

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAH!

IT'S THE GREAT FESTIVE HOLIDAY GOURD, P'THOK!