by Steve Perry
Noguchi glanced behind her as the explosion thundered through the desert. The air around her compressed suddenly. Fiery air washed over them with the sound, the roar and rumble of it.
When the sound died, the town was gone. As quickly as that.
She turned back to the warrior. Buried her face in her hands and rocked slowly, back and forth.
Dachande had stopped breathing. Like the town, he was gone.
* * *
Epilogue
Dahdtoudi woke up early on the morning they came.
It was first light on the open plain that unfolded in front of her small home. She yawned and stretched as she climbed out of bed and glanced out the window. The air felt different somehow, electric.
Only two years before, she would have disregarded the sense of change as nonsense, superstition. But "quiet" didn't start to describe the experience of living on a world where she was the only human; she had developed a feel for Ryushi, the way an athlete could feel her body and its fluctuations. The air was different, no question. Something was going to happen.
Something.
She pulled on a coverall and slipped on her boots. She pulled her shaggy hair into a knot at the back of her neck as she walked into the tiny kitchen for a glass of water. The new well between her home and the near cliff was clean, the water sweet. No more riding twenty klicks for a shower at the old well, either.
Dahdtoudi drank the cool water slowly and thought about the day ahead. Yesterday, she had run through forms, so today was weight day. Also water day for the sheltered garden in the glassed shed behind the house. Tomorrow she would ride the east sector and check for visitors . . .
She finished and set the glass in the sink. It was feeding time first.
Dahdtoudi walked outside and almost tripped on Creep. The dog jumped and wagged his tail, excited to see her.
She scruffed the dog behind his ears. "I'm excited, too, Creep. It's been what, six hours since last we met?"
Creep barked happily and followed her to the rhynth pen. He ran between her legs and almost knocked her over.
"Dumb dog," she said fondly. He barked again.
She couldn't look at the mutt without thanking Jame and Cathie silently. Creep had been good company, had kept loneliness from getting too big. They had acted as though it would be best for the dog, to be able to run free-but the gift had been for her, too.
"Good morning, kids."
The three rhynth that she kept turned their heads slowly to watch her approach. Spot, Milo, and Mim. They weren't as good at conversation as Creep, but they were tame. They also acted as transport; she had a flyer, but eventually her fuel would run out, so she saved it for emergencies. Keeping them as pets made it harder to eat meat, but it was a matter of survival. Besides, she only had to hunt once every two months or so ...
Dahdtoudi dumped some grain in their trough and scratched Mim behind her leathery ears. The beast snorted and started to eat as if she'd been starving.
"Should have called you 'pig,'" said Dahdtoudi. The rhynth ignored her.
She walked back to the house and sat down on the front porch to watch the suns rise. There was enough light for her to see the queen's skull, bleached by the hot suns where it perched on her roof. Her trophy, hers and Broken Tusk's.
Creep lay down next to her and nuzzled her legs.
"What's different today, dog? Something is different."
Creep glanced at her and then rested his head on his paws. She patted his side and smiled.
They had been here alone for almost two years. After Broken Tusk had died, she had joined the colonists for the long wait. It had taken nearly two months before help had arrived, and by then her decision was made, was firm. Was irrevocable.
At first a couple of the ranchers had argued with her, but they soon gave up.
The company hadn't tried to change her mind at all. She could have been charged with something, however trumped up the charges would have been, but the final word was that "her actions had been dictated by necessity." Her executive contract had been quietly bought out, which was fine by her. Chigusa was worried about liability and declared the whole thing a write-off. The old man wasn't stupid. He gave her a permanent, official position as a "caretaker," and pulled his interests out of the Cygni system. He never threw good money after bad, so it was said, and he was superstitious about staying on a world so cursed as this one. The galaxy was full of worlds and the old man owned hundreds of them. He would never miss this one.
Only Roth and her spouse and Weaver had seemed to understand why she wanted to stay.
So the colonists had gone to start over again in the Rigel system, and she was left alone to start over on Ryushi. And she had been happy. For the first time in her life, there had been no dragons. There was only peace.
"Everything I care about is right here," she said softly.
Creep sighed, most likely bored. She'd had a lot of time to replay conversations and events in her mind, and the dog had suffered the same stories for two years.
A flash of movement in the morning sky caught her attention. For several seconds she thought she was seeing things; it had been so long . . .
The flash grew brighter and brighter. She watched its progress as it ripped through the air, the sound far away. Creep sensed her excitement and sat up, whining softly.
The object fell gracefully in an arc to land to the west, maybe half a day's ride by rhynth, maybe less. Dahdtoudi Noguchi stood quickly and tried not to get her hopes up.
Probably a meteor, that's all . . .
But she didn't really think so. She went to get ready.
Seven hours later, she dismounted Milo and moved through the harsh sunlight toward a small stand of rocks. She carried her binoculars and carbine; the company had left her with plenty of supplies.
A thin stream of smoke still rose from where the object had landed, in a small valley set among a stand of steep rock walls.
Dahdtoudi slipped between the rocks silently and propped herself up on a baked stone. She scanned left to right until she picked up the smoke
A small vehicle on treads buzzed across the cracked dirt, maybe a hundred meters away. She zoomed in, her heart hammering.
Behind it was a trail that extended beyond her range of vision. A trail of spheres, oval-shaped
Dahdtoudi lowered the viewer and stood for a moment. She rubbed absently at the jagged scar between her eyes, faded white now.
"It won't be long," she said. She would make them understand, tell them of Broken Tusk's bravery and skill. And how everything had gone wrong . . .
Milo gazed at her. She stretched her sore muscles and then mounted him for the ride home.
The Leader sighed inwardly at the yautja assembled before him. They were as ready as he could make them, pumped and hungry to kill. They stood in line next to the ship, their burners loaded and blades sharpened.
But he also had orders to seek after Dachande's group on this Hunt, an extra pain he could have done without. That ship had never returned.
He had known Dachande. Old broken tooth had been a good Leader and a strong warrior, but something had gone wrong, and those in charge wanted to know what. As they always did when it was not they who had to determine it.
Vk'leita shook his head as he reviewed the young yautja. He had Hunted with Dachande, he respected him, as had many, but he was surely dead, and dead was dead, all that mattered was the way of it. More than a long cycle had passed, probably too much time to ascertain much of anything. The dead from that trip would be sun-grayed bones scattered by the local scavengers by now.
He nodded at the other Blooded, Ci'tde. Ci'tde would take the group on the initial scouting trip. The Hunt would start in earnest after the light fell away.
The Leader stayed at the ship and ran through some practice drills while he was alone. Young males took a lot of energy to train, and he relished the time away from them. Besides, he would have to check the ui'stbi, the geography, for remnants of recent
Hunting. He could do some through the ships' gkinmara, but much would have to be done on foot. He was looking forward to stretching himself, covering ground, loosening up the ship-stale muscles.
He finished practice and then sat on the ground to clean his armor. The yautja would not be back until the suns had passed through their high point, so he had plenty of time . . .
Behind him, a sound of movement.
Vk'leita was on his feet instantly. The sound had come from the other side of the ship. He snatched up his burner and started toward the sound.
He reached the front of the ship and let out a warning hiss.
Nothing.
Suddenly a small figure stepped into view. Vk'leita pointed at the creature and almost fired--
----he lowered the burner uncertainly. The creature was no yautja, it was the size of a child-but it wore armor and a wrist blade. The creature moved slowly toward him, hands out.
Ooman!
The Leader raised his weapon again. The sickly, pale, ugly face of it
It stepped closer and tilted its head to one side.
He could have fired. Had the other yautja been there, he might have, that was the proper response to a threat. But this small creature did not seem particularly threatening, even though he knew the stories. And neither did it seem to be afraid. If anything, it carried itself proudly, almost as if it were a warrior. Oomans were supposed to be cowards, sneaky, deadly when cornered, but seldom stand-up face-on fighters. And it made him curious.
"Who are you?" said Vk'leita.
The ooman pointed at itself. "Da'dtou-di."
Vk'leita flared his mandibles. The creature's accent was awful, strange, but he understood. Female? An ooman female? The name was "small knife," feminine form
Going against a lifetime of training, the Leader re-slung his burner and moved closer. This bore investigation. The ooman stood still.
When he was a few paces away, he stopped and eyed the ooman carefully. It wore tresses like yautja, and carried the weapon; its pieced-together armor was part warrior-he recognized the Hard Meat shell-and part unknown.
The ooman motioned at itself again. "Da'dtou-di," it said again. It reached up and touched its face.
The Leader peered closer. It had a mark on its head. It looked like-no, it couldn't be. He took another two steps and bent to stare at the ooman. It did not flinch as he practically stuck his mask in the thing's face.
The mark-
It was Blooded! A Blooded ooman! That couldn't be! It was not possible. But there was the mark, right there! and, and-the mark was-
Dachande's.
What the unholy pack?
Vk'leita growled. "You know Dachande? Where is he?"
Da'dtou-di shook her head and then pointed at him. She touched her own face again, now where mandibles would be if she were yautja. With one of her fingers, she mimed a break.
As if a mandible were broken. Dachande.
"Go on."
The ooman used her hands as teeth and made tearing movements with them. Then motioned "Dachande" again. Thei-de. Dachande was dead.
Da'dtou-di moved closer to him and then cautiously reached up to rest her tiny hand on his shoulder. She greeted him.
Vk'leita tilted his head, fascinated, and returned the gesture. This was unheard of. He was standing here as if he had a brain listening to a packing ooman talk to him in sign language, telling him about the death of a Blooded warrior. She was ooman, but she called herself Da'dtou-di in the warrior's tongue. She bore Dachande's mark, no way around that, no warrior would tell an alien what that mark meant, much less how to apply it, not under any circumstances. And she had come to him to speak of Dachande's death. But something else, too . . .
"Hunt?" Vk'leita asked. "You've come to Hunt with us?" He unsheathed his blade and made jabbing movements in the air.
Da'dtou-di tilted her head and exposed her small teeth. She raised one arm into the air and threw back her head. A long, strange cry came from her, of aggression and eagerness, he guessed.
The Leader listened to the eerie sound and then circled the ooman. She was little, but moved well; she carried the marks of a warrior, and she had known Dachande. He studied her thoughtfully.
This was unprecedented, but there was really only one option. She was Blooded. However it had come to be, there it was. The rules of the Hunt had never been stretched so much, he was sure of that. But what could he do? He was a warrior, he had his code and he had lived his life with it too long to deny it now. He would let her Hunt with them. Perhaps they could exchange languages, and he would learn Dachande's fate. Perhaps she would choose to leave with them, to return to their home and teach them ooman ways, surely that would be a great victory, to have found an ooman warrior?
Well. Perhaps covered much of the galaxy, didn't it? Who could say?
The Leader raised his own arm and howled. After a moment, Da'dtou-di joined him.
There was much that they could teach one another.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
