Tracked on Predator Planet (Predator Planet Series)

by Vicky L. Holt.

  Thanks, Dad.

  “Your bones are undamaged. Subdermal hematoma and inflammation present. I will administer anti-inflammation medicines,” VELMA interrupted my thoughts. “You can expect a full recovery in two to three weeks. Until then, you may experience minor aches and pains when using the hand.”

  “Thanks, VELMA,” I said with a crack in my voice. “Glove analysis?”

  “Intact.”

  I blew out a breath. I’d gotten lucky, but I should have been wiser. “Okay. How about the particulate scan for microbiota?”

  “Complete results will be available in forty-eight hours.”

  Okay. Two more days. And when the test came back, clearing me to remove my helmet, I could … Crap. The stream was a slurry of stinking fish and crabs. The woods and dales were filled with predacious animals. Even if I could breathe the air, and my hand recovered fully, what was the point? Was I going to fight for survival until the day I died?

  I swung my legs off the exam table and rested my head in my hands. There was, in fact, a dull ache in my left hand now. I sighed and stood. There was no use dwelling on the status quo. I wasn’t going to kill myself, nor was I going to put myself into the path of some random horror out in the woods intentionally. I was going to live, dammit, and that meant getting back to work, because this planet wasn’t going to make it easy for me.

  I gave a wry laugh. It was almost like my dad knew exactly what lay ahead.

  10

  I smirked every time I thought of her expression. She had bent over as if she was about to retch into her helmet.

  I kicked at the underbrush near an ivy-strewn rock wall, certain the cave opening was around here somewhere. I wanted glisten-fish.

  Bending over, I tore at the thick vines. The roots of the shrubberies held tight to the soil, but I yanked with all my might. I knew there was an access point at the base of this wall from my many wanderings on this planet. I continued to thrash and pull. I stopped to breathe and glanced down.

  The tendrils of the forest-teeth tree wound around my ankles in thick ropes. While I had been battling the ivy growing on the wall, the tree had sought out its evening meal.

  I cursed and tried to tear the vines off my leg; to no avail.

  With more cursing, I unsheathed my double-blade and sawed at the vines. As expected, more sprung up in their place. I had to strike harder to break free. I stomped and cut, sawed and tore at the tenacious green spindles.

  I broke one of the largest vines and roared in victory, but my thrashing must have obscured the noise of something creeping through the low-lying foliage because a rushing dark shape jumped out at me, taking me by surprise. I flailed and fell back, my legs still crippled by the vines. I landed with a powerful thud.

  A spiny, warted rock-climber snarled and bellowed at me, her throat sac expanding and contracting, calling her sisters to join in the hunt. Her vicious teeth attacked any of my limbs she could reach, which were all, since I was on the ground.

  I growled and swung my blade at her, but her wily body darted out of reach. Her head bore bloody wounds from a previous battle.

  Between my short blade and my double-blade, I was able to kill her, but not before she had bitten my hand. “Stupid beast,” I groaned.

  The tendrils at my ankles tightened and pulled.

  “Not today!” I leaned forward and hacked at the main sister vines. I was sweaty and heaving by the time I managed to dispatch them. I flung the wasted twining growths from my boots and swung my blade into the trunk of a nearby tree. Sticky lengths of bright green vines rained on my head. I swatted at them, thinking they were bugs at first, but when I realized it was just the dropping vine tree, I howled my rage.

  The Holy Goddesses were playing with Hivelt.

  I stomped away from the rock wall and found a clearing where I could clean my weapons and regroup.

  I recalled Joaxma had snared a rock-climber. I wondered if she liked its meat. I found it to be stringy and unpleasant, even when roasted over a fire or boiled in a stew. Now glisten-fish. Those made a nice stew. I frowned and growled.

  I retreated to my cave for a few days. My pole was abandoned at the stream, but it was chum anyway, and I couldn’t find the kathe cave opening. Glisten-fish stew would have to wait.

  I grumbled through the ikfal, cursing every tree and bush that crowded my path. Why must a simple fish be impossible to find? Why must this frail being disrupt the order of my days? Why must Hivelt pretend to be dead in order to be free? It was madness.

  An answering rumble echoed overhead. The rains again?

  I scowled up at the sky as a bolt of lightning roped across, gathering gray clouds, and binding them together in a great flash. The crack split my ears. Then the rains fell.

  Kathe!

  The pazathel-naxl would not be far behind, I had no shelter, and I was several veltiks away from my cave. I stopped my hike and turned back to find that cave opening. I would have to be more cautious to the dangers. Hivelt had grown overconfident in the company of his brethren.

  Humbled, I returned to the rock wall and traced the pattern of the ivy. The rains pummeled me, obscuring my vision, but I endured. With determined effort, I ripped at the growth at the base of the wall, clearing a great swath before finding what I was looking for.

  The soil had clumped around the largest tumble of roots. I worked at it, pulling until the soil broke away from the wall in crumbling chunks. A final heave upended the little hill, and the opening soon flooded with rain washing down the wall. The deluge sluiced the now loose dirt. Before I could step back, a sinkhole formed beneath my feet and I plunged into the dark hole that led to the secret cave pools many veltiks below ground.

  Soon I would be surrounded by glisten-fish, but I might drown before I got to make use of them. Kathe.

  11

  With the amount of wood I was using to smoke meat and tan skins, I needed to venture farther into the forest. I eyeballed the tree in the middle; I liked it for its shade, if nothing else. Not to mention, I had no ax. Collecting deadfall was not sustainable, however, so I needed to find rocks and try to make myself a decent ax. With a mental image of rocks to look for in the streambed, I exited my pod to be doused by rain so copious it felt like a waterfall. It sheeted off my visor, obscuring my vision. I swiped at it with a glove. A glance toward my fire confirmed the obvious. The deluge had obliterated my embers. Not only were they soaked, but the heavy downpour had washed out the firepit.

  The entire area I’d cleared had turned into a muddy mess, especially where frequent passage had created trails in the short grass.

  I bowed under the heavy rain, determined to at least find rocks and strip saplings to make a twine. My supply wouldn’t last forever. I planned to lash whatever rock I found to a handle, making a crude tomahawk. Now, more than ever, I needed a way to chop wood for fuel. I would also need to create a lean-to to store wood to keep it dry for future deluges. I frowned and plodded through the puddles, finding it difficult to move forward with the rain pushing down on me. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, scything the tall grasses, but I had inadvertently created a massive mud-pit. Wow.

  The well-worn path to the stream was now orange mud. I trudged my way through it to observe within feet of the stream that its banks were now flooded. The rising waters around me flowed toward the gulch at the south of my glade.

  A slurry of crab corpses and tiny, silver fish overflowed the banks. The rainfall added to the volume of water, which now included branches, larger limbs, leaves and blossoms, and carcasses. I dared not approach, knowing how deceptive undercurrents could be in a flash flood.

  I stared, marveling at the fury the rain had unleashed from this planet’s skies. I even saw something that looked like a fishing pole drift and spin through the eddies created by the flowing waters. Of course, it wasn’t, it just reminded me of one.

  It took all my strength not to bow or fall to my knees under the rain’s burden. I took a step back as the stream’s shoreli
ne crept toward my boots.

  “Advancing floodwaters detected. It is advised you return to the EEP,” VELMA said in my ear.

  “I have to agree with you on this one.” I turned to slosh my way through four inches of standing water when a streak of white blurred in my peripheral vision.

  It drew my gaze, but at the same time, my perimeter alarms went off, piercing inside my helmet. I instinctively held my breath as a huge white-furred beast with four legs, four eyes and a bulging, black throat sac materialized through the rain. Sheets of water blew across the glade, but it stood as still as granite. With a swallow, I sensed I was in its territory and not the other way around. It straddled my … the perimeter, its haunches bent as if to pounce. Its pointed and silver, fur-tufted ears twitched—in response to my blaring alarms, I hoped.

  I gripped the handle of my machete. Thank the Great Spirit I hadn’t given in to the temptation of leaving it behind.

  Insignificant decisions, little by little, could lead to your death. Never get lazy, Pattee. Lazy kills.

  Sweat poured down the back of my neck. My entire torso tensed. Got it. Lazy kills.

  I was ten, large steps away from my hatch. The beast that looked like a four-eyed dire wolf was twenty feet to my right, and judging by its size, I had no doubt it could pounce on me in a single leap.

  I had one chance if it chose to pounce. One chance to drive my machete deep into its body—either its neck or abdomen, possibly the throat sac—if I were to survive.

  I couldn’t swallow. My breaths came in shallow pants, and any second now, VELMA would—

  “Heartrate at 165 bpm. Do you need assistance?”

  “Mammal at my three o’clock, VELMA,” I said in a tight voice. “Disable the safety on the repeating rotator weapon.” I spoke through clenched teeth and didn’t move a muscle. I didn’t even blink.

  The wolf watched me. Its nostrils flared. The rain didn’t faze it, as its fur remained spiky and poufy. A bizarre side-thought entertained the idea that the fur of this animal would make an amazing raincoat. The second this thing sprung, I would command VELMA to shoot.

  But I did not want to. Why does death follow me?

  I admired its muscular shoulders and lean hips, its fangs reminiscent of a grizzly bear, its black nose contrasting with the white fur, and the odd throat sac hanging without expanding. I had seen the sacs expand on the other creatures. What were they for? If my friend Amity were here, she could tell me. A pang twisted in my heart, and I shut down that thought. I was alone. And I was prey.

  The four eyes narrowed.

  I swallowed and tightened my grip.

  I opened my mouth to command VELMA when the wolf did a strange gambol and leaped to the side, yipping. It took me a second, but then I realized that a huge tree limb had banged into its rear legs, and it was now headed for me in the seven inches of standing water. The entire glade was flooding.

  With the wolf barking at the limb, I splashed to the EEP, shouting for the hatch.

  It slid up.

  I rolled inside, and the hatch slid down. When I came to a stop, I was lying on my back and gasping for breath. I was still alive. The surge of emotion that brought caused a tremble to start up from my core—that, or the shock of nearly being dire wolf kibble. “VELMA, put the mammal onscreen.” I twisted my neck so I could look up at the monitor.

  The wolf glared at the camera, as if it knew. Its throat sac bulged, and it waggled its head and yawned, but even with the mic toggled, I heard nothing. Then four more wolves blinked into view at the tree line.

  “Oh, Great Spirit,” I whispered and went limp. “Beautiful is the day of my death.”

  12

  My weight added velocity as I slid through mud and rain into the cave tunnel. I activated my exterior light and watched the depth gauge in my visor. Thirty veltiks. Seventy veltiks. At one hundred ten veltiks, the bottom dropped out beneath me, and I fell boots-first into a glowing cavern pool. The Pool of the Lonely Sister. I visited a few cycles ago, yet it was not as familiar to me as the queen’s den, though it was cleaner.

  Glisten-fish at the end of their spawn dipped and curved in the still waters, their fins shredded from their long, cave river journey, and their scales splotched from injury and deprivation. My armor sunk me to the bottom of the cave pool, where millions of calcified eggs glowed in their salty caskets. My boots crunched on them, as well as on the teeming bodies of black cave crabs. They fled my boots, eager instead to gorge on the crusty roe.

  I toggled my underwater mode and walked on the cave floor, looking for the fattest glisten-fish. I may as well catch some whilst I was down here.

  I was disappointed, however, that the ones below the surface were just as spindly and wasted as the ones I’d caught on my line. I frowned and examined the largest I had seen. It was of medium quality at best. Regardless, I secured it in my pouch and chose a couple others. Glisten-fish were glisten-fish, especially in stew, and I was much hungrier now than I had been when I’d started out.

  I tried to recall the last time I’d fished the glade. It had been a suns cycle, but I would have noticed if their health had been paltry. Was it possible the population had sickened in such a short time?

  I clenched a fist, considering I should have been here, on Certain Death, instead of obeying the whims of the Ikma Scabmal Kama those many moons. Was not the hunter’s responsibility to our planets as well as to the queen? She would not live forever, yet our sister planets should thrive long after the Theraxl race waned. My responsibilities weighed upon my shoulders, even now, when I was supposed to be dead to everyone. How was I more trapped in my “death” than in my life?

  I shook my head and released the suit’s air jets, pushing myself up through the water. I grasped the edge of an embankment and heaved myself onto the shelf. The water had replenished my suit’s thirsty barbs to full capacity.

  My stomach grumbled in anticipation of my mother’s stew, but I wouldn’t light a fire here. It was too far from an air vent. Once I found the nearest risewell out of this cavern, I would make haste to my cave. There I would make my stew and sleep and forget about the little builder and her improvident arrival on my precious planet.

  I traveled through the dark cave, relying on my vision rather than attracting miscreants with my helmet light. It was not the breeding time of the agothe-faxl, so I should be safe and without incident as I hiked throughout the tunnels. But one could never be too careful.

  Frowning, I pondered on the sad state of the glisten-fish and the unusual advent of the heavy rains. Between these and the suspicious landing of two females of another race, one might think the Goddesses were playing with the Theraxl people. Did they have a lesson to teach the Ikthekal hunters?

  The path through the Under Forest led to the small rock cliff where my cave hid in the lee of Treed Mountain. I grunted and made my way through a narrow tunnel that I was certain led to the risewell closest to the Under Forest.

  The tunnel grew narrower until my armor scraped the walls on either side. I paused. I would have remembered if I could not fit through this tunnel. I accessed data files in my helmet.

  This was indeed the correct tunnel. I deduced an earthquake had altered the width. My heart thudded more loudly in my heart cage. I had nightmares of being trapped between rock walls. I could travel farther or choose a different tunnel. If the tunnel continued to narrow, I would have no choice but to retreat or remove my armor and pack it behind me, traveling unprotected to the risewell. This was not an acceptable choice.

  Should I continue?

  There was another risewell. It was at least thirty veltiks in the opposite direction, and it exited in the gulch below the glade where Joaxma sat pretty in her little ship.

  I scowled and continued deeper into the narrow tunnel.

  A blinking alarm appeared in my visor; an agothe-fax hunted me.

  Kathe upon my heart cage.

  I had barely enough room to turn and face my rival. With jotiks to spare, I unsheathed my
double-blade and cursed the absence of my raxtheza for the hundredth time.

  The agothe-fax, Night Walker, squeezed into the tunnel effortlessly, its long legs tapping every surface as it compressed its hairy black body into the opening, leaving space beneath it for its younger sister to lead the attack.

  Seething, I cursed all of creation, from the lowliest roe to the Goddesses of Shegoshel.

  I roared when the younger sister struck low and vicious in tandem with the elder sister’s attack. I stabbed in the narrow passage, driving the blades deep into the younger sister’s head, even as the elder sister leveled with my helmet. At the last jotik, I dove forward between two of the elder sister’s legs and scored her underbelly with my double-blade, then snagged my dagger from its leg-sheath and stabbed into her heart.

  “Darest thou to corner Hivelt in his rage?” I shouted and heaved, watching as her grotesque body collapsed into itself in the tunnel.

  More alarms shone inside my visor, and I turned in horror to see a roving band of lustful agothe-faxl, warring to mate. They tumbled toward me, the stench of female agothe-fax blood riling them into a frenzy.

  Howling in rage, I arced my double-blade into the fray, slashing off limbs and stomping my boots. I stabbed into eyes with my dagger, and blood rained in the wider corridor of the tunnel until my boots sloshed in it.

  At last they lay dead at my feet, and I panted, driving my blades into the walls to clean them of their filth.

  When I stowed my blades, I saw that my pouch had ripped during the battle, and my fish lay in ribbons mixed among the crimped and broken bodies of agothe-faxl.