Tracked on Predator Planet (Predator Planet Series)

by Vicky L. Holt.

  The weight of imminent danger fell off me, but I was still on edge. This planet held dangerous surprises at every turn, and each, I was sure, could kill me. What had my father said about the inevitability of death?

  In the Sacred Circle, every life becomes a death that sustains another. Do not fear death, Pattee. Embrace it before it embraces you, and it will always feel welcome.

  I sighed. Had Dad known what was coming for him?

  I centered myself. Embrace death. No planet I had ever visited before had held life in its grip quite like this one. Everywhere I looked, the decaying vegetation provided food for crawling insects. Dipping and diving birds of prey carried the speckled rodents off, and even the dinosaurs and dire wolves danced together as if old, familiar companions. Death and life were indeed a circle in this place. My growling stomach interrupted my thoughts.

  Breakfast. I scoffed. Even breakfast meant something had to die: plant or animal.

  My stomach rumbled again. Stupid microbiota scan! I could be eating dried meat right now if it wasn’t taking so long to get the results. I would just have to ignore my hunger for now.

  I stalked back to the game trail. Another hour passed before I found the next boot print, and I heaved a sigh of relief. I’d feared I had lost the sign.

  Weary but curious, I kept traveling, anxious to find the huge being that had spied on me. I really needed his help.

  IGMC courses included videos and accounts of various alien races, but few of them walked on two legs as humans did. Perhaps it was an occupant from another pod? No. I would have made note of a seven-foot-tall person on Lucidity. The humans gossiped about political figures and relationships onboard; a remarkably sized human wouldn’t have escaped notice.

  If this was an inhabited planet, the transospheric nanosatellite array would detect human-like settlements from the sky. I was missing valuable information until I enabled the Overseer mode when I returned to the EEP. Another dad lecture came to mind.

  “Pattee, as you age, you will learn that you do not know as much as you think you know. Never let pride get in the way of learning. The humble student will someday become the wise teacher.

  I sighed. “Thanks, Dad.” In the meantime, I hiked faster.

  My stomach complained again, and my mouth was beginning to feel a little dry. I could sip from my suit’s water bladder, but it only contained a pint. And I had declined hooking up the catheter. Probably a bad idea. With the trail extending deeper into the forest, I was regretting my decision. As if I had a choice. The trail wound its way between trees, not always taking the least obstructed path. I climbed over huge deadfalls and boulders.

  “VELMA, what direction have I been walking?”

  “Due west.”

  I was impressed, although it was possible the giant was using a compass or other technology. It was headed for a destination, not out for a scenic jaunt.

  As I knelt to inspect the latest print, something huge knocked me over out of nowhere. I yelled and rolled, smothered by huge leaves and feeling vines slither around my limbs. I thrashed, clasping my machete in desperation, having already dropped my walking stick.

  Whatever had pounced on me gnawed on my shoulder.

  I screamed and contorted myself away.

  Its teeth slid off the material of my suit.

  I stumbled, vines tripping me up, but held my machete, ready to defend myself.

  Another yellow cougar demon with yellow eyes snarled and snapped at me. I swung at it. It leaped sideways and nosed after me, coming in low to snatch at my legs. I shrieked at it and swung again, my heart and lungs competing for greatest alarm. I prayed it hunted alone, otherwise I didn’t stand a chance.

  It dodged my swings, jumping and leaping on graceful legs. It could be playing, its coltish legs dancing around me, but its snapping jaws and glistening fangs said otherwise.

  Panting, I swung at it a few more times, but I would soon tire. I needed to try another tactic. I crouched and spread my arms in a defensive posture and toggled my mic. “Stay back!”

  It cocked its head but growled and inched closer to me.

  A bone-cold chill struck my heart. I needed it close enough to kill me if I was going to do any damage.

  Embrace death.

  My heart thudded in my chest.

  Embrace death.

  I spread my arms even wider.

  “Mishibizhiw,” I said. “I’m waiting for you …”

  It lunged for my jugular, a testament to universal evolutionary instinct, and I hacked downward with all my might. Hunting, hiking, trapping, as well as building, gave my arms the strength to cause fatal damage.

  The machete sliced through the creature’s shoulder and nicked the bulbous skin sack under its jaws.

  The copious amount of blood startled me, and I hopped backward to avoid the spray.

  The cougar demon collapsed, raising its head to glare at me with its baleful yellow eyes.

  I blinked moisture out of my own. I didn’t like wanton killing. If it had left me alone, the beautiful creature could have lived. I saw the moment its soul left its body, the glassy stare unnerving in its truth. This was a vicious world. And I was a vicious killer long before I came here.

  Shrugging off that thought, I approached it, dragging my foot out of a tenacious vine. When it didn’t let go, I turned to see it curling of its own volition and trying to drag me away. I followed its length with my gaze and saw the great brown wrinkled tree with a black gash running vertically along its trunk. Several vines led away from it. A single swing of the machete lopped its grip. This was the same kind of tree that had made that clicking noise near my camp.

  Checking the ground for errant tendrils, I found a clear place to squat and inspect the carcass of my kill. This was the largest mammal I’d killed, and its fur was sleek and golden. It would make a beautiful pelt. The long legs reminded me of the Earth photos of the Maned Wolf. I would have loved to see this animal in a full sprint. Not chasing me, of course.

  I petted its flank for a moment.

  Killing sobered me, although I accepted it as a part of the life on this world. I frowned and looked up through the canopy. I had no idea how much farther I needed to go to find the giant that spied on me. I did know I wanted this pelt. I rested my elbows on my knees and looked around at the wide trunks and lush jungle leaves.

  In the dark spaces underneath some velvety fronds, red eyes peeked out.

  I had learned a few days ago that the “eyes” were glowing fruits that gave the plants the impression of a ghostly creature that didn’t blink. I dared not touch them, even to be scanned by VELMA in the sample box in the EEP.

  My gloved hand resting on the cougar’s shoulder, I decided to take the pelt. The Great Spirit had gifted me with this animal. It would add forty-five minutes I didn’t have, but I doubted my ability to kill another one of these creatures with any ease. I’d rather not fight one again. My shoulder still ached, but no alerts lit up in my visor. My suit had remained intact.

  After burying the offal and shoving the scavengers back with my boots, I peeled the skin off the animal’s lean musculature, cleaned it with the edge of my machete, and bundled it to carry.

  My brows creased. What drove my father to teach me survival skills when he himself had chosen a different path altogether? Had he somehow sensed my future? Had the Great Spirit driven him to train me relentlessly despite my bad attitude? Even as I killed and fought, scrapping over every breath I took, I couldn’t help but praise the decision my father had made to teach me these things. I shook my head, confused but grateful.

  I kicked through the thick ground cover until I spied my walking stick with relief. Marching on, I stopped beside trunks to look behind me every few yards and scanned ahead or between the foliage at either side of the trail. I didn’t want to be taken by surprise again.

  The ground rose, and my hamstrings ached with the effort of climbing the trail. I pushed aside trailing red vines and marked the path, seeing where the giant
had pressed deeper into the dirt with the toes of its boots. The path grew steeper, so I hitched the machete at my side and used the walking stick to aid my ascent. Occasional dizziness interrupted my hike. I pushed on. A wave of queasiness swept over me, and I had to stop. A minute later, the ground trembled beneath my feet and hands. “VELMA, scan for seismic activity.”

  “My scanners are limited from this location.”

  I cursed. How could a computer be snotty without meaning to? It felt for all the world like it was pouting without its Overseer capability.

  “Scan for tremors using the suit’s gyroscope setting.” I rolled my eyes. I didn’t need a computer to tell me there was an earthquake. The nausea was a dead giveaway, followed by ground tremors. I just wanted to know how bad it was and if I could expect more.

  “Microtremors like that on Earth suggest normal seismic activity.”

  “Okay, VELMA.” That was BS. I resumed my efforts to scale the hill, and when I reached its apex, I was startled to see a wooden fence.

  The giant’s home?

  With my heart in my throat, I crept up the incline until I was level with the rocky platform outlined by fence posts in the softer dirt. A huge pile of talus leaned against the rock wall. I swallowed disappointment. Not a home. Who would build a fence around a pile of rocks? I stared at it a moment, brows folded, and a corner of my lip caught between my teeth. The ground rumbled again, and I steadied myself. The pile shifted, and more gravel spilled from the cliff face above.

  No one.

  No one built a fence around a pile of rocks. But around a cave opening?

  I sputtered and climbed the rest of the way, hurrying to the pile. I used my stick at first, trying to dislodge some of the bigger rocks, but I soon gave up and used both hands to dig, recalling the arcing blade of the being when it fought off dire wolves while gripping the trunk of a tree. After finding his tracks in the woods, it was clear he not only knew I was a resident on his planet, but he had an inexplicable desire to keep me alive. Why else had he forced the dueling packs away from my sanctuary?

  If he was buried alive in this cave, how could I not return the favor?

  I dug and dug, sometimes leaping back when more rocks tumbled, until sweat poured from my hairline and down my back, tickling my skin in some places, coating it in others. I ignored the discomfort.

  “Hey! Anyone in there?” I kept digging.

  It seemed as if I wasn’t making any headway. I was thirsty, hungry and dirty inside my suit. I longed for my cozy camp, but I could never rest if I knew someone was trapped in here. I dug faster, calling every so often. “I’m here. I’m trying to help you!”

  I had to stop. Every scoop of gravel brought two dozen down in tumbling disarray. I sat in a huff and rested my helmet in my hands. My shoulders burned, my back ached, and my knees and fingers chafed inside my suit. My water was long gone. If I had stopped sweating, it would mean I was irretrievably dehydrated. With blurry vision, I stared at the pile.

  No one had called back when I’d called out. Maybe no one was there. Maybe there was another exit. Maybe I had wasted hours on a fruitless task. I wanted to cry. Instead, I worked my way to standing and kicked at the pile in frustration.

  Another tremble alerted me to danger, and I jumped out of the way seconds before something displaced a big rock, and the entire pile shifted and rolled. The scree collapsed and plowed over the fence and down the hill, obscuring the path I had taken.

  I watched in fascination as the gravel and boulders bounced and jolted, opening the cave entrance.

  My eyes widened at the sight of an armored male so huge my breaths stopped.

  He seemed to stare right through me with a pair of red-ringed black eyes, and my mouth dried up. He held a curved double-bladed weapon in one hand and a fistful of jerky in the other.

  His face was human-like, with two eyes, a nose, and mouth, but everything looked stronger, fiercer, more … defined. Swooping black brows angled away from his eyes, and his straight nose balanced the sensuous curve of his lips. Fangs bracketed his snarl, and his chin and jaw were square and muscular. His hair blew back from his face, wide fans of black that resembled feathers, like if ravens shape-shifted into huge beasts … That was the best I could come up with.

  I tried to clear my throat, but a croak came out.

  I stared at him—it could only be a male—and then looked at his fence that now resembled the teeth of a broken piano keyboard.

  “Um,” I said. “Sorry about that.” I gestured to the collapsed fence.

  “Du i azalhohishe.”

  “Uh, nice to meet you too.”

  18

  I blinked twice, unsure if my eyes were deceiving me. Joaxma said something and gestured to my collapsed fence. She looked chagrined, though I doubted she had anything to do with the land quaking.

  I said the first thing that came to mind. “You are not crying.” My fellow hunter Naraxthel’s heart mate cried at the slightest provocation. I had assumed it was part of her species’ design.

  She responded with words and an uncertain smile.

  Questions rolled over themselves in my mind when I noticed blood splatters on the clear visor of her helmet. My heart-home wrenched as if to release my heart. I stepped back and held my double blade across my chest, dropped my dried meat, and flexed my hand, missing my raxtheza.

  She lifted both hands, palms facing me, and her eyebrows rose. Bright silver eyes widened.

  I looked her over, noting her broad blade strapped at the waist and a sharpened stick lying on the ground far from her reach.

  A bundle of golden fur peeked from behind her back, and my heart jolted once again. She had skinned the shegoshe-tax cat? I walked to the ridge, ignoring her squeak when I passed near, and investigated the gulley at the carcass of the female shegoshe-tax.

  Ah. Joaxma had slayed the male.

  My brows rose when I turned to see her standing with her sharp stick. She didn’t point it at me, but she held it loosely in her hand.

  I grunted. Esra’s race was clever. I cocked my head. Were the males as clever, or were the females the hunters and protectors? I wished I knew more of Joaxma’s language. I frowned and growled. I did not need Joaxma’s language.

  Her audacity to approach my cave, her presence on Ikthe, the roiling in my gut, and contracting of my heart-home tormented me. My fists clenched, and I ground my teeth. “Why did you follow me here?” I knew she could not answer but I felt compelled to speak.

  She cocked her head at me and moved her mouth, though no sound emitted from her helmet. I recalled Yasheza Mahavelt’s helmet had technology that spoke to her as well. Perhaps she could translate. Heat rushed to my face. I had learned some of the mahavelt’s words. Dare I speak them to this Joaxma? I took one step closer.

  She looked up at me, and I observed wan cheeks and hollow eyes. “Eyeneeedtuhsitdowwwn.”

  She slumped and sat on a boulder. Joaxma was not well.

  I tried to remember the word Naraxthel’s yasheza taught us. “Wah-ter.”

  Joaxma’s head shot up. “Yes!”

  She turned her head inside her helmet and sucked at a small pipe. Her eyes squeezed shut and reopened. I watched her tongue sweep across her chapped lips. I cocked my head and calculated how many days walk it was from her camp to here.

  I frowned. Her legs were short compared to mine. I had never once seen her remove her helmet outdoors. Had she enough water?

  Her blinks slowed, and she sagged.

  Against my better judgment, I leaped toward her and caught her before she collapsed to the ground.

  Heat suffused my belly, and I clenched my teeth as I lifted the little builder.

  She had passed out.

  Kathe.

  I could not allow her to die. Even though she may be an enemy to my people. Even though she hoarded the glisten-fish. I stared at her pale face and hollow cheeks through her helmet.

  Suddenly, Naraxthel Roika didn’t seem so foolish after all.

&nb
sp; I shook her in my arms, mindful of my strength. “Joaxma. Wake to me.”

  Her head lolled.

  A churning in my gut triggered another drastic pull in my heart-home. Why did my heart torment me so? I had little time to help her. I could not measure her health without smelling her. The human named Esra had removed her helmet. She had been in good health the last time I saw her. It must be so for Joaxma as well.

  I laid her upon the ground and found the fastening of her helmet behind her neck. I released it and heard the hiss of air.

  Removing her helmet, I was struck with the aroma of the grain fields of Ikshe. The smell of the harvest time, when everyone helped the sisters gather the grain and heft great bags of it to the water mills. The milling took several days, and then the sisters made great loaves of sister bread until the villages smelled of heaven. We smeared the bread with pepper kernels and fire oil and glutted ourselves until we slept.

  The memory shoved me back on my haunches for a jotik. I shook myself and returned to assessing Joaxma’s health. She smelled hale, though I missed the notes of water found in all living things. She was dehydrated.

  I snatched my water canister and opened the nozzle. I cradled her head in my huge hand and trickled water into her mouth. I recalled my mother stroking my little hunter brother’s throat to coax him to swallow when he had the infant burial disease, so I drizzled another small amount into her open mouth, then used a claw to stroke the smooth brown skin under her chin. I couldn’t tell if her throat bobbed. I poured a few drops more and stroked her chin again.

  A small swallow. Elation! My heart stuttered at her response to me. I had to turn my head away and blink, letting the passing memory of a gray baby swathed in black ease from my mind.

  Composed, I gathered her into my arms and retreated to the cave. I would continue to give her water until she awakened.

  The suns went down, and I continued to dose her with fresh water while she mumbled strange words in her sleep.

  To pass the time, I sang the songs of my youth. The song of raxma and raxshe, the song of the harvest, the song of the body, and the song of the Sister Goddesses. When my water canister ran dry, I laid Joaxma upon my pallet and kept the bead light on. The light would deter more rainworms from settling. I hoped no more quaking would cause another rockfall, but the stream I sought was not far. I would return soon.