by Steve Perry
In spite of the situation, part of Noguchi could appreciate the dawn. The compound was illuminated softly by the early light, so unlike the Prosperity Wells she had known, harsh and glaring. It seemed tranquil and cool, like a dream—
—or a memory—
Pay attention here, Noguchi. Daydream when you don’t have to worry about being eaten.
Good thought, but a little late.
She didn’t see the thing until it was almost on top of her.
* * *
Dachande heard the splintering of the weak door behind them as they circled. He wasn’t sure of what the ooman warrior had planned, but he knew what he needed to know and it was simple: kill everything that got in their way.
The ooman pointed past him and then turned its back again; it watched for threats from the rear.
Dachande glanced upward and then went on. They should step a little faster. The drones would run through the ooman structure quickly, and then come back out. They were stupid, but good at finding live meat.
Dachande heard a cry from above and looked up again, too late.
A single drone howled and jumped, its long body twisted in the air. It landed behind him. In front of the ooman.
* * *
Noguchi spun. The hellish creature reached for her—
She whipped her arm around, tried to aim, no time, fired—
Missed.
The nightmare bug towered over her, shrieking. Slime dripped from its metallic jaws. Its huge mouth opened, exposed a set of inner teeth, razor sharp.
Noguchi stumbled backward as the inner jaws snapped forward and smacked into her chest.
Something ripped. Hot pain seared her skin, blood flowed—
—she shoved the gun like a punch as the creature prepared to leap—
Before she could pull the trigger, the bug convulsed and shuddered wildly. A thick silver blade had suddenly appeared in the middle of its segmented torso. The thing’s acid blood sprayed across the dusty floor, flowing toward her.
Noguchi passed out.
* * *
Dachande speared the drone in the back and then tossed the body across the ground. It wasn’t dead yet, but it would be.
He spun, searched for others. He could hear the attacker’s cry answered from structures all around. They would be here in seconds.
He scooped up the ooman and ran.
He had not had time to study the ooman dwellings properly, save the tower he had fallen from the night before—but the two larger oomans had been in one of the buildings nearby, he was sure of it. With luck, it was still safe. And the warrior had seemed to want them to head in that direction.
The warrior weighed almost nothing, hardly more than his staff. It made a low sound of pain as he pounded the dust. Speed was of the essence; he could not fight with it in his arms. The drone had clawed open the ooman’s soft armor, armor now soaked in thwei. Red blood unlike his own. How different they were.
He heard screams from where he’d left the dying bug; it had been found.
Dachande ran faster.
* * *
She was flying.
Noguchi opened her eyes and blinked hard. Her abdomen felt shredded and her head ached.
Broken Tusk carried her. They ran through the compound, incredibly fast. Something had happened, she had been attacked—
She lifted her head slightly and panicked for a split second before she realized that the gun was still clenched in her fist. She winced at the pain in her chest and belly and closed her eyes again. Broken Tusk had saved her, but there was nothing she could do until he put her down.
From somewhere not so far away, the nightmare creatures howled.
* * *
Dachande saw the open entry to some long, low structure directly ahead.
The drones hadn’t spotted him yet. He ran to the building, scanned the interior quickly, and ducked through the ooman-sized door.
It was empty. He set the warrior down carefully and then closed the door. He fumbled for a minute with the latch mechanism, and finally smashed the door hard enough to drive it into the frame. It was a flimsy barrier, the drones would get through it in seconds—but they didn’t know where he was, not yet.
He turned to look at the ooman, and was surprised to see it sitting up. It still held its small burner—not aimed at him, but not down, either.
He approached it carefully and crouched down next to it to study the wound. The ooman seemed to protest at first, but relented quickly; it lay down.
He pulled the soaked padding away from the warrior’s body and touched it gently. The ooman moaned.
“It’s not going to kill you,” he said. The ooman didn’t reply.
He tried again. “No thei-de, understand?”
It didn’t understand. It babbled for a minute and then fell quiet again. Frustrating.
Dachande lifted the rest of the weak armor away from the warrior’s chest and then hissed, surprised. If ooman anatomy was anywhere similar to yautja, this warrior was a female; he hadn’t thought of it before. It had a pair of what were obviously milk glands.
Stupid! Of course it’s female!
Yautja females were bigger than males; it was apparently the reverse for oomans. It had never occurred to him. That was stupid; simple mistakes like that could lead to bigger ones, fatal ones.
It also explained why this warrior was smarter than most of the yautja he taught. Females of any species were usually smarter than the males.
Dachande assessed the wounds; minor. There was a fair amount of blood, but it had already stopped flowing, and most of the acid burns had been slowed by the armor.
He used some of the torn armor to stanch the wound and then sat back on his heels and studied the ooman. It watched him, curious perhaps.
They didn’t have much time, but Dachande thought they could spare a few seconds.
He pointed at his chest and gave her his honorary name. “Dachande.”
The ooman shook her head.
“Dah-shann-day.” He stretched it out.
The ooman tried, but couldn’t make the right sounds. Dachande shook his head.
She reached out hesitantly and touched his shortened mandible. The new style masks covered only the nostrils, leaving the fighting tusks bare. She said something in her own language, then repeated it.
Dachande tilted his head. It wasn’t his name, but she seemed to understand the meaning. “Brr-k’in dusg?”
The ooman exposed her teeth and then pointed at herself and spoke.
Dachande tried. “Nihkuo’te?”
The ooman shook its—no, her head.
He looked at the creature for a moment and then named her.
“Da’dtou-di.” It was the feminine of “small knife.” A brave name, and it suited her.
Da’dtou-di pointed at herself and did her best. “Dahdtoou-dee?”
Dachande hissed with pleasure. It was a start, and it was enough; it was all the time they could waste on pleasantries. Should they survive, they would talk later.
He stood. “Da’dtou-di,” he said, “we must go.”
The ooman got up, staggered slightly, and then nodded. She was all right.
Dachande turned and walked to the door. He listened.
The drones had run past their structure and were assembling elsewhere. Which likely meant their nest was close by.
The Leader waited for Da’dtou-di to join him, feeling older than he’d ever felt before. His bones ached. He had been on many Hunts, dangerous Hunts, but for the first time, the outcome was not obvious. There were more drones here than he’d ever fought, and where there was a nest, there would be a queen—the drones could do that, change to female when no others were around. And a queen was not an easy kill.
He sighed deeply. If his Final Hunt were not today, it would be soon.
* * *
Noguchi got to her feet carefully and fought off dizziness. Broken Tusk started to reach toward her, but she nodded and held up a hand. The wounds we
ren’t as bad as she’d feared; the lightheadedness was more exhaustion than anything else.
She joined Broken Tusk at the door and held her handgun ready. Her new name rang through her thoughts, Dahdtoudi. If someone had told her a year ago that she’d be fighting XTs with an alien warrior, the fate of a hundred people on their shoulders, she would have laughed for a week.
As it stood, she allowed herself a tight grin. It was actually pretty funny; she’d laugh later, if there was time. If she woke up.
Noguchi motioned at the door, then pointed toward the south, where The Lector sat. Broken Tusk tilted his head to one side in agreement.
Next thing you know, we’ll be talking philosophy.
Broken Tusk growled something at her and then pushed her back from the door slightly. He had jammed it.
Noguchi stepped back and watched as the warrior took a deep breath—
—and the door flew open to expose one of the warriors, a twin to Broken Tusk, holding a spear, its arms raised to strike.
29
Noguchi reacted without thinking.
She dropped her weapon to chest level and fired into the warrior’s belly until her gun ran dry.
The warrior fell backward. Its strange gun discharged harmlessly into the air with a hollow thump and an eye-smiting flare. The spear it held in the other hand fell and clattered on the door stoop.
He had not had time to scream.
Broken Tusk jumped in a split second later, but it was done.
A low, guttural gurgle came from the dying warrior’s throat, punctuated with a spew of thick, greenish, milky, almost glowing fluid.
Blood.
Broken Tusk hefted his staff and brought the weighted end down on the warrior’s skull. The head split with a dull, wet crack.
Broken Tusk’s posture indicated anger and sorrow, his huge shoulders tensed, head bowed. She had killed one of his people. Would he be angry with her?
Noguchi scanned the immediate area for other dangers and then looked at Broken Tusk again.
He was much more adept than the one she’d shot had been. It dawned on her.
It would explain the difference in prowess, the difference in behavior—
Broken Tusk must be the commander.
* * *
Dachande was disgusted with himself. He had been so intrigued with the ooman female, so intent on opening the door, he had not scented the yautja.
It was Oc’djy, one of his less adept students. The dead yautja’s attack had been, as it seemed with all of their moves since they arrived, stupid. “Look before you shoot” was one of the cardinal rules. If you aren’t sure of your target, the burner stays cold, the spear does not fly. Shooting a brother warrior accidentally was the height of bad manners.
And quarter-wit Oc’djy breathing his last on the ground would surely have killed them both if Da’dtou-di hadn’t fired first. No doubt of it. He was embarrassed that his students were so inept.
Dachande clattered a respectful appreciation to Da’dtou-di and then cracked Oc’djy’s head open. That his thick skull could no longer be any Hunter’s trophy was a disgrace, and one he had earned. Too bad he had not broken Tichinde’s. Ah, well. It was not likely anybody on this world would ever find the dead student, save for scavengers.
Dachande took a deep breath and frowned slightly. The yautja’s musk, the h’dui’se, was weak, covered with the stench of dried feces and blood. At least that explained his inability to detect the student before…
He snatched the burner from the ground in irritation. A Leader should not make excuses; in Hunting, they did not matter—you died or you did not.
At least he had a decent weapon. Dachande checked it over and growled. Four more fires; not much, but better than his spear alone. Tichinde’s burner had been empty.
He glanced at Da’dtou-di, who studied him carefully. He did not know contempt on an ooman face, but she probably felt it.
Da’dtou-di motioned again toward the nest as she finished reloading her weapon. Dachande tilted his head and stepped forward, slinging the burner over one shoulder. She was right; now was not the time for recriminations. He could dwell on his incompetencies later.
Maybe.
* * *
Noguchi pointed at the ship, only a few structures away, fifty or sixty meters.
Broken Tusk moved again to the fore position.
They edged forward, Noguchi careful to check the roof.
They made it past the south end of the pen they’d been in before the first attack.
Broken Tusk walked into the open space between two of the pens.
Noguchi backed toward him cautiously.
He hissed a warning.
Noguchi spun, handgun extended.
Broken Tusk crouched, hissed again, his arms spread wide, spear pointed at the sky.
Two of the bugs sprinted toward them from the shadows of the alley, joined by a third. Then a fourth. And a fifth.
* * *
Dachande counted them quickly, then stood. Only five.
As the first two rushed to attack him, he sidestepped and thrust the bladed staff out.
The closest one caught it in the throat; it screamed, collapsed, hit the ground.
The second rammed its head directly into the durable blade; the top of its head sliced neatly from its body. Acidic blood fountained.
Da’dtou-di fired her burner from behind him, the sounds loud and sharp.
Two of the running drones fell. Four of five.
Dachande stepped in again to take out the last.
It seemed not to see its fallen siblings. The creature ran straight at him, shrieking.
Dachande hopped to one side as the creature neared, spear held to the other side—
—except the drone hopped and matched his move. And hit him, running full speed.
* * *
Noguchi aimed past Broken Tusk and fired. The first two shots missed, but the third took out one of the black bugs, still a dozen meters away.
She trained and fired again, this time right on the target. A second fell, its corrosive blood sprayed and began to sizzle and eat into the nearest wall.
She tried for the last, but Broken Tusk was in the line of fire. Noguchi turned quickly, alert to other threats.
From The Lector or close to it, she heard what sounded like a hundred of the nightmares. They shrieked and howled and pounded the earth, but none came into view.
Noguchi spun, just in time to see the fifth bug barrel into Broken Tusk and knock him down.
* * *
Dachande felt ribs snap as the drone tackled him. He’d lost his spear—
The snarling bug drove its head downward, opened its mouth, exposed its inner jaws—
—he plunged his fist into its mouth.
The alien gagged and bit down. Dachande felt the dagger teeth pierce his arm but he drove his claws in deeper, dug deep into softer flesh—
The drone jerked its talons away from Dachande’s throat and clutched at its own. The Leader brought up his other fist and slammed the bug’s neck, hard.
The drone spilled to the side.
Dachande let the weight of the creature pull him over to land on top of it. He grabbed for the burner—that sent a shooting pain through his side—and brought the blunt end down on the bug’s slender throat.
The drone let go of his arm and died.
* * *
Broken Tusk staggered to his feet and retrieved his spear. He turned and jogged toward her. His arm was dotted with green spots where the thing had bitten him.
If he felt any pain, Noguchi couldn’t see it. She covered him until he reached her, and then turned toward the ship without her pointing to it.
He knew that much, and she had figured it out on the way.
They were going to where most of the creatures called home.
* * *
Dachande ignored the jabbing pain as they edged closer to the nest. The drones would surround their queen now, protect her. They made it p
ast the second and third structure with no more attacks.
Da’dtou-di paused for a second to reload her burner. Dachande glanced at her thoughtfully.
She was the prey he had waited most of his life to Hunt. They were small but powerful, obviously more intelligent than the yautja had thought, and as brave as any warrior he had Hunted with.
Of course, Da’dtou-di could be an exception; she was obviously trained better than the other few oomans he had been in contact with. The kind one that had died, for instance—it was not trained to Hunt, and had been blind to the danger he could have represented.
He would have enjoyed Hunting oomans. But he was proud to Hunt at Da’dtou-di’s side. This would be a tale to tell for generations to come…
The ooman saw that he watched her and raised her fist into the air. She exposed her teeth again at the same time, probably a sign of aggression.
Dachande still wore his mask, but he raised his arm also and then clattered, as loud as he dared, the Kiss of Midnight.
Kill or die. He was ready.
* * *
They crept into the open space in front of the shield wall as quietly as possible. Ryushi’s suns beat down on the nearly lifeless compound. It seemed like hours ago that Noguchi had been thinking of how beautiful the town was. Not now. Especially since the heat of midmorning had taken on the cloying stench of rot and decay. A lot of bodies—humans, aliens, warriors—must be cooking in the hot sunshine.
The Lector seemed deserted from the outside. A lone dead rhynth lay on the ground in front of the ship, its intestines ripped out. It must have staggered from the stampede to die there…
Noguchi figured the bugs had nested in the ship, and that they waited there now, grouped to attack. Their actions reminded her of a bee colony, the way the drones of a hive lived only to feed and protect their queen.
She shuddered slightly at the thought; she wouldn’t want to meet with whatever those monstrosities called “mother.”
The distance to the ship slowly dwindled as they crossed the compound. Noguchi’s heart thumped louder with each step. She stifled an urge to go back to the empty holding pen and study Conover’s map for a while longer.
