by Steve Perry
“Ha ha ha!”
One of the other youngers, up ahead, had stopped. A brawny arm pointing an accusing finger.
“Ha ha ha!”
They’d learned the laugh, all right, and now the derision was being heaped on Shorty.
A bark of communication. Shorty turned and stormed off. Machiko followed into the harsh acridity of the smoking advance.
Time to get back to work.
Sometimes, at lulls like these, when Machiko felt a little sick to her stomach, more than ill at ease with her companions, she wondered about how the bugs had spread across the galaxy. Simultaneous evolution? From what she could gather, Hunter folklore seemed to indicate that. But could that folklore have been created to mask a troublesome possibility? Could the bugs have spread because of the Predators’ blooding rites? Could “accidents” have occurred on many others worlds—“accidents” of containment, like that which had occurred on Ryushi?
Of course, the cultural pride of these Predators could never stomach that notion, and so the possibility was washed over with insistent folklore. Besides, who could really say? The bugs had a way of spreading, like disease. And interstellar-vector theory really had no bearing on what they were doing now, on this planet.
The bugs had this planet. That was all that mattered. The Hunter mission now was not to dispute the bug domain, but to appropriate their Queen, for their own purposes.
And their destination was not far away. Machiko could sense that much.
Breakthrough was imminent.
The elders, honor and glory and ego etched in flesh and bone and armor, blasted their way through one last tissue of defense. By the blaze of their weapons, Machiko could see a much larger chamber, lit in a feral spectral glow.
Closer, she could see that it was like a chamber of the devil’s heart.
And squatting inside that chamber was its own particular demon.
The Queen was about normal size. Which was to say, big. It hunkered in its hold like a cornered jabberwocky, its fingernails-on-blackboard hiss already aroused by the surrounding Hunters.
As rear guard, it was the youngers’ duty now to keep the Queen’s drones away while the more experienced Hunters did their jobs.
Machiko performed that duty, but made sure she didn’t turn her back on Shorty. These creatures were supposedly made of honor, but she’d never really trusted young males of any race, and now was not the time to begin.
The Predators knew their prey well.
One of the bugs’ collective strengths lay in their complete subjection to their Queen. Another was their total dedication to the proliferation of their species.
But within these strengths was the key to their one major weakness: the warrior-drones would do nothing to endanger the life of their Queen.
In turn she would do nothing to endanger the lives of her unborn brood.
Armed with that knowledge, the success of the Hunters was assured.
Still, it wouldn’t be easy. Trouble along the way was virtually guaranteed, despite the strutting self-confidence this pack had displayed toward the effort from the very beginning.
As the youngers picked off any of the drones who dared to poke their misshapen, horrific heads into the chamber, the elders expertly shot off their grappling devices around the numerous limbs of the Queen, around her neck, effectively hog-tying her.
The mighty weave of the cords pulled tight. The Queen raged and heaved, but her powerful huge body was held in vague check. Even though she wobbled and surged from time to time, it would have to do.
The Queen thus reasonably subdued, the drones seemed to check themselves, keyed intuitively to her vulnerability.
Now came the most dangerous part.
The capture team had to maintain control of the Queen as Top Knot, their brawny leader, prepared her for travel.
This was a ticklish business, as it consisted of separating her from her egg sack.
Top Knot advanced, his long, sharp blade held high and glistening in the halogen portable lamps carried by the others. He raised it high, tensed himself, aimed—
And brought it down like a surgically trained executioner upon the fleshy interstitial connective tissue.
The blade cut down and through the stuff hard. There was a shriek from the Queen.
Unfortunately, the Hunter whom Machiko called Three-Spot was caught napping. His stance had been improper, and so when the Queen unexpectedly threw all her ample strength into that limb and pulled if away, he was lifted bodily into the air by the rope curled around his arm.
The Queen hurled him around like a yo-yo and dashed him down onto the hard ground.
Stunned, the Hunter could not move.
But the Queen could.
With a vicious vengeance she brought down her own scythelike claws directly onto Three Spot’s chest. So sharp were the claws, so much momentum did the Queen have in her blow, that they drove down directly through that armor, burying deep into the warrior’s chest with a sickening splash and thunk of released blood.
Three-Spot wriggled and spasmed for a moment. Then he was dead.
That’s what tended to happen in these situations.
On their way out of the unfortunate Hunter’s body, the razor claws slashed through the rope.
Part of the Queen was free.
This wasn’t good.
The situation was pretty obvious to Machiko. The capture party’s continued safety rested on their ability to control the Queen. Her freedom would be the signal for her brood to attack.
Back when she was corporate ramrod on the planet Ryushi, Machiko would have examined the situation… weighed her options.
People would have died.
Now, instead, she simply acted.
Dropping her gun, she leapt for the loose rein. She had a split-second grab for it before the thing whipped back out of reach. Her leap was automatic, but there seemed to be magic in it, talent in it, a skill and precision that she hadn’t owned before her experience on Ryushi.
She’d leaped out of her position, darted past the others, still seemingly frozen in the confusion of the moment—
Her fingers folded around the rope, grabbed it, held it just long enough for the other mesh-glove to grab it, wind it around her hand. When the thing went tight, it felt almost as though her arms were being pulled out of their sockets…
Fortunately, she’d dug in and was pushing down with all her power.
Just hold it, Dahdtoudi, she told herself. “Little Knife,” the name that Oachande had given her. Her handle on strength and pride and honor.
Just keep that thing in control. The others will do the rest.
Mere moments seemed to stretch as long as her arms wanted to. Sinews creaked and her bones felt close to cracking. The feral alien smell of the place threatened to overwhelm her. However, she concentrated on stillness. She would not be moved. She pretended she was sitting zazen, totally centered, totally within herself, and lashed her mind to this planet’s gravity.
She sensed more than felt the others gaining control. And then two Hunters took her place.
She stepped back, breathing hard.
The Queen was still straining at the ropes, but she was in control again.
By stepping in like that she’d prevented a possible disaster.
Top Knot approached her.
She expected… what? A pat on the back? A bend of the mandibles by way of smile? Some kind of medal of honor?
No. She didn’t expect that at all, not from this race of beings, and she braced herself.
Top Knot slammed his arm against her chest with such power that she was knocked down. Despite her preparation her breath was knocked from her lungs. She did not offer resistance, she did not take offense, she did not complain.
What she’d done, besides saving these Hunters, was to go against her station in stepping out to grab that rope.
By abandoning her post she had disobeyed Top Knot’s orders. Though she helped avert disaster, she had revealed
herself as untrustworthy.
Her insubordination might be forgiven, but it would never be forgotten. These crab-faces might not have been around to forget without that insubordination, but she’d still flown in the face of tradition, honor, and authority.
Oh, well.
They started to haul the Queen back to the ship.
She picked herself off the ground and simply stood for a moment, waiting for the chamber to stop spinning around her. Eventually, on their way out, Top Knot turned his attention to her.
He gestured forward, and she understood.
She was to take position at the advance guard.
She picked up her gun and hobbled ahead.
It was a token position at best. The Queen’s pheromones would do the work of scattering her brood before her. It was rather like pulling out a hostage with a great, big, sharp machete held to her throat.
The older, more experienced members of the troop—the ones with the necessary muscle and alien-wrangling experience—hauled the reluctant Queen forward toward the ship.
As much as Broken Tusk/Dachande’s mark allowed her entrance to this society, her behavior that day had branded her as an Outsider.
She still had much to learn about the ways of the Hunters, but nonetheless, she knew that had she had choice over again, she would have done the same thing.
The haul back seemed to take forever, what with the bitch digging in from time to time and needing a quick stun to take some of the fight out of her.
And what a job they had ahead of them, to boot.
According to Top Knot’s briefing, bringing a captive alien Queen onto a ship was the most dangerous part of any capture mission.
When they got to their destination, Machiko soon found out why.
The ramp was lowered by remote control. It was narrow and posed quite a problem. She could see that the tight confines of the ship would allow no margin for error, no room for slack.
According to Top Knot, many times the captive Queen made a suicidal last-ditch attempt at the door of the nesting chamber.
With great effort the Hunters hauled the Queen up the corrugated ramp. They pulled her through into the area that would be her prison—a chamber separated from the rest of the ship.
Machiko took up her position by the end of the ramp. She could not help but cast concerned glances back at the progress the others were making, getting that monster into her own private suite.
She expected it to make a last break for freedom at any moment.
What she did not expect, what came as a surprise, was that the bid for that freedom came not from her, but from her children. Somehow she got off an unseen signal or a silent call that spurred her offspring into action. They came roaring out of the cavern, more fiendish than ever. Their cries spurred Machiko into action.
She swiveled around, took stock, reacted instantly, swinging her weapon around and spraying streams of bright death into the burgeoning hordes. In conjunction with her fellow youngers, they must have killed thirty of the bugs in the next fifteen seconds.
The aliens just kept on coming.
Top Knot bawled out a retreat order…
A bawl that turned into a howl of consternation.
Machiko had already started up the corrugated ramp. The bugs seemed to pay no attention to the fact they were being slain by the score. A few broke through the fiery onslaught and started up the ramp as well.
Machiko turned around to see what the commotion was and was horrified to see that the ranks of the brave, valiant senior Hunters were splintering. The Queen had turned into a raving fury, trailing lines. She leaped to one side.
Another cry.
In the confusion Machiko realized that Top Knot had called out for the ramp to be lifted, and not a second too soon. Even as the lip of the thing yanked from the ground, two bugs clambered onboard.
Fire from the retreating Hunters tore them off, but two more took their place.
Meanwhile the ranks of the Hunters frantically fought for control.
Machiko stood aside to allow the last of the youngers to climb onboard. She fired one last salvo, tearing the final bug off the edge and hurling it back into the frenzied roil of its companions.
And then with a chuffing sound, and the shriek of hydraulics, the ramp/door shut.
The bastards were outside.
The bitch was inside, though, and free.
Machiko turned. The Hunters were scuttling about to the exits and their posts while the Queen howled out her frustration and anguish.
The Queen had only one path open to her—directly into the waiting nesting chamber. Behind her was a grillwork-covered vent from which a cable dangled, but it was too small for her to fit through.
The others knew this ship much better than Machiko, and they had hurried off to be out of danger. In her confusion and consternation, Machiko had simply stood her ground watching the Queen rampage.
The Queen turned and headed straight for Machiko.
Automatic response drew her gun up as the Queen approached at full bore. In fact the gun seemed to move of its own accord, expertly swinging into place, aiming directly at the Queen’s head. At this close range one blast would tear even that huge head off.
Just a pull of the trigger would do it.
Her finger tightened.
But then she stopped herself.
No.
Too many of her companions had paid with their lives that day trying to reach the Queen. To kill it now would negate their sacrifices.
In this situation even honor offered only one course of action.
Retreat.
She dropped the gun and ran.
Her breath came in ragged gasps, echoing inside her helmet, her heart drumming a machine-gun beat in her chest. Her feet pounded a counter rhythm on the steel floor of the nesting chamber.
She barely heard any of it.
All she was aware of was the sound of the Queen’s pursuit…
And the implicit sound of her own mortality.
Leaving Ryushi and joining the Hunters had seemed like the logical thing to do at the time, the right thing to do. The yautja code, as she perceived it, seemed enviable, clean. As she had waited alone on Ryushi, she had waited for just such an opportunity, feeling herself changed in the crucible of her experiences at Prosperity Wells.
Now the decision just seemed stupid and vain. A romantic fantasy. Hard to think of anything but fear and survival when there were tons of drooling Death bearing down upon her. Whatever had made her think that she could match the ways of these half savages? What had she hoped to prove to herself?
She ran for her life.
It seemed as though she could feel the heat of the creature’s breath on her neck. She certainly heard the clank and clack of its chitin, the stretch of its tendons.
Up ahead was the door… the passageway to safety. It was round and small and could close quickly.
Standing on the other side, hand up and off to the side, was an unexpected figure at the controls.
Shorty.
She could not see his expression because of his mask. Hell, she didn’t know if these things had expressions—she just couldn’t read mandible positioning.
Shorty’s arm twisted.
A clack of controls.
The door slammed down hard, cutting off her exit.
In its very middle was a triangular window. Two of the Hunters—neither of them Shorty—moved up to that window and gazed into the chamber.
Neither of them moved a muscle to get the door up. Neither of them made an effort to save her.
They just stared at her, spectators of some deadly morality play.
Whatever had made her think that she could live by these creatures’ bizarre laws?
Much less gain their respect?
She spun around.
The monster Queen was not as close as she feared, but neither was she far.
And she was gaining all the time.
Well, she’d worry about saving face af
ter she saved her own skin.
She feinted in one direction, and the Queen quickly responded, shifting its weight in a twinkling and investing its momentum in its bid to make quick work of this available tormentor.
Then Machiko shifted, dodged, and sprinted for her true objective.
There was more than one way out of any trap.
She headed for the vent and the restraining cable she had noted before.
Machiko leaped with all her strength and began to scramble up this rough ladder.
She made the climb in record time, but even as she made the grill, she heard the beast below her. It apparently wasn’t going to just sit around and watch her get out.
She didn’t waste a moment.
Perched upon her shoulder was a laser.
She fired it, and its brilliant beam cut through the wires speedily. She turned it off and pried off the grillwork, making a hole wide enough for her slender body to slip through.
Just about it. A moment or two and she’d be out of—
Even as she was tasting her safety, she felt an awful tug on her hair.
The Queen had reached up and grabbed her dreadlocks.
Fortunately, the Queen wasn’t the only one with sharp and nasty claws.
Machiko let go of one of her grips and twisted her wrist forward in a manner that triggered her retractable blades. With almost the same movement she slashed backward.
She cut off her dreadlocks.
She also severed most of the Queen’s hand.
It shrieked.
She could feel it thump back onto the floor noisily and messily, the wound spilling acid, none of it, fortunately, over Machiko.
Machiko pulled herself up through the hole she’d made in the grating, her muscles performing the function smoothly and efficiently. She once more was grateful for her training, her workouts, her endurance…
…and her luck.
She wiggled through quickly, not giving that bitch down there any time to renew her attack. It was wailing pretty fiercely, and she could smell the acridity of its pumping blood wafting up through the opening.
She did not pause to make sure it was okay but scuttled through the pipes as quickly as she could. There was still the possibility, after all, that it would thrust its good claw through the opening and grab her foot.
