by Steve Perry
The teak-paneled door opened. A man and a woman entered. One Machiko recognized: the man who had come up to them and talked to Evanston on their arrival. The woman, though, was a different matter entirely. She looked like the kind of corporate sharpshooter that Machiko was supposed to have been. A Company woman from sleek black hair to perfectly manicured fingers.
Introductions were made and remade.
Abner Brookings. Lawyer. Meet…
Chelsea Zorski. Head of operations. Meet…
Hello, Machiko. I hope you can help us.
Good to meet you. I did some of the background work to dig you up. You can just call me Chet.
“Sit down. Have a drink. Tea or coffee or harder stuff, I don’t care. It’s time not just to think-tank this situation… it’s time to take action.”
They all looked like drinking people. However, they all passed over the ample supply of liquor squatting atop a corner cabinet like a model of a city of multicolored skyscrapers.
Instead they all went for coffee.
Black.
When it was steaming and aromatic before them, as Machiko took the first few acrid sips, she studied this woman Chet Zorski.
First and foremost, she was a corporate shark. Machiko could smell that as she walked in. It was in her perfume and shampoo, her very breath. The shine of her eyes, the flash of her perfect teeth. The tailored hang of her clothing. These people could have been made in biolab factories, for all she knew; they had the perfection of premodeling about them.
Zorski had a cleft chin, a square jaw, a nose as perfectly angular as could possibly be desired. Bright blue eyes. Wide cheekbones. A shock of black hair. Bland stuff in general, but the congruence gave her a sharp and feral look, and the flashing of teeth made her look bright and hungry beneath the smoothness.
“We hope you’re well situated,” said Evanston.
“Yes.”
“You’ve met your people,” said Zorski. “Had a little dustup with one, I hear.”
“Good for morale.”
“Absolutely. So… what do you think of them?”
“Motley, but they’ll do.”
Zorski beamed a little at that. “Good. I thought you’d be able to look past the rough edges. I looked for a lot of special qualities in these men. Experience being paramount.”
“Experience with the bugs, you mean.”
Zorski looked at Evanston as though for permission.
Evanston nodded.
“Yes. The bugs.”
“Look, there’re some things we’ve got to talk about—”
“Yes. It’s time to level with you, Noguchi.”
She was taken aback. There was no longer confidence and control in Livermore Evanston’s face. He looked, in fact, a bit at a loss, a bit desperate.
Machiko sat back in her chair, maintaining her calm, hard facade. “I’m listening.”
“It’s not just the bugs.” Evanston turned to Abner Brookings. “Please, Abner… tell Ms. Noguchi what happened the other day.” He swiveled to deliver a sincere stare at Machiko. “With this caveat. As my employee, you are directed not to discuss this with any of our other employees or guests. It’s of a quite sensitive nature.”
“What about my people? And my assistant?”
“Only if absolutely necessary for the men. However, your assistant is an android and clearly secure.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Go ahead, Abner. It’s your show.”
“Thank you. Ms. Noguchi, I’m one of the head lawyers for Mr. Evanston. A highly trusted employee. There are a lot of legal things that have to be worked out for this new world, of course, in its interface with the rest of galactic civilization. That’s my job. However, I also fancy myself a bit of a hunter. And so I take a bit of a vacation here from time to time. I was on just such an expedition a few days ago. And that’s when this awful incident happened.”
Machiko listened as Brookings told his story.
A safari.
Invisible attackers.
Death.
Himself, the only survivor.
When he was finished, a silence fell upon the meeting.
“Mr. Brookings was given a thorough evaluation by psychtechs afterward. It would appear, Ms. Noguchi,” said Evanston somberly, “that indeed we are not the only hunters on Blior. Indeed, these other Hunters—presumably alien, since there are no extant civilizations on this planet—are the source of the bug problem as well.”
He looked significantly at Chet Zorski.
“Yes, Machiko. And as you might have suspected, that’s one of the reasons you were selected. We believe you know who these creatures are—and how to deal with them.”
She looked at them all, one by one. She said nothing. Stare for stare. They looked away.
“I should emphasize,” said Zorski, “that we are not prying into your past, your background. We do not want a confession here. We are just asking for knowledge… and for help…”
“And for you to do your job,” added Evanston.
“Or bail out and take off, as our agreement states?” Machiko asked.
Evanston frowned. “That’s up to you.”
“No, wait…” objected Brookings. “I worked up the language in that contract. There’s a clause—”
“Yes,” snapped Evanston. “A clause that I took out.”
“It’s not as if she can really go anywhere you don’t want to take her,” said the lawyer in a cold voice.
“Look, Brookings, I want—need—the best we can get from this talented woman. I told you—no goddamn legal tricks.” He snorted. “Like the law has that much value out here.”
“That’s the idea. It’s elastic. That’s why I’m here,” said the lawyer. “To help you form it into the shape that is best for you.”
“Look, if I want to get out of this place, there are other ways than going up,” said Machiko.
“Gentlepeople, gentlepeople,” said Zorski, a conciliatory smile on her face. “Please. I don’t think you need to worry about Ms. Noguchi’s enthusiasm for this particular project. You see, I chose her very well. I think we have a fascinated, very enthusiastic leader on our hands now… don’t we, Ms. Noguchi?”
“Yes. Damn you.” She couldn’t help but smile.
Brookings shook his head. “I don’t understand. This is going to be dangerous. I assure you… what I went through… These bastards are dangerous.”
“Please, let’s just say I have the feeling these aliens are old allies, old enemies of our employee,” said Zorski. “And besides, she’s so much better off than she was before, under the shackles of the Company…”
“Don’t worry. I’m here to do a job and I intend to do it, and do it as well as I can.”
Livermore Evanston visibly relaxed. “You can bet I’m glad to hear that, my dear. We need you.”
“Okay. Now you level with me. What more do you know about these Hunting aliens?”
“Much less than you do, clearly,” said Brookings.
Machiko looked from face to face.
All were unreadable.
“Well, I guess I should be grateful for what I’ve gotten out of you gentlemen. Now, thank you for your coffee. Maybe I should get my force whipped into shape so we can do something about scouting out this situation. Hmmm. Meantime, I’ll look forward to that tour of the biofactory tomorrow.”
“Why are you so interested in what’s going on there?” said Brookings.
“It’s just in her nature,” said Zorski. “Extreme curiosity.”
“No, I really think we’re due an answer,” insisted Brookings.
She didn’t think she should tell the whole story, since she was sure they weren’t spilling all their beans.
“We were doing recon. Something came up while I was checking the area.”
“You just let her look around?” demanded Brookings.
“Yes. I gave her permission personally,” said Zorski. “And after getting the okay from His Nibs here.” Sh
e pointed playfully toward Evanston.
“Well, I appreciate that—but let me tell you, I saw something very troubling “
“Don’t leave us dangling so,” said Brookings sarcastically.
“I saw a dinosaur.” She gave the creep the glare he deserved. “A tyrannosaurus rex, to be specific.”
“Ah,” said Zorski. “The T-rex.”
“Not surprising. A big creature,” said Evanston.
Brookings looked a bit taken aback. “But… those things are extinct!”
“Precisely,” said Machiko. “Which means that biolab is doing some pretty heavy-duty stuff.”
“Wow—that’s truly big game!” said Brookings, looking a little disconcerted, but at the same time excited at the prospect of actually bagging a dinosaur.
“Yes. As I told you, we want to make things interesting for our guests,” said Evanston.
“Of course. I understand. You did explain that… I only thought that you might be manufacturing creatures of interest to these mysterious Hunting aliens, these Predators, as it were.”
Evanston was all smiles again. “Of course. I’d never thought of that. And you’d be the person to distinguish that, wouldn’t you? Excellent. As I said, I’ll give you the tour myself, to be as much help as possible…”
“Tomorrow morning?”
“That’s right. Tomorrow, right after you get back from your maneuver, Machiko?”
“What? I haven’t even gone through any training with these guys!” said Machiko. Suddenly this business with the biolab factory wasn’t a primary concern.
“You’ll do it on the fly,” said Evanston. “Because tomorrow my hired mercenaries are going out to scout the area where Brookings and his band were attacked.”
Chet Zorski pulled out a map.
13
Bakuub, Straight Spear, stared down into the holding pen of the yautja starship. There a kainde amedha stalked its prey. The bisor, a small doglike mammal from the surface of this Hunter’s World, whined and barked as it scampered as far as it could go into the corner. The Hard Meat, a youngster not yet a good Hunter’s challenge, crept forward infinitely slowly, drool from its secondary jaws slathering the floor, savoring its approach and kill as much as it would doubtless savor the juices of its food.
Bakuub, however, brooded upon other matters than this life-and-death drama below.
Something was happening in the ooman settlement. Something of great gravity and importance. The yautja named Bakuub could feel the electricity crackling through the atmosphere of this planet, and he felt entirely ill at ease.
He had sifted through the remains of the ooman Hunting party they had killed, through their supplies and weapons, but the detritus contained no clue as to what was being concocted by their leaders.
The encounter with the female ooman while Hunting the big creature they had discovered, that was just as troubling as the creature itself, a monster that was not native to this planet. The oomans had seen the yautja. The oomans had killed one of their number. How? Lar’nix’va, though he struggled hard not to show it, was clearly troubled. Bakuub had heard tales of the female ooman Dahdtoudie, whom Lar’nix’va had fought with. Surely this was not the same one…
Bakuub had wanted to do some kind of detailed exploration of transmissions and emanations from that settlement, utilizing what little of that sort of equipment they owned. The other packs Hunting now on this world had been notified, but they did not seem as concerned as he. And he, alas, was not the Leader here. Lar’nix’va was the Leader, and Lar’nix’va was a fool.
Bakuub could see straight through the tarei’hsan offal. A yautja like Lar’nix’va did not have the best intentions of his people at heart. A yautja like Lar’nix’va cared not for True Glory, merely for his own stupid ambitions. Normally this would not be troublesome, for fools such as he were eventually found out and dealt with, hoisted on their own petards. But in this ticklish situation, with much at stake, leadership by such a fool could be dangerous for the yautja’s cause.
Bakuub would have to monitor the situation carefully. True, tendencies toward personal ambition were rife among the yautja. That, after all, was a part of their nature. Ego was a genetic as well as a cultural development in the True Dominators. Ambitious fools tended to get themselves killed at an early stage of warriorhood; however, an occasional hothead would advance to Leadership and make a mulch of things—a situation not considered particularly bad, but, rather, a challenge—part of the OverPath’s progress. But at a ticklish time like this, such Leadership was not opportune and could cause a great deal of trouble.
Below, Bakuub could smell the terror and urine of the prey mammal as it cowered. The Hard Meat slunk forward, lizard-insect evil in its every smooth movement. The acid smell rose from below, amid the offal and straw scents. Soon it would mix with the harsh copper smell of mammalian blood.
Bakuub had personally seen that the others of the flotilla were alerted to the potential problem. The Leaders of the other packs had all shown concern and stated that they would join them in their efforts if needed. However, they were presently in the midst of their own particular Hunts, be they sport or blooding rites, and had to see to that.
Yes, Bakuub thought. But this was much more of a problem than anyone else realized. When Ki’vik’non had been killed by a weapon-holding kainde amedha, that had been bad enough. The implications were enormous. That such a creature existed meant a new and dangerous enemy for the People. Challenges were challenges, and to be cherished—however, just as the arrival of the Soft Meat amid the stars was more than a mere challenge, so was the advent of this super Hard Meat.
It was a threat.
Suddenly a wave of hatred passed through Bakuub.
For the Soft Meat, certainly.
But also for the Hard Meat.
Hatred was not unusual in a yautja, but generally reserved for another of their species. Hatred for the Hunted usually meant fear.
Hatred flowed through Bakuub’s veins.
The Hard Meat’s secondary jaws were extending. Its claws and extensors held the bisor firmly. The progress of the creature’s dinner was painstaking and deadly.
Bakuub reached forward, hit a button. The entry lid of the cage slipped back. Even as it did, Bakuub reached behind his back, pulled out his spear, aimed.
With one swift motion of his trained arm, Bakuub sent the javelin downward with blinding speed. The razor tip met with the back of the kainde amedha’s head, driving down with such force that the upper carapace was pierced as well.
Bakuub had judged well. It was for good reason that he had taken pains to study the anatomy of the Hard Meat. He had judged his blow not only so that the nexus of nerves in the thing’s helmetlike head would be destroyed, but also so that there would be a minimum of its acid blood spilled.
The Hard Meat let go its prey. Shrieking, it reached back for the spear, but it was far too late for that. The angle had been perfect, an angle that was never presented in normal combat, and the blow had been swift and sure.
The creature shuddered and staggered.
Its limbs twisted and shivered like dying snakes.
With a final horrible scream the kainde amedha flopped to the floor of the holding pen, writhing out the last of its life in hisses.
Stillness descended upon the holding pen. Bakuub reached out and thumbed another button.
The outer door opened and a small ramp extended. A breath of outside sailed in, rich with green life and sunshine.
“Go now,” said Bakuub to the bisor. “Live. And the life you have now will be the purer and more cherished for your terror here.”
The bisor paused for only a moment. Then it inched around the side, eyeing the fallen Hard Meat as though it expected the creature to rise at any moment, and ran down the ramp to the outside.
Bakuub closed the door. Just as well. The Hard Meat would pose a distraction, anyway, to the true task at hand. He would tell Lar’nix’va that the thing had attempted escape. And
if the fool challenged him—well, then, the fool would die that much sooner, and all to the good.
14
“Tell me again why we had to leave the omniterrain bus,” said Attila, looking around warily, his sensors doubtless high.
“This is a maneuver, chum,” said Dick Daniels, his gun tilted slightly toward the ground, but obviously ready. “We’re just lookin’ over territory. I don’t think we’re going to run into anything much.”
“This is the place where the sporting safari ran into the Hunters,” said Machiko. “We’re just having a look, checking out the lie of the land. And operating as a unit for the first time. Which reminds me.” She clicked on her wrist radio. “Unit? How are we doing?”
The answers ticked off one by one from the twenty-member team. They’d spread out in a wing formation, covering this open area of ground. Machiko could see them all, but she figured that as long as you had technology, you should use it. Besides, she wanted to make sure the stuff still worked.
The sun had just lifted off the horizon, and mists were rising up like moody chromatic wraiths from vines and the yanga trees. The air smelled ripe and yeasty with a damp chill soon to be burned off by the sun, but enough to give early risers a shiver or two. Machiko still had the taste of good coffee in her mouth. She savored it, as did the rest of the men. As Daniels had said, “At least the food and the drink are good on this gig.”
Food, in fact, seemed to be on everyone’s mind.
“So what’s for lunch?” said Lou MacCraken, still yammering away as usual.
“Shit on a shingle,” snarled Truck Tankerslee, a grotty short toad of a man with a foul mouth, a foul mind, but the record for the most bugs obliterated of the lot of them.
“Yeah,” said Nick Gillespie. “Question is, is it good shit?”
“I don’t know,” said Machiko, trying to keep in the jocular mood of the bunch. “You want me to call back to the bus and check?”
“Good idea,” said Marino, squinting into the dark below the mists. “I got a feeling that looking forward to something’s a good idea on this particular mission.”
Machiko shrugged and looked over to Sanchez, on her right side. “What do you think, Ned?”
