by Tanya Huff
The quadruped stumbled. Kept coming.
And Trembley was in front of her.
Instinct forced her legs to carry her aside when he fell, the quadruped on his chest, teeth snapping in his face. He brought his legs up, threw the quadruped off him, rolled onto his side, pressed the muzzle of his weapon up under its ribs.
She heard the crack again.
Oh.
Heard him fire his weapon again.
Of course.
The quadruped jerked. Stilled.
Trembley flopped onto his back, sucked in loud lungfuls of air, and bled.
Arniz dropped to her knees by his side, fingers of one hand sliding through blood to press the edges of flesh torn from his stomach together while the other hand searched her pockets for the tube of sealant. Sprayed it on his throat. Pressed and sprayed again.
His eyes closed.
“Don’t you dare die!” she snapped, over the near deafening pound of her heart. “I won’t have it!”
His tongue came out to wet his lips and on his next breath, his eyes opened and he said, “Because Sarge will take revenge?”
“Well, yes, for that as well, you stupid boy.” As the sound of boots against stone grew louder, as the sound of shouting separated into words, she touched her tongue to his cheek.
He smiled.
*No, the animal’s really most sincerely dead, Boss, but the kid’s still alive. They’ve made a stretcher out of branches and overalls and are carrying him back to the anchor. Anchor’s registered as a 277, so not full colonial version, but they have an autodoc in the infirmary that’s up to tissue repair.*
“Glad to hear it.”
Alamber had pieced together most of what had happened from the conversations the DLs had picked up as they brought Emile Trembley out from the rear of the ruins. One shot and then hand to claw? Whoever had been in charge of that boy’s training had a lot to answer for.
*Martin’s declared he’s going to stay in the anchor with Trembley. Not sure if it’s because he feels responsible or because he thinks he’s the best person to run the autodoc. He’s not, by the way. Not unless he’s taken a lot of medical training lately. Dr. Ganes is on the expedition roster as emergency medic.*
Vertic snapped a branch off a tree with enough force the crack sounded all the way up the line. “If these animals have a set breeding season, that means they’ll have also killed its mate and young.”
“The fukkers,” Binti muttered.
“There’s three Krai, Vertic. They won’t waste the meat.” It was a point, if only a minor one, on the positive side of the ledger.
“We’d all eat the meat, Gunny,” Freenim’s gesture took in his bonded, the Polint, and the unseen Artek. “Why of your people would it be only the Krai?”
“If there was time to test the meat for incompatibilities and then to cook it, I might eat it rather than allow the animal’s life to be wasted. Craig and Binti and Alamber only eat vat-grown proteins.” She grinned at the muffled sound of Craig keeping Alamber from broadcasting his eating preferences. “The Katrien . . .”
*This Katrien are not eating anything that are having been running about, and are having mates and young and a face! It seems Dalan are having eaten such in his misspent youth, but he are not eating such anymore.*
Not if Presit had anything to do with it.
“We have vat proteins on ships and stations of course, but planetside most species eat living protein sources. Previously living,” he amended, when Binti turned far enough to shoot him a disgusted expression.
“Not taking a life in order to live is one of the tenets of the Confederation. With a few terabytes of codicils.”
“There’s a terabyte on the Krai alone.”
Werst dropped to a foot grip, swung over the path, and up onto a broad branch. “What can I say? We’re efficient eaters.”
Torin raised the volume on the DL feed and listened to the accusations and counteraccusations. Their blood up, Martin had to threaten bodily harm to prevent Tehaven and Netrovooens from charging off on the hunt.
They’d covered five klicks, were still three out from the ruins and were almost close enough they’d have to trade speed for stealth. “Gather in, people.” When they all had a line of sight, she pulled out her slate and flicked up the hard light map. “Bottom line, we don’t want to have to attack the anchor. Even with the codes for the air lock, there’s still the mechanical security system. We couldn’t get past it without sending up flares and endangering the hostages.”
“Simple metal bars are surprisingly difficult to defeat. I believe your people called the mining colony Puhgit,” Dutavar added, speaking directly to Torin.
She remembered Puhgit. “Primacy attempts at entry were stopped by the metal bars, so you flattened the anchor.”
He didn’t deny the pronoun. “We’d have preferred to keep the anchor intact so that it could be used.” The shrug rippled down his torso and along his withers. “Time ran out. The Primacy wanted a new supply of the metal as much as the Confederation did.”
“Eighty-two people died. We took it back.”
“When seventy-eight people died.”
“And in the end,” Freenim interjected, “it was the plastic aliens that wanted us all to want the metal.”
Torin frowned. “No, I’m fairly certain the Confederation actually wanted the metal.”
Dutavar nodded. “Same.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, then Torin nodded and said, “Anyone else with experience attacking an anchor? Anyone else from the Primacy,” she clarified as Binti and both Krai raised their hands.
“My ground assaults were against more established colonies.” Vertic folded her arms over her RKah. “And, of course, Ter-deevan.”
“We have always fought together.” Freenim leaned into Merinim’s shoulder. “Ter-deevan, numerous other large infantry battles, two stations.”
Merinim nodded.
“I did a moon,” Bertecnic offered, crest up.
They ignored Alamber’s reaction as Firiv’vrak dipped her antennae and said, “I was vacuum all the way.”
“All but Ter-deevan,” Vertic reminded her.
“Almost all the way,” she amended. “I needed to requalify in atmosphere, so Command put me on strafing runs.”
Binti folded her arms. “You were shooting at us?”
“We were all shooting at you. You were shooting back.”
“Fair enough.”
“Back on topic, people. If our targets are in the anchor with the hostages, we won’t be able to get them out. They searched for that weapon until sunset yesterday, and since they’re not going to find anything, odds are they’ll stay out as long today. They’re spread out, separated in and by the ruins, out of sight from each other. We take them down, quick and quiet.” Torin swept her gaze around the team. “Nonfatally, if possible.”
“So they can be rehabilitated.” Freenim shook his head. “So strange.”
“A story can change,” Keeleeki’ka said, rising up and pointing at Bertecnic. “You have a large winged insect on your back. It appears to have a stinger.”
The insect achieved an impressive air speed propelled by a flicked claw.
“Even if they send the stretcher bearers back,” Binti said thoughtfully as Bertecnic ran his hands over every bit of fur he could reach, tail flicking jerkily, “Martin and Trembley will still be in the anchor.”
“Good.”
She frowned. “Did you mean to say good, Gunny?”
“Martin will kill an innocent without hesitating. We know that. If he sends the stretcher bearers back, the only hostage in the anchor is Lieutenant Commander Ganes.”
“I know he’s Navy, Gunny,” Ressk began.
“By definition, no innocent,” Werst interjected.
“. . . b
ut we should save him, too.”
“Agreed. But given an opportunity, I expect he’ll be able to take care of himself.”
Dutavar swept another of the stinging insects away. “So, how would we get into the anchor, Warden?”
“We wouldn’t,” Torin told him. “Werst would. We take down all targets at the ruins, dress Werst in Yurrisk’s clothes, and send him to knock on the door. Martin will see the commander and we’ll have access.”
“I’ll have access,” Werst pointed out, settling into a squat on the branch beside Ressk. “Then what?”
“Then you take Martin out and we wrap things up.”
He nodded slowly. “That should work.” And showed teeth. “But only because we all look alike to you.”
“If you means Humans . . .” Binti spread her hands. “. . . then, yeah.”
“Your noses suck.”
“And our eyes take time to distinguish subtle variation.” Torin zoomed in on the ruins. “Alamber, add current positions of both targets and hostages.”
*Targets in blue, hostages in orange, Boss.* As well as the individual lights, eight arrows, three blue and five orange pointed at the ruins. *Those eight, I know they’re inside. Targets include Yurrisk, the Druin, and Corporal Zhang. Hostages are Harveer Salitwisi, Dr. Lyon, and three ancillaries. You’ll be the first on the list if I get visuals.*
All three Polint and one of the Human mercenaries were outside. Malinowski stood, feet on the road, at the stairs leading into the building. Standing guard. “I’m sending Werst and the Artek on ahead. Get them in place on the far side of the ruins—between the ruins and the anchor in case anyone makes a run for it. We still need you up high,” she said before Ressk could protest, “to lay out the fastest route for the rest of us.”
Vertic crushed another stinging insect and flicked the body away. “Why the Artek?”
“We don’t send one Warden to cut off a retreat.” Torin ignored Werst’s muttered protest. “And the Artek can keep up with him at speed.”
“The pacifist will be of no use in a fight.”
Torin caught a whiff of cherry candy. Firiv’vrak was amused. “If a fight overruns her position . . .” She captured as many of Keeleeki’ka’s eyes with her gaze as she could. “. . . then she will hide in the underbrush so that she will not put other lives at risk because I will go back to war with the Primacy before I allow that to happen. Do you understand me?”
Keeleeki’ka flattened closer to the ground. “Yes, Warden.”
“Sounds like the best options for all concerned,” Vertic said. “And I’d prefer to send out the Artek together.”
“I’m glad you agree.” Torin had planned to, regardless, but Vertic knew more about working with the Artek than she did and she’d have listened to an objection.
*What died in your ass?*
“Problem, Alamber?”
*Not me, Boss. Craig’s twitchy.*
“Craig?”
*It’s nothing.*
She doubted that, but whatever it was, she couldn’t deal with it now. “Keep it off the coms. Werst, position Firiv’vrak before you position yourself.”
“Not my first herlakir, Gunny.”
“Didn’t need to know that.”
“Standard operating procedure if there’s a chance of subvocalizing being overheard?”
“That’s why they’re standard.” She had no idea how the Artek’s implants worked, given the lack of ears, but then, she didn’t need to. “Discretionary contact only.”
“Discretionary contact; got it.” He stood and stretched.
Ressk stood beside him. “Discretionary?”
“Gunny trusts my ability to know when things are going to shit.”
“Gunny?”
“He’s not wrong.” She met his eyes. “Still not wet or cold.”
“Still likely to be miserable.”
“Recon go.”
He nodded and defied gravity, leaning out far enough to see both Artek. “Can you two follow me from down there?”
“Well, you are very slow,” Keeleeki’ka said, tucking her arms in and streamlining her body.
Firiv’vrak flattened her antennae along her back. “True.”
At least they were getting along.
Werst flipped them off, touched his forehead to Ressk’s, and jumped for the next tree. The rustle of his passage faded in seconds. The Artek made no sound at all as they disappeared.
“All right, people, let’s move.” Torin settled her pack. “Best speed for the next kilometer, then we regroup.”
Bertecnic slapped a palm against his chest, smearing the body of a stinging insect against his uniform.
“Fukking snakes,” Binti muttered, leaping sideways.
When Trembley had been carried off, Martin at his side and two di’Taykan holding the ends of the makeshift stretcher, when Beyvek had taken the body away and everyone had silently agreed not to ask what he was going to do with it, Arniz realized she hadn’t seen Hyrinzatil since he’d screamed and run off. When she opened her mouth to ask if anyone had seen him, she realized she was alone.
She could hear Yurrisk yelling inside one of the buildings and Salitwisi yelling back at him—or perhaps the other way around. She could taste blood on the air, knew Camaderiz guarded Lows and two ancillaries as they cleared the remains of a less solid structure just out of sight, but she could see no one. This would be the time to attempt an escape, to slip unseen back into the anchor, to make her way to the anchor’s office and the satellite communications without being heard upstairs in the infirmary, to send for help—or it would be the time were she significantly younger and considerably stupider.
Young enough to cover the distance quickly and quietly. Stupid enough to believe she wouldn’t be caught.
Smarter to find Hyrinzatil before he got himself into trouble, being as how he was both young and not very bright.
The remains of the wall that had once enclosed the courtyard had been crushed under heavy boots and claws, so the undergrowth next to it had had little chance of surviving intact. Having spent her entire working life learning to make as faint an imprint as possible on ancient sites, Arniz wasn’t happy about the damage, yet—honestly—after watching the digger excavate a latrine, destroying any scientific value, it was hard to care. She couldn’t locate Hyrinzatil’s path within the destroyed foliage and boot-sized patches of green pulp, so she moved farther away from the building, until the damage lessened to the point where she could see a trail of broken plants leading off into the jungle.
And if she could see his trail, Hyrinzatil had been flailing about like a nok in a sebitle.
Within the privacy of her own thoughts, she acknowledged that had terror not locked her in place, she’d have done the same thing.
She pushed aside a tangle of vines, ignoring the scattering of the insects that had been sheltering below it, and climbed a low wall, half expecting to find Hyrinzatil crouched on the other side. But no. It seemed panic had kept him moving.
“Of course, it had,” Arniz muttered. He wasn’t behind the next wall, or the next, and she paused on the top of the wall after that, breathing heavily and wondering just how much farther he could’ve run, a little surprised that even panic had motivated him to cover this much ground. Looking back, her trail to this point cut an obvious, if unexpectedly sinuous path. Looking ahead . . .
Looking ahead, the underbrush was undisturbed.
Either Hyrinzatil had tucked himself up at the bottom of a wall and she’d missed him, or she’d lost his trail.
“Well, if that’s just not the perfect end to the day. Next time,” she added, climbing wearily back to the ground, “he’s on his own. It’s not like I’m responsible for Salitwisi’s ancillaries,” she muttered as she stumbled against a hummock and the air filled with tiny, red, flying lizards. They should be resp
onsible for her. She was old. “And tired, little cousin.” Scarlet wings whirred and a yellow tongue tasted the air. When it landed on her shoulder, she smiled. “And, also, glad of the company. We will, of course, have to part ways before I rejoin the others. I don’t trust Yurrisk not to make a snack of you.”
She couldn’t see the ruins; hadn’t been able to from her vantage point on the wall. Clearly overgrown lines of sight were to blame because she knew she couldn’t have gone that far.
She should have reached the second last wall by now. Be almost back to the ruins. Given the differences in growth that marked the differences in soil composition, the space between the walls, between these particular two walls, was most likely an interior space, and she enjoyed a lovely little daydream about actually being able to test and record and theorize.
She was too old for adventures.
She missed Dzar.
She should’ve reached the second last wall . . .
There was a flash of scarlet at the edge of her vision as the ground gave way beneath her.
Falling.
Screaming.
Pain.
Her eyes snapped open to see a blur of red and a green-gray square above that. She blinked, once, twice, and the flying lizard came into focus about ten centimeters from the end of her nose.
“I’m alive,” she told it. At the moment, that was all she was willing to commit to.
Everything hurt, but nothing hurt specifically. A constant throb, pain pulsing in time with her heartbeat, but no bright shards of agony. Arms, legs, tail; careful movement proved they all continued to function. Slowly, very slowly, she sat up and did nothing but breathe for a moment or two.
The air tasted stale and a little like ozone.
“I’m okay,” she told her companion as it settled back on her shoulder, tiny claws dug into the fabric of her overalls. “Not good, but okay. I landed flat, probably why I didn’t break anything.” A tiny tongue touched the side of her head. “And also why my tail feels like it’s going to become one big bruise.”
Enough light spilled in from above for her to see she was in a . . .
Room.
