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 Dachande 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.
Leavin
g 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 chak 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 after 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 danger.
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.
Her dreadlocks were expendable. She wasn't exactly trying to attract male action among the Hunters. Hell, maybe they even had some glue ons she could use.
Her foot, though . . . her foot was a different matter.
She needed her foot.
Too bad about the Queen's fingers. But the Hunters would be able to get control of the thing, and it would certainly still be quite able to do what they needed it to do: namely, lay the eggs they needed for their blooding exercises.
Negotiating her way through the air venting was a matter of relying on her intuition and sense of direction.
Over. Up. Down.
Eventually, she came to another grate.
She put her back against the wall, brought her legs up. Kicked. Kicked again.
The grate banged out of its fixture, fell back onto the floor.
She slipped out lithely and fell the few feet onto the metal deck, landing on the floor on all fours, sleek and ready as a cat.
The Hunters were standing there, watching her.
Just standing there in expectant repose.
She tore off her helmet and took in a deep breath.
She gave the ritual greeting of a warrior's victory.
She wasn't sure what she expected. A thank-you? As far as she knew, there was no such phrase in the Hunter vocabulary.
She'd saved their bacon, and they had nothing to say.
They just looked at her, -as though trying to perceive what this strange Outsider that Dachande had Blooded was composed of. This honored companion they could never understand . . .
Then they did something remarkable.
They bowed.
She'd bowed for them before . . . something from her Japanese ancestry she'd shown them. They'd just stared at that, seemingly uncomprehending ....
And now they were bowing.
All but one.
The others turned and left to be about the business of taking off from this planet. Of dealing with this captive Queen . . .
All but one.
The one lingered. He took his helmet off and his eyes were like lit coals in the darkness.
Shorty
His mandibles danced menacingly.
He took a step forward, quick and menacing.
Machiko stood her ground.
Just inches short of her, the young Hunter stopped.
Machiko did not move. She did not blink She just stared directly back at her challenger.
The mandibles bristled.
But then the Hunter spun, stalked away.
His steps echoed in the hallway.
She'd stared him down. Shorty dared not challenge her now, dared not hurt her after her incredible display of valor, after she'd risked her life to ensure the success of this operation.
No. She wasn't one of them.
But they owed her more than ever now.
She felt the bliss of an endorphin rush ....
. . . wings of lightning . . .
* * *
Chapter 3
Heart of thunder . . .
Machiko crouched, holding her blade steady, waiting for the first move of her opponent.
For a moment the samurai warrior, in full medieval regalia, was just as motionless. His own long blade gleamed in the late-afternoon sun like a slender medallion of death, pendant from an azure sky.
The samurai warrior stepped forward, pleated armor a jangle off an obviously immaculate build. She fancied she smelled the musky competence wafting off him.
She tasted a back beat of fear.
He moved again, and he stepped forward with a familiar and startling arrogance.
He seemed in a hurry, as though he wanted to finish up this particular butcher's or
der of slice 'n' dice and move on to the next bit of delicatessen fun.
"Hey," she called in Japanese. "Are you hiding a salami in that codpiece, you miserable, impotent coward!"
The eyes shot open with fury.
The samurai raised his sword and, screaming, ran forward.
Machiko Noguchi feinted to meet him headlong, then at the last possible moment stepped aside. She flicked her sword down, then up and under the skillful but infuriated blow, and its blade slammed up the vulnerable break in the armor, cutting into the man's body.
The man's face grimaced a suitable expression of pain and surprise, and his mouth opened to let out a howl of extreme anguish.
Machiko's sword whipped through shimmering light, coming out on the other side at full speed.
The man disappeared in a snap.
Machiko had to control the sword. She deflected its passage so that it whacked down into the sod.
She took a breath and steadied her nerves.
"Excellent," piped a voice beside her. "Absolutely excellent, Machiko."
She turned and looked at the speaker. There he was, beside that rock, crouching down so as to be out of the scenario that he had so ably created.
The holo-tube was already retracting into its compartment in his forehead.
"Thanks," she said.
She suppressed a smile. It would not be advisable to give old A the H too much encouragement.
He stood up, dusting off his khaki knees, straightening his immaculate bush jacket just so.
"You've utilized the Sun Tzu's principles very well," pronounced the android in a clipped, punctilious tone that had an old-time mid-Atlantic quality to it.
"Pardon me?"
"Sun Tzu. The Art of War, of course."
"Oh, yes. I thought you were talking about some kind of disease-carrying fly"
"That, I believe, is the tsetse."
"Yes, yes, along with many other fine principles, Attila. You reiterate them to me constantly. I don't necessarily have to be able to cough up whole sentences at the drop of a nunchuck! At some point, however, it all gets assimilated into my subconscious. It looked like a pretty obvious opening, though. You made the samurai display the flaw of pride and anger. I'm well acquainted with those flaws, and I know how to use that weakness in others. It's a common trait, I believe, in men-and I traveled awhile with super, well, if not supermen, then at least exaggerated men."
Aliens vs Predator 2 - Hunter's Planet Page 3
