by John Ringo
What the hell was Tirdal playing? Did he think Ferret could be dismissed? If he really thought the two humans were a team, why wasn't he more scared? Or did he have an ace for dealing with the sniper? That was likely why he was disturbed at Ferret's existence. Ferret was another threat he hadn't planned on. Except he knew already from Dagger.
Had Dagger not told him? Was it possible they were both playing their own games with that box? That was an idea. Dagger had fragged the team, Tirdal had taken the moment to swipe the box. Now they were both fighting each other. So Ferret would only have to fight one at a time, because neither was going to lend a hand. That was a good theory, and would explain why they weren't traveling together. His thoughts were interrupted by Tirdal speaking.
"I don't think you're stupid, Ferret. Which is why I'm not going to listen to you try to ally with me at this point. I've seen the technique on human vid shows. Dagger plays malicious and evil, you play honorable. I won't be swayed. Now, do you have anything valid to input? Or shall we resume the hunt?"
That taunting question threw Ferret back into a rage. He couldn't believe Tirdal, holding the billion credit box, was going to play innocent victim. "Oh, it's a hunt all right," Ferret replied. "And you can just fucking die, Darhel."
"That's been the plan all along, Ferret. It is unfortunate that it takes two humans to equal one Darhel. Goodbye."
"You asshole!" Ferret near-shouted into his microphone, barely remembering his noise discipline.
There was no reply.
* * *
Tirdal let his Sense and senses reach out into the darkness. Without the undisciplined thoughts of humans shouting at him from mere meters away, he could feel the environment. It was raw and primal, but not unfriendly. Few of the insectoids noticed his presence, save as the passage of a creature. He was too large for most to be concerned with, and did not display the chemical signs of threat. To others, he did not appear as prey, and was thus ignored. Some felt his movement and became alert, seeking a meal, but in all cases it was simple hunger, no hatred or anger. There was only one glowing flame of anger out there, and it was far away. Distant it was, though white-hot in its intensity. Ferret wasn't discernible yet. Tirdal focused his Sense and sought.
There. Behind Dagger, and very faint. So Ferret was playing catch-up. Nor was he as obsessed as Dagger. He would be hard to track, but was farther away, so less of a threat. It was likely the two of them would meet up shortly. That would increase the threat. What Tirdal would have to watch for would be the two of them spreading out to channel him.
It was possible they weren't really allies, but from Tirdal's viewpoint, they were both threats. He'd have to be certain he didn't get into terrain that would help pin him for one or the other. Both wanted him dead.
There weren't any other humans. He made sure. It was disturbing that Ferret had snuck past his awareness, as close as he'd been for much of it. It might be that the pain of the neural effect had stunned him, though a mind in pain should have registered. Possibly the collective shriek from four other human minds had drowned him out. Still, it wouldn't do to rely on his Sense alone. It clearly had limits.
There were no other humans, but there was hunger. He was being followed, flanked, stalked by several larger predators and at least one mammalian flyer. He could feel the approaches, most of which veered off as he left a particularly defined territory or simply moved beyond the range to be interesting. There were some, though, that were steadily closing. Occasionally, one would drop out of the pursuit, only to be replaced by another.
Then there was that one. It was moving closer and the hunger it felt was strong, driving. It was going to attack, he felt sure. That was a crisis, but one he could deal with. Summoning the Jem discipline, he forced the tal to a lower level, anticipating its surge when he killed. He hefted his punch gun and prepared to respond. It would be soon, he felt. The creature was to his left and running, now was agitated and there was an animal eagerness.
Now. The charge came as he passed a thick tree bole. The animal was in mid leap, chittering very softly, and in a trajectory to seize Tirdal by the head. That was also a trajectory that put it in perfect position for a punch gun shot, though there was no way such a primitive form could anticipate what was about to happen.
Tirdal turned to meet the rush, raised his weapon and shot. The shot would have been instructive to a human observer. It was smooth, effortless, and caught the animal right in the underside of its head as Tirdal dropped underneath its path. It was not the shot of a clumsy creature unable to kill.
Then Tirdal got slapped by his Sense.
The insect in question was the local evolutionary equivalent of a leopard. It was a large, competent solo hunter with good instincts and high intelligence. It had consciousness and self-awareness, and it reacted to the shot. As Tirdal's shot had been perfectly placed, its mind screamed in agony at having most of its face burned off. Then it landed on that face and tumbled so as to break its neck.
DEATH! Tirdal felt it, staggered, dropped. Feedback through his Sense let him feel the creature's swift but painful end. Stabbing electric icicles drove into his brain from the violent, emotional outburst, and tal squirted into his bloodstream. It met the pain, washed it aside as a flood does debris, and roared toward his brain and self. He didn't even feel the damaged edges of his chest plate grind against nerves.
He was on all fours, shaking, quivering, moaning as delicious tremors rolled over him and heat flushed out from the base of his skull. He'd left himself exposed to the creature's emotions, and now was receiving the rewards. It was sweet, and no longer cloying but thick and syrupy. But it moved with such speed, he was overwhelmed and couldn't respond.
Lintatai. He could feel it. He'd thought he'd felt it while sucking meat from crablike claws, but that was a shadow of this. It suffused his entire being, rippling down his spine and out to his toes and fingertips. It rolled in waves through his brain until he could see and hear it, as powerful as a tropical storm over the ocean.
Then it stopped. It didn't retreat, but it grew no more powerful, as some hidden part of his determination slammed down doors on his Sense and halted the influx. His iron discipline and training yanked him to an eddy in the wash, where he could maintain his Self just long enough to think. He rode the crest, slipped behind it and floundered for only a moment. Then he was in control. He was still awash in a sea of powerful sensations, but he was alert and aware.
He'd thought he was gritting his teeth, but had sliced into his lower lip when he bit down. Wet earth was abrading his cheek and in his nostrils. Tendrils of weeds curled over him, twitching in the breeze of his tortured breathing. All these were real, present and he clutched at them for strength. The cool air. The darkness. He'd voided himself as he lost control, but even as unpleasant as that was, it was a real sensation. He thought to reach out, but his self-control took over. No Sense. None at all. The risk of attack was less dangerous than that of any more tal.
It took long minutes of slow, measured breathing to reach an acceptable level. He opened the front of his suit to let heat vent to the atmosphere. The coolness of evaporating sweat helped, as it was something else real and external. His strength and balance returned, but he remained prone, head on one outstretched arm that was cramping from its circulation-killing grip on the punch gun. He'd wait a while longer before rising.
The lesson here was that he had to rein in his Sense when fighting. It could be an intelligence asset until hostilities began, but then it must be locked away. Some things should not be felt, and battle was one of them. Battle must be a cerebral matter, lest it subvert the mind. So he'd fight as a human did. That was how it was done.
A smile, all teeth, spread across his face. Another valuable lesson had been learned. And it was one he could use at once. Dagger thought he enjoyed killing? Thought he was dangerous?
Dagger had no idea.
Chapter 13
Dark turned slowly to formless grayness, then to twilight. Inside, Da
gger calmed and returned gradually to what passed as normal for him. His breathing slowed from ragged heaves to pants and finally to just exerted breathing. He would not admit it even to himself, but he was glad of the light.
He sought refuge in bullying, as he had always done. "Good morning, Tirdal. Have you had breakfast yet?"
"Why, yes, Dagger, thank you. I had one of the smaller flyer forms. They taste somewhat like duck, or at least that's as close as human animals come. I would compare it more to the bligrol of Darhel. But of course, you've never tasted such."
"Tirdal, we both know you're lying about the meat," he retorted, angered. The little asshole was so unflappable. Well, he'd flap shortly, when Dagger blew his fucking head off his shoulders.
"You seem sure of your statements, Dagger. So why talk to me? Does it make you feel less lonely? Does contradiction please you? Does denying reality and being contrary fill your psyche? If you drown, should I look upstream for you?"
Dagger ignored the incoming attack and kept taunting, probing as he slogged forward in pursuit. Dammit, there had to be a handle somewhere. "Tell me, Tirdal, will you still take that round in the leg for me?"
* * *
"Certainly, Dagger. Where do you want me to meet you?" was Tirdal's reply as he crunched through the brush. The ground here was covered with something akin to dried pine needles from the variety of trees on this slope. They were slightly slippery, tending to slide and roll over each other, and he bent down to lower his center of gravity with the box over his shoulder. It hurt his chest less, too, though it made for greater exertion at the unnatural angle.
"Why don't I meet you, Tirdal?"
"Name the place, Dagger. Unless you're afraid?" Tirdal sparred. "And will you bring Ferret with you? Or will he be stalking you? Or just keeping you company in the dark?"
"Sounds to me like you're hiding your own cowardice, Darhel boy."
"Why is that, Dagger? I've said I will meet you. If you really wish, you know how to track me; that advantage is yours. You profess patience, yet are eager for me to reduce your task. Who here is more afraid? And afraid not only of dying, but of failing in one's alleged area of expertise. And against an urbanite Darhel. Perhaps you are not the tracker you would have others believe you are. Certainly you are not the brave killer."
There was a shift in Dagger's attitude. It was swift, sudden. "Well, even if we concede the point, Tirdal, the fact is that I'm a killer and you aren't." Just like that. Conciliatory, even if only slightly. Less argumentative. What was going on there?
"If it suits you to believe so, Dagger, I'll concede the point," he returned.
"Hey, screw you, Darhel," Dagger shouted. "I'm trying to . . . oh, to hell with it."
That was the end of that conversation, Tirdal thought. But what had Dagger so riled?
He thought as he traveled, trusting that the problem would resolve itself in time. Shortly, his self-awareness prodded him. What was it?
His Sense. That was it. As this had gone on, it had gradually increased in sensitivity. He could feel a direction on Dagger, as he could with things that were very close. Yet Dagger was still quite some distance away, he knew. It had to be related to the continuous flow and recent push of tal. Historical details were hazy, but the Darhel had at one time tracked their prey, scarce as it was, across vicious terrain, following the thought images. That had to be what was happening here. It was probably a good thing he didn't have the full Sense of his ancestors, on a world as populous with life as this. The combined input would likely have driven him insane at once.
The odd thing was that Dagger was not directly behind him, but was following obliquely, as if shadowing. That was interesting. "Dagger," he said, intending to harass him with that bit of knowledge.
But that might not be a good idea. Upon consideration, the less he admitted, the better. Especially since he didn't know how Dagger was doing that.
"What is it, Darhel?" Dagger replied, sounding highly agitated.
"How are you doing for rations, Dagger?" he asked instead. "Besides the flyer, I've had two local lizards and a large insectoid to eat. They do taste somewhat like chicken. I think I understand that human joke now."
"We both know you can't kill, Darhel," Dagger replied, repeating his previous comments, "So don't bullshit me." It was clear, both from his voice and from a niggle to Tirdal's Sense that Dagger had not eaten anything not from his processor. Interesting. Either he couldn't hunt, or was squeamish about raw meat, and Tirdal's blithe comments about it were more spikes in him. Best not to exploit that, yet, either. All these things could be used in their time.
That time might be soon, too, Tirdal realized. The forest was thinning, leaving a large oblate circular area that was likely due to some old burn. It was several kilometers across. Unless he turned to cut across Dagger's course, he had to enter flat ground, which was a very unappealing option. He could go around, but that would slow him, and Ferret might fan out to flank him. Dagger could cut across, safe with his greater ranged weapon, but Tirdal could not. But he knew now what Dagger's problem was. It was fatigue and fear of failure. And it had all come overnight. Was Dagger afraid of the dark, too? Was that why he was probing, pushing, trying to provoke a quick end? If so, even more patience was called for.
He paused to examine the terrain. There was always something not seen at first glance that would help. There was what he sought; a stream coming down from the north had cut a gully through the loose soil of this rich field. That's what he needed. Through there he could move at a decent pace, and even if Dagger found him, he'd get few shots, and those would be obstructed. Girding himself mentally, he trotted toward the shallow creek.
* * *
Ferret was tired. This was as bad as Hell Week in DRT school, and he was amused after a fashion. He'd never thought he'd have to push himself that hard again. Yet here he was, injured, partially maimed, hungry, exhausted and strung out, his mind hazed with drugs despite his best efforts to keep the doses minimal. The initial pain had eased considerably; he now had numb feet and a dull ache that manifested itself as he walked. But a new irritation was about. His knees and good ankle were aching from the exertion of carrying unresponsive feet. His hips were starting to feel it, too. And he was still stumbling and inefficient, causing overall muscle cramps and strain.
He'd been stuffing leaves into his converter as he walked, and eating the patties it put out. Sure, you could adjust them for flavor, but they lacked real texture and weren't the highest protein food. In fact, the leaves hereabout were almost worthless. Vitamins typically were unique to a planet, he didn't really need minerals except potassium for this short a time frame, and fat and protein came from roots and seeds. What he was eating was going to come out about the same way it went in, which would hurt like hell. Still, it kept the edge off the hunger, even if he was craving rat pack tuna with noodles.
Something came to him and he paused in thought. Something about the signs he followed was bugging him. Just to double check, he raised the tracker.
Oh, shit. He was still following Tirdal. Dagger, however, was not leaving any sign. Not ahead, anyway. So assume he'd peeled off to outflank one or the other. Icy adrenaline rippled through him yet again, though it didn't jolt his tired body, simply made him flush.
He thought back for a few moments. He'd seen sign of Dagger recently. Say, five minutes ago. The sign had been about fifteen to twenty-five minutes old, as he'd been gaining during the dark, which was more evidence of his greater competence over them. Still, no Dagger at present. Dagger several minutes away.
That was potentially very good if Dagger was after Tirdal, and potentially deadly if Ferret was the target. Suddenly, he felt very exposed, and his neck and head tickled in fear. His scalp had gone itchy-numb from the helmet's harness, and he'd been planning to take it off for a bit, but thought now he would wait. Not that the helmet would do a damned bit of good against a gauss bead, but it might slow down fragments or a very long-range shot. Or deflect a bead en
ough to keep him alive. Anyway, it made him feel less naked.
He decided it would be good to make contact again. He might as well let those two know he was still here. And there were a few answers he wanted. Or at least questions he would ask. The answers might not be forthcoming, but that would be useful, too. And he might find out why Dagger had pulled off.
"Tirdal," he called.
It was only a moment before Tirdal replied, "Yes, Ferret?"
"I'm still following you, Tirdal," he said.
"Of course you are," was the response. "There's not much else to do until we reach the pod's extraction points, is there?"
"True enough," he agreed. "Tirdal, you asked why I didn't contact you when Dagger fragged everybody. I could ask you that same question, couldn't I? Your silence then says a lot."
"It says either I thought everyone was dead, or that I wanted to be alone and unbothered. You have to decide, of course, though it's rather moot. None of us can trust the others."
"And why should I, Tirdal?" he asked. "You took the box. Why do you have it?"
"I took it to keep it from Dagger," Tirdal replied.
"Fair enough," Ferret said. "But why do you still have it? You could hide it, and ambush Dagger if he came for it."
"That would be silly," Tirdal replied. "We all know I'm not skilled at tracking."
"True," Ferret said. "But Dagger seems to be following you just fine. So why not try the ambush? Or, since he can't get off the planet without you, just leave him the damned box. He'd have to carry it as well, and you could just stalk him as he neared the ship."
"I can't take that risk, Ferret," Tirdal replied. "I have to keep the artifact."
"Why?"
"I have told you."
"Those are pretty thin reasons. You're inconveniencing yourself, and helping Dagger." Ferret was arguing. Something was wrong here, and he didn't know what it was. But the situation didn't make sense.
"There are reasons I think are valid for this," Tirdal said.
