The Hero

by John Ringo

  * * *

  "Got it, Tirdal," Ferret said. Wow. That was only about a kilometer ahead. They were moving as slowly as he was. Of course, three days of fatigue, wounds and the device were burdening them all. "I'll try to bag him. Then you'll join me after that?" he asked. His voice was rising.

  "I can't do that, sorry," Tirdal replied, voice still even, very even.

  "Dammit, Tirdal, I'm on your side! Please!" Ferret said, growing panicky.

  "I don't know human voices well enough to ascertain their qualities. You're distressed, that's all. It's an honest emotion, but not specific enough. You could be being threatened by Dagger, or you could just be in pain."

  Ferret sounded sad, hurt, when he replied, "Then fuck you, you alien turd."

  * * *

  Tirdal was still having trouble with the concept of human stress. They could almost appear to change sides on a whim, especially when angry. Yet usually, there was one side they stuck to. Though they did act on the cusp of the moment sometimes, often unpredictably and illogically. They might go outside the available choices and do something utterly irrelevant.

  What would Ferret and Dagger reasonably do? What might they do that wasn't reasonable? Speculation was necessary, even if likely to be wrong.

  * * *

  Dagger saw the trees tapering to scrub and knew the grassland was ahead. Now would be a good time to detour off to the east and seek high ground. If he could get up on the bluffs he saw, he would be in a good position to parallel Tirdal and get off good shots. He was aching, wiped out and suffering from thirst and hunger, but this would be over soon and he could rest and even cook some meat. He had to admit the little twerp had put up one hell of a struggle. Not bad for a soft, urban wimp.

  Drawing a ragged breath through his parched throat, he shrugged deeper into the straps of his ruck and resumed walking. His step was lighter, though. The end was in sight.

  The slope up toward the bluff was steeper than it looked, which, come to think of it, was a good sign. More height meant a better field of view, meant easier shooting. He leaned far into the pace, and rested by putting his gloved hands down and pulling himself along by tufts of grass and rocks. The stems came up to his head when he did that, and mothlike insectoids fluttered up in his face. He caught one as he inhaled, which got crushed between his lips. He spat dry fluff and insect wings, grimacing in distaste. Dammit. He needed water.

  Well, there wasn't any water, and wouldn't be until he headed down. So it would be best to stop bitching and get the job done. He could and did drag out a freeze-dried package of fruit he'd hoarded from the rat packs. It was fibrous and tough, but melted slowly in his mouth with what little saliva he had, providing some refreshment and much needed sugar. The physical and psychological boost helped him increase his pace slightly.

  The terrain was leveling out and he was on a long fingerlike rill that headed into the forested foothills. Really, this was the long way around back to the Blob site, and he was amazed that the Darhel was doing that.

  Was it possible the Darhel were in league with the Blobs? Dagger considered that, brain working furiously. It just might be. Tirdal didn't seem worried about the Blobs; he did seem afraid of Dagger, despite his banter. It would explain much. When he got back, he'd have to report that.

  Report what, Dagger? We're not going back. Oh, long enough to write a report, so I suppose we can mention it, but really, who gives a damn? Kali was waiting, and Earth, the Alliance and the Republic could go die.

  But as to right now, if Tirdal San Whatever was working with the Blobs and could reach them with his mind, Dagger was screwed. But there was nothing he could do about it, so he would just keep going. And really, Tirdal had had two days to do something and hadn't. It was worth reporting as additional cover to confuse the trail—it might even create conspiracy theories as to Dagger's "disappearance" if he said it in a few bars. Good idea. But there was no threat here.

  Correction: there was one threat. He was the threat to Tirdal. Ferret was a non-starter. It was a shame he couldn't cut the little guy in on a deal, at least to start with.

  Just then, Ferret called.

  * * *

  Ferret was now in a quandary. He was close to Dagger. He didn't want to get too close. Enough into punch gun range to line up a good shot and nail the asshole was all it would take. And a wound would be as good as a kill. As long as the man was incapacitated, he could be dealt with. It would be easier to close at dark, apart from IR signature. It would be easier to close in daylight with good visibility, apart from the equal visibility he'd show. It would be best to do it soon, before pain and fatigue knocked him over. He'd staggered several times recently, and thought he'd had a momentary blackout as he walked. It might have been just the hypnotic effect of pain, but either way, it was time to end this. He didn't have the strength to go another day, he was sure.

  Perhaps he should use that pain for effect now? Appear helpless to Dagger so as to be underestimated, or to present himself as bait. Yeah, what the hell. Enough running through the woods, it was time to bring it to a head. Part of him didn't care anymore.

  "Look, Dagger," he said, "I don't care if you keep the bloody artifact. I don't care if the little alien turd dies. I just want off this rock. Can't we work out a deal?" It was a sellout, maybe. Worst case, he'd try to talk Dagger into giving him a ride somewhere before he took off. Best case, Dagger might make a mistake and Ferret would kill him. The problem in that was that if he were sole survivor, he'd have to have a very good story to back up his case.

  But Ferret didn't want to die. He realized that of a sudden. He had to clamp down tight to avoid getting a stutter, because he felt, knew at that moment that he was going to die before he could get to the pod. Part of him might not care, but another part did. Death from stranding, or gangrene, or by Dagger was scarier, more absolutely gut-puckering than death from the Blobs or feral Posties.

  "That might be possible, Ferret, but you'd have to prove your bona fides. So, you kill Tirdal and you have a deal." Dagger replied.

  Ferret didn't need to be a sensat to know that Dagger had no intention of following through on that bargain, but was just fishing for help. The man was transparent scum. Worse, he didn't seem to care.

  "Then you help me find him. I don't have most of my gear," Ferret lied.

  "Oh, Tirdal won't be hard to find." Dagger could almost be seen to smirk through the voice-only transmission. "He's just out on the savanna, west of the ridge I'm standing on."

  Ferret paused a moment before he replied. Had Dagger known he'd let out that bit of information? He just placed himself relative to Tirdal and the landscape. Ferret couldn't think of a deliberate reason he'd do that. He must have just let it slip out. The next question was, had he realized his possibly lethal error? Or was it a gaffe he was still unaware of? Either way, Ferret had a momentary advantage and was going to push it.

  In his mind, however, he was triumphantly shouting, So that's where you are, you fucking scumbag. Between the grid and that admission, Ferret had him pinned. He was on that rise ahead and to the east. It was a block perhaps two hundred meters square and longer north-south than east-west.

  Controlling his voice, Ferret said, "Okay, Dagger, I'll track the freak down and nail him if I can. Worst case, I'll spot him for you. I'll get the box, and you come and talk things over. Deal?"

  "Sure, Ferret," Dagger replied. He had an easy, smug tone that didn't betray failure. Was he really unaware that he'd given his location away? "We can always talk things over."

  "So let's do it," Ferret said. "I'll head west and pin him and call you back when I'm ready. Whichever way he runs, we'll have cross fire."

  "Looking forward to it, Ferret," Dagger agreed.

  Ferret called Tirdal at once. "Tirdal, Dagger is on that ridge. He's trying to line up for a shot on you."

  "Of course he is, Ferret. This is hardly news," Tirdal replied. He didn't sound surprised.

  Well, no, he wouldn't be. It was, after all, en
tirely reasonable.

  "Yes, Tirdal," Ferret said, "but he's waiting for me to bag you. He thinks I'll do it."

  "I also think you might, given the circumstances. Even if you were not disposed to previously, you have nothing to lose by killing me and blaming me, and the two of you sharing any income. Or just bargaining with him for your life. Though I think you would be foolish to trust anything he says."

  "I don't trust the murdering scum, Tirdal. I do trust you," Ferret said.

  "That would be a useful turn of events," Tirdal agreed, not really sounding enthusiastic even by the standards of a Darhel. "However, there's no effective way to prove it."

  "So let me tell you this, Tirdal," Ferret said. It was part treaty offer, part desperation, and part professional need. "I'm wounded. I need medical attention."

  "You really have my sympathies, Ferret, but I can't possibly get that close to you."

  "Tirdal," Ferret replied, "You tell me what I should do. You're the medic."

  "That's fair enough, Ferret," Tirdal agreed. At last. Something. "Describe the nature of your wounds."

  Ferret said, "I took some of the neural grenade. Both feet and lower part of the left leg. I've got partial feeling in my right ankle, and the rest is a combination of numb and fucking painful. I can walk with difficulty. I took painkillers, a stabilizer, and a minor wound med."

  "If that's true, Ferret," Tirdal replied, "I'm surprised you can walk at all."

  "Much better than Dagger thinks I can, though it hurts like hell. Not as well as I need to."

  "Describe the pain, in detail," Tirdal asked.

  Taking a breath before thinking about the agony, Ferret said, "It was a massive jolt through my body, like an electric shock. Then it was just excruciating in my legs. After some rest and the painkillers, it's just my feet and ankles, and the right one has partial feeling. The feet have no sensation, but when I move them, stabbing pains shoot up to my knees. A bunch of secondary effects like nausea I'm not worried about. But I expect gangrene after a while."

  "Gangrene is unlikely, as long as you maintain circulation," Tirdal said. His voice was the same, but he sounded a tiny bit friendlier, or at least not actively hostile. Amazing what being a cripple did for people's mindset. "To that end, walking is helping you. As no central nervous tissue has been damaged, you should, eventually, make a full recovery. It will take months without therapy, hours or days with proper meds."

  "Really, Tirdal? It's not permanent?" Ferret was elated. He might actually live through this? He forced calm and caution back upon himself. He still had a battle to fight. And he was coming out of the woods, so he'd have to crawl.

  "It shouldn't be," Tirdal said. "Humans have recovered from neural lash before."

  "All right, Tirdal, then I need to get medication. Do you have that?" Crawling was easier than walking, if slower. But he had both of the others located within a few hundred meters. As long as he was alert, he should be fine. And if meds were available . . .

  Tirdal's response was slow. "Ferret, it's an external effect for nerve inductance and is often described as 'excruciating.' My general module can mimic the effect well enough, though it's both extremely painful and easy to find with good scanners. Dagger would likely locate me. Also, you need a nanite to rebuild the tissue. I have that, too. But, Ferret, we can't get that close."

  Panicking for real, now, Ferret replied, "Dammit, Tirdal, I've got to have help! Can't you leave the equipment somewhere and let me find it?" He'd been whipsawed by pending doom and survival for three days now. He was about at his limit.

  Again, a pause. "That might be possible. They are not of use to me, as they are human specific. Your best bet would have been to acquire Shiva's gear before you left the bivouac."

  * * *

  Tirdal felt the pain under Ferret's last reply. And at that moment, human anguish matched with human pain through Ferret just to that edge where Tirdal could feel him, Sense him.

  Ferret was telling the truth.

  Of course, Ferret was still crippled. "Ferret," he said, "I am forced by circumstances to believe you are what you say. I can Sense you. I will meet you. I would, however, prefer that you disarm. I will also need to ask other things of you."

  "Disarm?" came the panicked reply. "I can't do that!"

  "You need not dispose of your weapons," Tirdal said. "You must simply not have them at hand when I meet you. In sight, nearby will suffice. Once you are treated, we can discuss strategy."

  "And what about you? Do you disarm?"

  Tirdal had known he would ask that, and replied, "I have the medical care you need, and the billion credit artifact. My bargaining position is much stronger. You understand that I am risking much, we both are, by doing this."

  "Right," Ferret replied. "I guess I knew that."

  "So tell me where you are, Ferret. I may have to have you move some distance to a safer location."

  "Yes, I know, Tirdal," Ferret replied. And again, Tirdal could feel his honesty. Revealing his location was a very personal, frightening act under the circumstances. It was intimate, in its own way, and Ferret's psyche couldn't cover that. The flash came to Tirdal for a second only, but it was enough. Ferret was what he said. "I'm at the edge of the forest, likely south of you about fourteen hundred meters."

  Tirdal considered. He really couldn't go back, or he'd be exposing himself to Dagger over very flat ground. He had marginal terrain here for cover, but it was better than nothing. If he was able to treat Ferret, who had made it this far with a crippling wound, they'd have the tactical advantage. However, Ferret would ask questions, and Tirdal would have to have answers. He couldn't come up with a convincing lie, and didn't dare tell the truth.

  Also, treating Ferret would take time, and there was no way Dagger was going to leave them alone to do that. Really, the philosophy of life was the true path. The wounded and weak must be allowed to die that the breed could improve. There was certainly no time here to change it.

  Of course, humans didn't think that way for themselves, and didn't even grasp it as an alien concept. Nor was it something he wanted to broach with Ferret at this point. It might serve later, if he needed a panic as a distraction.

  "That's really not a good place at the moment, Ferret," he said. "Exposure is high. Can you travel more?"

  "I can move," Ferret replied, sounding unsure. "But I can't go forever."

  "You shouldn't need to," Tirdal said. "If you can last until dark, we can meet and get you treated. All three of us need rest, and Dagger is less likely to try approaching both of us at night. Also, we can take things in shifts, provided we can come to an agreement." Tirdal didn't need rest that badly; he was just now reaching the level of fatigue that created disorientation. How the two humans were managing was a mystery. They were truly amazing creatures, to be studied further. He realized, however, that making them think he needed rest was good disinformation. Ferret was likely to let some minor amount slip to Dagger, which would keep Dagger off guard. Also, he could use Ferret as bait that way, and perhaps get the sniper between them. This endless draw had to be ended.

  Ferret's reply was full of regret and resignation. "Yes, Tirdal. I can last until dark."

  "Then let us keep each other informed and meet then," Tirdal said.

  "Right."

  * * *

  Dagger was glad to have heard from Ferret. It meant he was failing and couldn't go much longer. In truth, Dagger was amazed he'd done as well as he had. But now it was time for the real expert to end this. He'd casually let slip his own location, hoping Ferret would try to approach him in an eager bid to get a shot. There was no chance of that; he had theoretically a fifteen thousand meter effective range. Ferret's was line of sight, but the beam of a punch gun decayed rapidly from internal effects of the photons and atmosphere. Besides, he could see the tree line from here, clearly through his scope. If Ferret moved, he'd nail him.

  And speaking of which, he was reaching a good place to start spotting and shooting from. He mov
ed to a kneeling position, automatically mindful of concealment. He'd been doing it so long it was instinct. Even from that height, though, he could see the panoramic spread of the plains with late afternoon sun to light everything. The grasses were waving in ripples of yellow and pale green, occasional blues and tans of other vegetation visible in patches. There were dots of herds shuffling across in various directions. The wind was generally toward him from the southwest, which likely didn't matter here but was never a bad thing.

  Now to find his target. That was how he always thought of his enemies: targets. He recalled once giving a lecture to a class who were on a field trip to the base. The teacher had been a cute little thing, but wouldn't give him the time of day. Since he couldn't get in her pants, he'd decided to freak her out. One of the students had asked the age-old question, "How can you shoot someone?"

  He'd given half his gaze to the student, half to the teacher, and replied, "You just superimpose a target over their forehead and shoot the target." Her expression had been precious.

  And Tirdal was about to get a target superimposed on him. As soon as Dagger relocated the little freak.

  Dagger raised his scope and its panoply of sensors and got to work, sitting cross-legged in the grass. He kept an eye out for intrusions or threats, because there were a couple of superbeetles wandering around in the middle distance. It wouldn't do to have one of them attack or even just spook him. Ferret would recognize a spook if he saw one, and close in on him. Tirdal might not, but even so, it didn't fit Dagger's image of his own competence.

  The box was over there. He squinted down to take a cursory look, then raised the rifle slowly until the scope covered that same area. It was a sandy riverbank, and apparently Tirdal was keeping below the crest of it. There was movement, lots of movement of animals burrowing through the tall grass. No particular one stood out. Tirdal was there somewhere, but Dagger wasn't able to tell for sure. Still, sooner or later he'd show himself. Dagger lowered the scope, and grabbed cords from a front pocket of his harness. The first plugged the tracer into his helmet display. That would make it easier to follow. The second plugged into the scope, so he could snag a quick look at magnification or in various spectra to zero in. He'd raise the rifle to proper position to shoot, of course, but in the meantime the scope would serve extra duty.