by Steve Perry
He watched as the counter ran slowly backward. They were close to this place, this dust world, but there was still plenty of time for the Hard Meat children to find hosts. The tagged babes should be drones by the ship's arrival, but there was not so much slack that they would have time to colonize. Timing was all.
Dachande smiled. Part of being a Leader was not to seem excited by the prospect of a training Hunt, but in the privacy of his chamber, he allowed himself to feel the warmth of things to come. And somehow, this one felt different-there was an air of . . . something.
He switched the monitor off and stroked his broken tusk absently. He was too old to muddle himself with cosmic questions, but he knew the words of his ancestors: Thin-de le'hsaun `aloun'myin-de/bpi-de gka-de hsou-depaya--Learn the gift of all sights or finish in the dance of fallen gods.
Dachande cackled and stood up. Philosophy was not his bent. He was a warrior. Let the old ones worry about such things. He was a doer, not a thinker. It was better that way. Almost always.
* * *
Chapter 4
Machiko Noguchi couldn't find the green crayon. There was the jade one and the blue-green, but the emerald-green was missing, and it was the only color that would work for the dragon's eyes.
She sighed and carefully dumped out the crayon pack. Things had been going so well until now, it wasn't fair. It was her day off from school and she had received permission to play quietly in her room for two whole hours before dinnertime. The picture of the dragon was going to be a gift for her father; she knew that he had been talking about a promotion for a long time, and that today he had an important meeting with his supervisor.
And the green was misplaced. Her parents had taught her to put things in their place because order was a very important rule; knowing where things were was a crucial ingredient to a successful life. She felt vaguely anxious as she sorted through the different shades-what if it wasn't there? What then?
Machiko spotted the crayon and nodded to herself. She had put it in with the blues by mistake, that was all. It was understandable; she would just have to be more careful...
She heard the front door open and close downstairs as she meticulously shaded in the dragon's eyes-emerald with gold rims. A cool spring breeze wafted in through her open window with the sounds of small children playing down the street. A good day. And it was going to be a beautiful picture, a long-tailed, proud dragon with green and lavender scales and red taloned feet-
Machiko frowned and looked up. Her mother had not called out to her. Mother had gone to the store to buy things for a special dinner, her father's favorite dishes. But Mother always called to her when she returned from an errand. Perhaps she had gone back outside to carry in more things . . .
Machiko stood and walked to the door of her tidy room where she paused and listened. Maybe she had not heard her mother come in after all; the house was very still. She was about to go back to her picture when she heard a noise.
"Mother?" Nothing.
It had been like a heavy sigh, that noise. From down the hall-her father's study or perhaps her parents' room. Machiko was suddenly not sure if it was a good day at all. The silent house was not peaceful anymore, it was-empty.
Bad.
She walked very slowly down the hallway, staying close to one wall. Her feet seemed like lead; with each step, her fear increased. Her mother would have surely answered, wouldn't she? Who was in their house? Should she leave?
Yes. Machiko decided that it would be good to wait outside for her mother to return. She would say that she had heard a noise and her mother would know what to do.
Except the front door . . .
Was past the study. Past her parents' room.
Machiko felt her legs trembling. The back of her neck was damp and sticky, and her stomach felt as if it were made of stone. She took another tentative step and hesitated. And she heard another noise.
All at once, Machiko relaxed. It was her father! That was the sound of his chair creaking back, as familiar a sound as his voice or the clatter of his key cards. She straightened up and started toward his door, smiling in relief. He had come home early, that was all.
"Father," she began, and reached out to knock. "I thought-"
Her words faltered as the door to his study swung inward. She had time to register surprise that he had left it unlatched before she saw him. Before she saw the knife.
And the blood.
Machiko screamed and ran to her father's side, where she pleaded and cried for him to get up, to speak, to stop pretending. She pulled at him for a long time. When he finally fell to the floor, she was drenched in his blood. He opened his eyes and sat up, smiling gently at her, arms spread.
"This is for you, Machiko," he said, and embraced her. Except that now his arms were claws and his head was a dragon's. His forked tongue flickered out as his gold-rimmed eyes began to bleed emerald tears. He pulled back to look at her as she began to wail in terror.
"You are my child," the words rasped from his dragon-face. "Redeem me . . ."
Noguchi sat up quickly, her breath coming in short gasps. She almost screamed before she realized where she was.
"Lights," she called out shakily. Her room glowed gently to life. Noguchi hugged her knees to her chest and tried to breathe deeply. Always the same dream, except she had not had it for a long time.
She had been covered in her father's blood when her mother had found her. There had been no note, only the Death Poem that her mother would not let her read until years later, but the reason had come to light that same night: the esteemed Akira Noguchi, an accountant for the Yashido Company, had been fired for embezzlement. The same man who had scolded her when she had lied about stealing a piece of candy at the age of five, the man who had taught her the value of order. The father who had taught her honor . . .
"Bastard," she murmured, angry. Except her voice didn't sound angry at all. The memories came back so easily when she let them, and now she was helpless to stop them. She had ripped up the dragon picture after the funeral; it had never been finished. The stain on their family's name had eventually faded, and when she was in college, her mother had remarried. She had met her stepfather once. He had seemed like a pleasant man, but she never got past the feeling that her mother had married him so that she would no longer be a Noguchi.
She and her mother spoke occasionally, but any closeness they had once shared was gone. Keiko Noguchi Ueda had never understood how her daughter had really felt. When she had called her mother with the news of her move to Ryushi, her mother had been so proud. "Your father would have been pleased," she had said. Her father.
Noguchi took in a deep breath and closed her eyes. None of that mattered anymore, she did not need to think of it. She was a corporate overseer for a major corporation on a planet far from Earth, and she was good at her job. She would become better in time; she would earn the ranchers' trust and would carry out her position with-with "Honor," she whispered. And try as she might, she could not hold back the single tear that coursed down her cheek.
The Lector had made it to Ryushi a little before local nightfall. Scott knew there would be some hard workdays ahead for the ranchers and The Lector crew, but as pilot, he had minimal responsibilities for a few days. About damned time for a break.
He and Tom stepped off the ramp and into the deepening twilight of the desert world. They were at the edge of a small, dingy town that smelled like manure, straight out of an old Western vid. There was no one to greet them. In fact, the place looked uninhabited.
Scott grinned. "Looks like somebody forgot to organize the parade," he said. He turned to look at Tom-and Tom wasn't there.
Scott spun and looked around. The Lector, too, was gone. Behind him lay only a vast, dusty plain, with mountains far in the distance.
"Tom!" he shouted. No reply.
Scott turned to look at the deserted town. It was almost full dark now, but there were no lights in any of the empty windows. There were only a few faded, a
lmost nondescript buildings, their doors latched against the hot, sandy winds that blew mournfully through the lonely settlement.
Scott cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted.
"Hello! Is anyone here?"
Nothing. In spite of the weather, Scott was suddenly cold. He took a few steps toward the nearest structure and then stopped.
A high, piercing cry came from inside the building. It had the same shrill tone of an animal in pain-except it was angry. The keening wail rose to a fevered pitch, the sound of insanity and hatred. There was nothing human about it.
Scott stumbled backward and fell. He scrambled at the ground, tried desperately to pull himself back to his feet, but he couldn't seem to manage it. He tried to crawl away from the horrible sound but it filled his ears and surrounded him. From behind, he heard the door swing open and the shriek of the creature got impossibly louder.
There was no escape. Scott began to scream. He screamed because he knew what it was, the thing, and he knew that to look at it meant death.
-the Jabberwocky-!
Scott woke up in a cold sweat in a dark room on The Lector, still over a week out from Ryushi. He did not get back to sleep that night.
Under the pouring rain, Yeyinde aimed at the Hard Meat drone with his burner and depressed the control. The running bug howled and fell back in a gout of thwei, limbs clattering.
Behind him the Leader shouted commands to the other students as the hot, harsh liquid splashed down from the sky, obscuring suit vision.
Another drone ran toward him and Yeyinde fired again, excited and anxious all at once. He felt fear clench his bowels briefly, but the cold twist was quickly overriden by heat. The beast in him snarled and grew proud: Two! His first Hunt and there were two in his name!
The threat seemed to fall away as the bugs stopped, their assault. Yeyinde spun around, looked for more to kill. Between the burning rain and the hanging trees of the dto, it was hard to see.
The Leader, `A'ni-de, called out. The Hunt was completed. The yautja cheered and hissed their triumph, Yeyinde's voice among them. He looked through the dancing young warriors for Nei'hman-de, whose blood he shared by the same father. Nei'hman-de was a strong yautja and fast fighter, but he surely did not kill two. Nei'hma-de and he had grown together, play. Hunting as growing suckers-and now they would share their first kill, share the victory of the Blooding. How could life get any better than this?
"Nei'hman-de!" Yeyinde moved through the rain and called for his mei'hswei. "Nei'lunan-de!"
A talon fell hard on his shoulder. `A'ni-de.
"Neffiman-de is dead," the Leader said coldly. "He did not move properly. Now go stand at your kill for approval."
Yeyinde widened his eyes. "But Neffiman-de is--"
`A'ni-de backhanded him roughly, sent Yeyinde to his knees in the mud. "You question?" The Leader glowered over him, tusks flared.
Yeyinde bowed his head in submission. After a tense moment, `A'ni-de stalked away.
The young warrior stood and trudged through the downpour back to the fallen drones. That a warrior's life was hard, he knew. That yautja sometimes died, he knew as well. Nei'hmande, gone. It did not seem real that it could be.
Unbidden came a memory. Of a time when he and his brother had sat drinking c'ntlip, the fiery brew that fogged mind and body with pleasure. Someday they would be Leaders, not only of ships but of other Leaders. Great would be their fame. Stories would be sung of their Hunts for a thousand years, each of them was certain. It had been as clear as the high mountain air to them. Warriors together, they would Hunt, they would make the females howl in ecstasy, they would father each two hundred sucklings. Much could be laid to the liquor, of course, but he and his brother had truly believed the core of their fantasy. They would be the ones to survive and rise; it would be the other un-Blooded who would fall. Of that there had been no doubt, none.
Only now, it was his brother who had fallen and his own head was hung low after his first Hunt . . .
Yeyinde raised his eyes and saw the results of his prowess. Two bugs lay on the watery ground because of him. And at that moment, he saw the Path; there would no longer be a place for the dreams of youth in him. Nei'hman-de was gone, but he was alive-and now a warrior. And a warrior did not waste his time looking over his shoulder at the past. Done was done. Regret would not bring back the dead.
Yeyinde held his head high as `A'ni-de traced a claw wet with Hard Meat thwei in the space between his eyes. He ignored the sharp sting as the acid thwei cut into his flesh to mingle with his own blood, blood that neutralized much of the Hard Meat's power. The burning mark was proof of his skill and his adulthood, a jagged etched badge for all to see. Of all the yautja on this Hunt, only he had killed two. Never again would he bow to the kinship of other males; aligning oneself with a loser was not the Path, and any yautja could lose . . .
Dachande awoke warm with pride of the memory. It was long ago and there had been many Hunts since, many of them harder and bloodier than the first. But the first had been where he discovered the truth of the warrior; it was a truth that had served him well. Now it was his turn to pass the knowledge on, to teach it to the young ones who had yet to feel the power of the Hunt, to know the joy of the first kill. It had been a long time since he had felt that newness but the dream brought it back as if it had been only moments past. The Hunt was what a warrior lived for; all else was nothing compared to it. Honor. Skill. Victory. Those were the things of life.
* * *
Chapter 5
Noguchi left her apartment early so she could catch Hiroki before he made rounds. The corporation employees' living quarters were all in the same building as the offices and mess hall, along with the community center and central operations; narrow passageways connected this building to the equipment storage and the main garage. To the east and south was open range; the north, mountains, and west was Iwa Gorge, a canyon too deep and long to herd the rhynth-although it certainly kept them from wandering too far in that direction. One less fence to build.
Noguchi walked through the connecting hall and saw one of the geotechs headed toward her, a thin older man with brown skin and very little hair. His name was . . . Hein? Hinn?
As they passed she made a conscious effort to smile and nod at the man. He seemed vaguely surprised, but returned the courtesy, his teeth a sharp contrast to his dark face.
A condescending voice spoke in her head. That wasn't too hard, now was it?
Noguchi made a mental note to check the personnel files that evening. She felt almost embarrassed; six months and she didn't even know the people she was supposed to be working with.
All of that was going to change. Noguchi had started to realize just how little she had seen of Prosperity Wells. She had, of course, spent time learning the layout of the complex when she'd first arrived; it was an efficient setup. A med center with helipad; there were quarantine and holding pens for the rhynth, a transmitter/communications control shack, and a school connected to a rec center. There was also a fairly decent, if very small, shopping mall, complete with two tiny restaurants and a bar. Not that any of these got much use. Only the company people lived in the Wells, although most of the ranchers were in walking distance-if you didn't mind a long and hot hike. If it wasn't Earth, at least an attempt had been made to try to make it look like a town. There were hardly enough people in the gene pool to turn the planet into anything civilized, and even with more settlers, it wasn't likely to ever be a major population center; still, the company had made a token effort to make it look like home.
But besides seeing an occasional holovid at the rec's theater, she hadn't really been a member of the community. It wasn't her home and she wasn't going to stay here any longer than it took to show a profit and shine in the company's eyes enough to earn a transfer to the next rung on the ladder. But Hiroki was right, she would have to do what was necessary to earn the spot and so far she had remained as insulated as a thermetic bottle.
And The Le
ctor would be arriving in less than seventy-two hours . . .
So I imagine everyone will welcome me with open arms and songs of greeting now that I'm finally ready, hai?
Right.
As she walked between shelves piled high with bike and copter parts, she heard voices from the direction of the open entryway into the yard. She could make out the distinct soft tone of Hiroki's voice among the others; he sounded irritated.
Noguchi slowed her pace to catch the gist of the conversation she was about to walk into.
". . . not the point, Hiroki! The company's making a killing from our sweat and we're getting screwed, right, Ackland?"
"That's the way the Ranchers Association sees it."
Noguchi waited just inside the door to listen for another moment; several ranchers and Hiroki stood in a loose circle several meters away. She could just see the edge of Ackland's heavy rhynth-hide coat, which he wore even on the hottest day. He was a large, opinionated man who had an amazing ability to cause friction.
"I don't even know why I'm discussing this with you," said Hiroki. "Ms. Noguchi is in charge now. You should be talking to her."
A perfect cue. Noguchi stepped forward and through the entry.
"That bitch? She doesn't give a shit about us," said Ackland.
"Maybe if she got laid once in a while-" started one of the other ranchers. Rick Harrison.
"Anybody who tried would freeze his dick off," said one of Ackland's men.
The group chuckled, all except for Hiroki.
Harrison broke off abruptly when he spotted her striding toward them. He coughed suddenly into his hand.