Now, though, her baths were opportunities to shut out the universe.-Machiko-time she called it. She had all kinds of interesting gadgets in her bath.
Dried off and in her synthsilk robe, she'd been in a reverie that she liked to think of as meditation but was actually a regretful daydreaming that she'd started at this dead-end job here, when the phone had rung.
She ignored it.
Attila, however, had not. Attila had answered and then had insisted she take it. This made her think seriously about selling Attila. However, she did take the portable phone and placed it to her half-listening ear.
That was the first time she had heard the name Livermore Evanston.
It was only after she'd rung off and discussed the phone call with Attila that she realized, with the android's help, that the address she'd been invited to that evening was a docking bay at the spaceport. In all likelihood she would be heading that evening to the space yacht she and Attila had witnessed landing. Attila had been all a twitter about the possibilities, but Machiko remained stoic and suspicious.
There was too much to lose if any kind of hope crept into the mix.
"Let me put my cards on the table from the beginning," said Livermore Evanston. "I know quite a bit about what happened on Ryushi than most people. And I know more about you than the corporation does."
She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You want to spell out exactly what you mean by that?"
He knew about the Hunters? That seemed unlikely. They kept a low profile, and their maneuvers through human as well as universal history had been veiled with secrecy. That, after all, had been part of their Game.
Her time with the yautja was officially "unaccounted for" in Company records; the Company didn't know what had happened in the time she was missing, but they knew enough to bury her someplace safe. They'd thought they had done that when they left her on Ryushi after the colony was moved.
"I know about your experience with the alien arichnida."
"The bugs, you mean."
"Yes. They are, frankly, the reason I'm here."
Something sparked in Machiko. She could not help but move forward. Doubtless, interest flamed in her eyes. It wasn't a good poker face anymore. Fuck it. Bugs were Bad. Anything that had to do with squishing them was worth paying attention to, and every little bit of help she could extend to eradicating them from the galaxy she did not begrudge.
"I'm listening."
"You seem to have a reaction to the creatures."
"I do. They need to be destroyed."
"So your dossier would indicate. And if your survival on Ryushi proves anything, you're quite talented in that area. Although your settlement was all but wiped out, your experience, your skill, and your valor were noted-however, you disappeared for years..." He let the sentence hang, waiting for her to fill in the blanks.
She sipped her wine and left them empty.
". . . and then suddenly you reemerged on that mining planet, in better shape than ever."
"Yes. Gordian."
"A planet with a bug problem."
"Yes."
"Along with some sort of other mysterious problem . . . ."
Again she sipped wine. He did not probe.
She remembered how it had been on Gordian, another human colony world seeded with bugs by the Predators she hunted with. She had to make a decision there. She had to choose between the yautja she Hunted with for two years and tried so desperately to win honor from, or the colonists, creatures of the painful race that was her own, that had caused her and her family so much shame. Her sense of humanity had won out. She had thrown in her lot with the colonists and beside them had fought off the Hunters. The margin of victory had been slim.
Evanston had assumed a serious, closed aspect, sealed with a frown during these last sentences. Now, though, he smiled and assumed a jolly openness once more.
Livermore Evanston was a round and pudgy man, but there was no sign of a lack of strength, either physical or mental, in his face or body. He exuded a vitality of power and enthusiasm beneath his mask of indolence. He wore beautifully tailored and color coordinated clothing in a business-suit ensemble that looked as comfortable as it was neat. Expensive, like everything else around here, no doubt. His hair was a lovely mass of artfully coiffed curls-dappled brown and gray-and he wore a tastefully cut goatee. He smelled of lemony sandalwood cologne and pipe tobacco. He was the epitome of the excesses and might of civilization, and Machiko Noguchi had to admit to herself that she was very, very intrigued.
"Ah. I'm getting ahead of myself. I am a creature of curiosity. I forgot my promise to you. I have the advantage here. I know far more about you than you know about me."
He paused then and slipped his hand into his pocket as though he were digging around for a pipe. Then, as though deciding against it, he pulled his hand out again and reached for his glass of wine.
He did not drink it, just stared into its clear, deep red as he spoke.
"A little rectification, then, is called for."
A scratch of the nose, as though an aid to considering the best phrasing.
"I have this planet, you see . . ."
That was a little too much for Machiko to take, right from the start. "Wait a minute. You're clearly a wealthy man-but you're telling me you own a world."
"Hmm. Yes. A bit off the beaten track, but then so is this wonderful little place."
"Never has sarcasm been so truly used. You mentioned before you're not a member of the corporation."
"No. I trade with the corporation. I got my start in the Rigel system, you see. A huge inheritance and I've been nothing but a pure entrepreneur since I can remember. All sorts of businesses and technologies and conglomerates. Much of what constitutes the modern starship engine was designed in my engineering think tanks." He shook his hand expressively and dismissively. "Enough of that. I'm loaded, okay? So loaded that I personally sent out an expedition in an unsettled and unexplored region of the galaxy, personally colonized it, and set up an enterprise unlike anything in human history." He took a deep breath and exhaled through a tentative, chagrined smile. "However, we've got a problem."
"I suspected as much."
"Yes. There's been a sudden and unexpected bug infestation . . . and the hell of it is that we don't know where they came from or how they got there." He looked at her with an arched, bushy eyebrow. "A situation very similar to that on Gordian, right down to the mysterious and unexplained deaths. Also similar to Ryushi. It's been said, you know, that planet is haunted."
"Yes, I've heard that theory too."
He tapped his fingers on the table, looking at her expectantly, as though she were going to solve his problem with a pronouncement of some sort.
She, however, said nothing, even though the interest still burned in her eyes, undisguised.
"I suppose you'd like to know what sort of planet it is I own."
"Something that would make money, I presume."
"Oh, yes. But it's something that's important to me as well." Tap tap tap. "I have your dossier. I'm aware of your abilities with weapons, and your excellence in martial arts. However, your write-up is not complete. Have you ever hunted, Machiko Noguchi?"
She smiled. "Yes."
"What?" .
"Bugs."
"That wasn't sport, that was necessity."
She let that go. He said it, she didn't. The further away the subject stayed from the Predators, the better. She smelled possibilities here, and there was no reason to louse them up with a little jaunt into Alienland. Let that business be her little secret. It was bad enough, betraying her pack to save her humanity. She didn't want to broadcast that little personal bit of mixed courage and shame.
She shrugged. "I went duck hunting once."
"Then you know something of the thrill of the sport."
She nodded.
That was the understatement of the year.
Hunting with her pack had come to make multiple orgasms feel mild and mundane.
&n
bsp; "Good. I had that feeling about you."
"Is this suspense thing to keep me interested? I mean, I came to your ship, didn't I?"
"I'm sorry. A bit of sales technique. I've never quite gotten out of the habit." He leaned back and rubbed his pudgy hands together gleefully. "You see, it's a hunter's planet, Machiko."
"I kind of guessed."
"Good. I suppose you're aware of the restrictions that have been placed on blood sports on many worlds."
"You have governments and they tend to make laws. You have corporations and they make laws too."
Evanston nodded soberly. "Yes. And as civilization proceeds its dizzy climb up the ladder of Progress, the elevated few who think that they can legislate morality have lost track of some of the needs of humankind."
"Like hunting."
"Precisely. It's in the fiber, the very marrow, of humanity. The hunt . . . Instincts die hard." He winked at her and patted his chest. "I know. They're right in here."
"Hmm. I'm catching the drift. You find and colonize your own world. You go and shoot its creatures without any threat of reprisal."
"That's not the whole story. I import creatures as well . . . fine, ferocious creatures. Worthy of glory. I then sell tickets to people who can afford them."
"Ship them out, let them chase beasties about."
"Yes."
"Sounds ideal."
"That's what I thought, Machiko. I didn't bargain, though, on the arrival of the bugs."
"A bit more than your hunters can deal with."
A grave nod. "At the moment I'm pretending it was all planned. There have been deaths, but that just adds spice to the sporting. However, deaths are one thing . . . catastrophe's another. I'd like to hire you to avert catastrophe."
"One little problem, Mr. Evanston. As the song says, I owe my soul to the Company store."
"Ah, yes, the beloved corporation. They didn't know quite what to make of you when you came back, did they? They considered you a loose cannon, and so they put you out to Pasture World. Yes, yes, I'm well aware of the confines of your life, Machiko. However, I'm a man of means-and a man of contacts. If you'll sign on to help deal with this alien manifestation on my planet-with the understanding, of course, that you'll be well remunerated for your effort-I will not merely get you leave from this backwater nothing of a planet"-he smiled-"I'll get your contract torn up."
She blinked. "You can do that?"
Evanston nodded.
"Hmmm." She stood up and paced.
It was too good to be true. There had to be a catch.
She looked the gift horse in the mouth.
"How do I know that I won't be stepping from the frying pan into the fire?"
"Oh, it's a fire, all right. But you hate the frying pan, I know, and it's my take on you, Machiko, that you love fires. Your element, so to speak."
"I don't know. You're telling me the whole story here, right?"
"No. Of course there are details . . ."
"Details that would make me regret my decision to jump on your horse?"
Again the shrug. "You'll have to wait and see. Look, I'll tell you what. Come with me, and I'll make you an advance. Work for a week or two. If things aren't to your liking, the advance will be enough to start a new life somewhere."
"You'd pay that much up front?"
"Indeed. And you won't even have to spend any of it for ship fare. I'll put you on one of my ships."
"I can get this in writing."
"Yes, and I'll be legally bound to let you free."
"You must know I hate it here. How do you know I wouldn't just use the opportunity to get out of this bureaucratic hell and then skip?"
"Like I said, I have a dossier full of information on you. Including your family history. That would be a shameful thing to do, Machiko, and you know how shamed your family's name is already."
Machiko nodded. "Yes."
"And may I also suggest that a successful completion of this task will not merely make you an independently wealthy individual . . . it will add just about all the honor and self-esteem to your individuality you crave so much."
She sat back down. "I wonder if there's enough in the entire universe." She looked up at her prospective employer. "You've certainly done your homework."
"Money buys a great deal."
"You certainly want it to buy me."
"As I said, I think I understand something of your psyche. I'm not buying you. Money isn't your thing, Machiko Noguchi. I'm offering you freedom . . . and self-respect within human society. You'd be able to go home again, Machiko. Go home, with your head high."
She thought about the offer for a moment more.
And then she gave him her answer.
* * *
Chapter 5
The yautja danced.
Lar'nix'va danced the dance of Death. Not just a Path dance, but The Path dance.
His opponent hissed and clacked before his spear, seeming aware of the importance of this battle. Beyond life, above Death. It smelled of its acid, though it had not bled yet. It had just been detected with a sensor and then beaten from the bush where it had been hiding.
The pack had challenged Lar'nix'va's assumption of the role of Leader. The kainde amedha chives, the Hard Meat Trial, would prove his worthiness.
To Lar'nix'va, though, it was just one more step on his personal path, a path that had engraved itself upon his soul at a very early age.
The Hard Meat lunged.
Lar'nix'va dodged backward and performed a graceful flip. A showy maneuver, certainly, but then this kill wasn't just for sport or for blooding-it was to illustrate for certain that he was worthy of not just a questionable Leadership, but a brilliant and honorable Leadership with more than a touch of pride and swagger. Thus would he take the next step up the ladder, for the other packs that Hunted on this planet would surely have to take note. The situation merited extreme scrutiny, and by his careful and panache filled Leadership, Lar'nix'va knew that he would attract the attention of the elders. Thus he hoped to command many yautja, not just a pack. Thus he hoped to attract many females, breed many children, and make such a name in the genetic pool as had not been heard in many Passings. To think that the elders had once considered him unsuitable for breeding, had even considered severing his gonads. It was not just ambition that drove this warrior, but outrage. Soon there would be many yautja a few noks shorter than the norm. But they would be superior warriors and good solid breeders, without question. His name would not just be in history books, but written in the annals of the genome.
With this fire of intention that burned in him, he took a couple of fancy steps, confusing the Hard Meat and impressing his fellows with his nimbleness. Then, before the kainde amedha had the opportunity even to consider the possibility of fleeing, he raced forward and with stunning speed lopped off one of its forward limbs. Even as the sword sharp length of special steel sliced through the last bit of chitin, Lar'nix'va yanked it back and stepped away from the spray of acid blood, not merely in the prescribed training fashion, but with a glorious flourish and a deep bellow of victory.
The Hard Meat shrieked, but it bore forward, its long head darting out, drooling and snapping.
The good thing about the kainde amedha was that, while they could be wily and hard to deal with in the closed space of tunnels and darkness, out in the open they were highly predictable. They sought to attack and kill, and that was it. A warrior merely had to time his attack and defense in cadence to the instinctual performance of his prey.
Now Lar'nix'va played with that. This was his Dance.
The Hard Meat struck, its limb dangling horribly. Fortunately, the limb had ceased spurting acid, merely dribbling now, so that Lar'nix'va dared to dart in and attack once more. He saw a perfect opportunity to slash open the creature's thorax. However, the fight would have been over too soon then, cheapening his glory. He signaled with a whistle his decision to attenuate the battle, and then instead of making it a quick kill, he whacked
down with the blade upon the thing's leg.
The limb was tough. The blade bit into it but did not sever it. The spear was stuck. Acid streamed out. Rather than pull on the spear and risk a-slash from the jaws or remaining limbs, Lar`nix`va abandoned it, leaping back with fancy footwork.
Then, rather than receive another spear from his fellows, he did the glorious thing.
Lar'nix'va pulled out his short blade.
He heard the mandibles of the pack behind him chatter with disbelieving approval. This was an insane thing to do, but a little insanity in the Leader was always respected.
Lar'nix'va capered around the Hard Meat speedily, and then, before it could do anything in defense, he jumped. His leg muscles drove him up onto its back, and with a powerful blow the new Leader brought the blade down upon the back of the cranium. The sharp steel pierced the armor, driving perfectly into a node that controlled the creature's reflexes. Before he could be, grabbed, Lar`nix`va bounded away.
The Hard Meat screamed.
It rolled and convulsed.
Maddened and in terrible pain, it tried to leap toward the warrior responsible, but its limbs would not respond. With a clatter and clunking it fell into a hellish heap.
Lar'nix'va darted in, grabbed his spear, which had fallen away, and with a fluid motion rammed the weapon down and through the thorax with such force that the Hard Meat was pinned to the ground.
Then Lar`nix`va leaped away.
With the life of the thing leaking into the dirt, he turned to his fellows.
"Can you doubt now that I am a Leader?" he said.
"No," said a tall warrior named Bakuub, sullenly. "We cannot. However, there is more to a Leader than an individual feat. You well deserve your skull here, and the honor that this kill heaps upon you, a milestone on your Path. However, we must see how the pack works under you. Times are serious, and we cannot hazard a bad choice."
Lar'nix'va could feel the blood rush to his head. However, he controlled his temper. By rights all he had to do was call this a challenge from the troublesome fool and defeat him in a duel. However, Bakuub was correct. They were in a troublesome position. Most likely Bakuub would be killed in such a duel, and the pack-Lar'nix'va's pack-would thus lose efficacy.
Aliens vs Predator 2 - Hunter's Planet Page 5