The Battle for Tomorrow (Ilon the Hunter)

by Frederick Bell

  The next thing Borobos remembered was waking up on the ground. She was in terrible agony. Her leg was throbbing, the pain of it causing her to groan whenever she tried to move. For several moments she drifted in and out of consciousness, waking only to feel the fierce pain in her leg push her back under. Blinking her eyes open she was scarcely aware of a growling sound. Something dark swam into her vision. Tall, black hide, its sharp toe-nails clicking on the pavement as it approached. What she saw was a waking nightmare, a hallucination. Had she not been depositing weapons at sites where the segathars were known to congregate, then she might have never surmised the horrible possibility. Laying absolutely still Borobos watched the big segathar turnabout, lag gun in hand. The monstrous creature was so close that it could have easily leaned over and bitten into her. To make even the slightest movement now she would be killed. With practiced motions the segathar hoisted its lag gun and fired off three quick bursts before slinking back into the shadows.

  Later, when Borobos awoke, someone was leaning over her as she was being wheeled toward an awaiting emergency shuttle. “You’re lucky to be alive. Did you see anything?”

  Before she lost consciousness she glanced up and said firmly, “No. Nothing.”

  Chapter Thirty Two

  The day was hot, the sun shining fiercely down. A dry dusty wind was blowing in from the north, bringing with it a shimmering wave of heat that was visible all the way to the horizon. The sun was well above the field when Ilon walked out of the shadow of the forest. His mother stood alongside him, her blue eyes nictitating in the bright sunlight. Shielding his own eyes he gazed out across the empty plain, into this translucent sea of hot air. Something metallic glinted near the surface.

  “The Iranha city. Do you see it?”

  Horhon’s jaw clacked loudly shut. “I smell it.”

  What she stated was undeniably true. There was an unnatural brown haze floating visibly over the plain, a choking, stinking length that extended well beyond the city boundaries, reaching them out here. Some of the forest’s mightiest trees were beginning to show signs of deterioration; other plants were drying up and blowing away to dust. A new kind of death was coming from the sky, poisoning their very existence.

  While Ilon was busy thinking, Horhon saw the intensity of his movements and spoke calmly. “We were successful last night,” she reminded him. “Many Iranha were killed, many machines were destroyed.”

  “Hardly enough. Not enough to make even a dent. We need more Iranha weapons.”

  “Weapons we have. Hunters we don’t have. We are only a small force fighting against a numberless horde. To even return from such an encounter still alive is a victory for us—it must be.”

  True, there were victories, they were striking back, but Ilon was finding the slow pace frustrating. What he really wanted was a single swift attack, to wipe them out utterly and totally. Perhaps that was never going to happen, yet he saw the future and in it was a world without cities, without Iranha. Nevertheless he wasn’t encouraged by their snail-pace progress and wished for the future to be here now.

  “Then we must find more hunters,” he said simply and firmly. “Scour the forest and plain, bring them here.”

  Horhon frowned. It was an impractical idea. How would they feed such an army? Egris were voracious eaters, and since there were already several trods feeding here it would not be long before the forest was depleted of game.

  “There are too many of us now. Surely the hunters you want cannot all stay here.”

  “Turn some of them away? That will be hard to do.”

  “Hard, yes, but even harder is keeping such a large number together, and fed. You know the problems.”

  “I do,” he sighed.

  Sweat was pouring off his face when Horhon indicated that it was time to return. Ilon walked all of the way home in thinking silence. He was disillusioned by what he had accomplished so far. But mostly he worried because he knew the Iranha were still winning, which made it very difficult for him to convince these hunters to keep on fighting. Circumstances had made him the leader of this movement, yet how much longer would he be able to keep them all together?

  Sleep was the only opportunity he had to not worry about the problems, though when he awoke at dusk his first thought was of the impending battle. So far, their guerrilla tactics had worked surprisingly well. Rather than a direct confrontation they conducted the raids at night under the cover of darkness, going in undetected, destroying their target, then slipping away. Outwardly all of the trods were in complete agreement and no one disputed the satisfactory results.

  However, Ilon himself was his own greatest critic. Yes, they were killing Iranha, but ultimately how would this stop the Iranha from killing them? The hunters wanted to see that happen today, now. This was his biggest problem, making them understand that their present and their future were very much a part of the same reality. They, like him, shared the same vision, though their interpretation differed from his own. To them the future was fixed and unchangeable. Therefore it could not be planned out or initiated, since what would happen would happen. Not so, Ilon believed, for it was what they did now, in the present, that would bring about a better future for everyone. So for as long as he remained their leader this battle would continue.

  Just after dark Ilon climbed to the surface. He built a small fire and sat down to wait. As he expected, the hunters came up one by one to sit beside him, and when this large group was assembled he rose to his feet.

  “Horhon, Alpeak, Targasesk, Sandisand.” In all there were thirteen names, all leaders whom he addressed with respect and courtesy. “And brave hunters,” he said to his audience. “You are all here. This is what we must do tonight,” he told them, laying out the plan in detail.

  It was a strange and disturbing concept, there were even some gasps from those in the audience, but because of his past successes everyone listened on, eager to hear more.

  “Sandisand. Your trod comprises the smallest fighting force, yet you have the greatest part.”

  The hunter puffed out her chest for all eyes were upon her. “My hunters are yours, so may your thoughts be ours. Let your words guide us all to victory. What must we do?”

  “We must take the war to their city. The Iranha are the city, the city is the Iranha. To destroy it is to destroy them. You have been to the Iranha city?”

  “Close enough.”

  “You will have to go even closer. Inside. Beyond the great wall. I have told you of their buildings, and it is there where you will strike them, in the heart of where they live.” Ilon showed him three fingers. “Three is an important number. Three buildings, three fires. Three. One fire is good, but it would be too easy for them to put out. Two is even better though these Iranha are clever and might think this is the end. Three is the best of all because they will fear that more destruction is coming. More fires, more deaths. In fear they will send all of their hunters to aid the others. Then we strike!”

  Some of the hunters were so eager to get started that an argument broke out over who would be the first among them to kill Iranha. Ilon enjoyed this banter but soon lifted his hand and the onlookers quieted.

  “The risk will be great, so I must ask you again, Sandisand. Are you and your hunters strong enough to do this?”

  “This, and more.”

  “It is enough that you do this one thing. Your success is our success. To fail we all fail.”

  “Three buildings, three fires. We will not fail.”

  “That is my hope.”

  He outlined their objective in detail. With the Iranha too busy fighting the fires the bulk of his Egris army would hit the city reservoir. Although they knew only a little about their enemy, water was the one substance the Iranha needed. So therefore they would cut off their water supply. Deep down he hoped this might render them the killing blow, though he realized it was just one among countless targets. A speck of sand on a beach. Too many had suffered to abandon the fight now, so he pushed through his f
eelings of unhappiness and looked upon the coming campaign with a great deal of anticipation.

  “When do we attack?” Targasesk asked him.

  “Soon. Very soon. When the second moon drops below the horizon,” he told his audience before excusing himself from the circle of hunters. “Arm yourselves and be ready when I return.”

  “Norgolash. Go with him,” Horhon ordered.

  Taking only his spear Ilon set out for the field. When he found a comfortable spot he lay down in the grass and gazed up at the brightening stars. He knew that his own world was up there, somewhere, one of those dim points. The past was not completely forgotten. He had submerged his feelings so deep that only now when he looked up at the night sky did he remember the world as it once was. He had spent an entire lifetime hiding from the Uta, a life lived in fear, never knowing when they might attack. Running and hiding had only brought about the Taal’s speedy deaths. What about these Egris? Were they doing the right thing, attacking these Iranha?

  “Get on your feet,” Norgolash warned him.

  “What is it?” he responded, now trying to see where he was looking.

  “Something over there. A strange sound. I heard it twice.”

  She appeared concerned, and Ilon took her warning seriously because Norgolash was not the sort of hunter who ruffled at every insignificant thing. If something was over there then Ilon better be on his guard.

  “Stay here, I will drive it away.”

  As she crawled stealthily out of view Ilon suddenly heard a scream and stood up, hoping to see what had made it. “Norgolash,” he called out. “Is that you?” He smiled at his own irrational fear, walking forward through the grass where the hunter had crawled. It would be alright, he told himself, his hand unconsciously tightening on his spear.

  To his horror what he saw approaching was not Norgolash. He had to get away, but he was too late. There was a bright flash of light, followed by the sound of a discharging weapon. Ilon crashed helplessly to the ground, too stunned to move, too terrified to scream. Laying face down in the grass he was unable to see his attacker, though he could feel its slimy hands on him.

  Tossing him over its shoulder, the creature carried him off into the darkness, away from the world he knew, toward a place of unimaginable terror.

  Chapter Thirty Three

  “So this is the creature.” Pulima Cos looked in through the bars of the cage. “It is incredibly ugly. And it smells terrible too. You should have had this filthy animal properly cleaned before bringing it into my sight.”

  “Apologies, high one.” Harsabar acknowledged her complaints by lowering her head in deference. “That was my wish too, but your contacts desired for you see it without further delay.”

  “Very well. But if it must be now, then let me see it quickly and be gone.”

  As she removed her segathar skin cloak the creature suddenly sprang forward to the front of the cage and snarled at her. Again Pulima Cos’s attention was fixed on the repellent animal-thing, and those in the room clearly saw her expression of disgust when it opened its tiny mouth and barred its flat white teeth.

  “Is this all it can do? Just growl?” She bent forward, even closer. “It doesn’t look very dangerous. Has it been injured?”

  “No. Only stunned,” the bounty hunter assured her. She then handed over a sharp-tipped pole. “It was carrying this when I captured it.”

  Pulima Cos examined it closely and pronounced it a crude instrument that no doubt had originated from this creature’s bestial mind. “And what of the gulun gun it was supposed to have been carrying?”

  “There was no gun,” she assured her. “Perhaps there never was. A sharp stick is one matter, but certainly it could not have grasped the knowledge of Epiphilinian weaponry.”

  “Why not give it your gun, Harsabar, and we shall see.”

  Those surrounding her broke into wild laughter yet Harsabar thought little of her humor, nevertheless she was quick to follow the others. “A good joke, high one. Yes, perhaps I shall do just that. But we will all be waiting a long time and I know you are in a hurry.”

  “Yes, yes,” she scowled. Her estimation of this hunter’s worth was decreasing. “Before I leave here I want a closer look at what I am buying.”

  “Be careful not to get too close,” she warned. “It is small, but still quite possibly deadly.”

  “Really?” Pulima Cos was unconvinced. Reaching in through the bars she roughly prodded the creature with her closed wedges, laughing as it howled with pain. “It will make an excellent addition to our city zoo. I want Igna Lox to examine it first. See that it is sent to her immediately.”

  “Wait.” Harsabar stepped in front of the cage. Her voice was low but firm. “There is still the matter of payment.”

  “You will be well compensated for your efforts.” She directed one of her aides forward, who in turn passed over a translucent slip of selp paper. Harsabar read the amount.

  “Others have offered to pay more.”

  When Pulima Cos heard her final price she snorted, “That much? You are far too greedy, and stupid if you think I would pay 20,000 konats for such a scrawny thing. I will give you half that, no more.”

  Touching her sidearm, Harsabar looked at her shrewdly and said with equal malice, “Not nearly enough.”

  Pulima Cos regarded her effrontery with deadly anger, and responded in a voice so cold that those in her service quailed and turned away as every bone in her rigid body cracked.

  “You dare to demand more! You are nothing but an insignificant trapper, a cheap peddler of animal flesh. Here is my final offer. Nothing. Because you are so greedy and unscrupulous you get nothing. For you there is only the remembrance of your failure. What you once had is now mine. I take possession of your prize, and you return to your city empty-handed. That is your reward.”

  “I promise others will soon know what you have done here,” Harsabar angrily blurted out. She swallowed only as an afterthought, just barely aware that she had unwittingly doomed herself.

  Certainly Pulima Cos could not let this insolent creature’s challenge go unpunished. She permitted no one in her presence even the illusion of defiance. Spinning around she glanced briefly at Midlothian, then away. Her unspoken order was clearly understood, but the accompanying words were strictly for Harsabar’s grim benefit.

  “Kill her.”

  Before the bounty hunter could reach for her gun there was a loud crack as Midlothian’s weapon discharged. What was left of her was little more than a smoking pile of burnt flesh and broken bones. Midlothian looked immensely pleased as she hovered over the mutilated remains and poked it with her foot.

  Pulima Cos nodded her approval. Just another garrulous mouth permanently silenced. Brushing the singed pieces of cooked meat off her gown she ordered her aides to attend her. “And clean up this disgusting mess.” She then turned and strode away, planning her next victory.

  *****

  Ordering the fat scientist into her presence, Pulima Cos leaned forward and rubbed the wet surface of her desk with her oily palms.

  “Have you studied the creature I sent you?”

  “Extensively.”

  “Well,” she went on impatiently, “what have you determined? Is it some new species of segathar which now infests our forests?”

  Igna Lox’s gross mass writhed at the sheer stupidity of her question, though she dared only to answer as this stone-brained politician had directed her. “Absolutely not. I found no evidence whatsoever to substantiate even the remotest biological similarity. From what I have observed I believe it is feral, though it appears to be capable of some sort of crude communication. Dissection might tell us more about the creature’s thinking processes.”

  “For now I want a living creature—not a dead one. Where did you put it?”

  “In with the segathars, just as you ordered.”

  “Good. Then we will go there presently.”

  It had been another day of storming, though it stopped by the time
they went outside. The sun was briefly out, piercing the gray, canyon-like walls of the city before vanishing behind a bank of dark clouds. An escort drove them to the zoological complex on the city’s outskirts. Pulima Cos talked most of the way there. Inga Lox nodded only whenever she thought her stupid master had reached some important part of the conversation. When they pulled in front of the complex it was squalling again so Pulima Cos took this opportunity to soak herself in the cool rain before going on inside.

  Boa Loam, the smarmy, greasy-faced curator, greeted them at the door. Inside she indicated a large map which showed the locations of the various exhibits, explaining how most of their collections were rare animals brought all the way from Epiphiline, the vast majority of which were quite possibly the only ones in existence. She led the way, talking incessantly, pointing out some of the displays which neither Pulima Cos nor Igna Lox showed any interest in. When they reached the animal pen where the segathars were housed she ingratiated herself in their presence until Pulima Cos tired of her speaking and rudely dismissed her.

  “Thought she would never shut-up,” Igna Lox said.

  To Pulima Cos this part of her trip had been an inordinate waste of time, and Boa Loam she was happy to be rid of. Ordering her thoughts she pressed her face to the metlaglass window and searched the grounds within.

  “Where is it?”

  Ordinarily the segathars blended so well with the terrain that they were difficult to spot. After careful inspection, Igna Lox slowly circled the perimeter, then went down to the next level where a special underground enclosure had been constructed to enable the crowds to watch the segathars sleep. He pointed out the creature-of-interest lying among the curled-up bodies. “It is here with the other three. Sleeping. Do you see it now?”