The Hero lota-5

by John Ringo

  “Fuck you over?” Dagger asked, outraged, fear forgotten. “Who’s got the goddamned box here? And what do you expect to do with it if I let you live?”

  Tirdal said, “The box is none of your concern, since it’s only money to you. But since you ask, I intend to take it to the proper authorities.”

  “Proper authorities?” Dagger yelled, incredulous. “Proper authorities? It’s worth a billion credits. A billion. Even after taxes, as if we couldn’t figure out some way to avoid them, it’s a goddamned fortune. ‘Fortune’ isn’t even enough of a word. It’s like winning the lottery, except it’s been earned the hard way. That money is mine, ours if you weren’t being a fool about it. You want to take it to the authorities? Hell, if you weren’t such an asshole, I could cut you in. I even know who to fence it through.”

  Tirdal replied, “For some reason that last fact doesn’t surprise me. So that’s your motive here? You killed your whole team for money?”

  “Yes, Tirdal,” Dagger laughed. He’d outflanked this Elf who thought himself some kind of genius. “That’s pretty much it. Call it a weakness, but a billion credits is worth more to me than those whining little wussies. And I get to use you as an alibi. ‘The Darhel freaked out under stress, couldn’t handle facing the enemy.’ You’re perfect. You tossed the grenade in panic, I hunted you down and took care of it. I’m a hero. Then I take leave to console myself over the loss of my friends and disappear. Next thing no one hears, I’ve got women lined up to blow me four times a day and a mansion full of slaves.” He was babbling, he realized. Dammit, keep control.

  “Fascinating,” Tirdal replied. “I’m sure a psychiatrist — is that what you call them? — would have a fine time analyzing your neuroses. Or are they psychoses? I’m not up on human mental ailments. There are just too many of them to keep track of. You may even harbor some as-yet unknown ones. But your cupidity tells me you’d make a rather good Darhel, or at least what you think of as a Darhel.”

  Dagger was panting now, and not from exertion. Dammit, why was he having a panic attack over this? He had those when confronting things. That was the point of being a sniper, the point of keeping people terrified. It avoided confrontation. And the Darhel was in the next county, he told himself. He shouldn’t be twitching like this. “W-what,” he said, then got control, “you’re just going to turn it in for a reward? Not even a finder’s fee? What kind of Darhel does that make you?”

  Again, no hesitation before the reply. “The kind with pride in himself, his clan and his race. Not to mention the survival of his race. And your race, Dagger. There are Fringe planets with contacts to species we don’t have proper relations with. Do you really want them having access to whatever is in there?”

  “How altruistic,” Dagger replied. “All thought for others. Selflessness and charity. You’d make a wonderful human wuss.”

  “And with that insult, Dagger, we are done for now. Goodbye.”

  “Tirdal? Tirdal? Come back you cowardly little Elf, we aren’t done talking!” he shouted.

  It appeared, however, that they were, for now.

  Chapter 12

  Ferret’s legs weren’t hurting as much. He figured that was good, tactically. He was almost back to a reasonable pace, and had tossed the crutch. He was still limping as he moved, but he was moving by himself. Medically, he figured the lessening pain presaged massive tissue damage from gangrene or something similar. He actually might survive if he could get these two beaten and call the pod. There were good AI medical facilities aboard. He still considered that tantalizing chance, now far behind him, of using Doll’s transmitter for backup. He really, personally, didn’t care if a war started, instead of all this back and forth. But command would not be happy with his sorry ass, even if he survived. Anyway, it was only a chance, and he’d abandoned that for this track. Fretting wasn’t going to help.

  The voice in his earphones surprised him. “So, Ferret, how are you doing?”

  He clamped his mouth tightly shut, lips thin. The longer he could wait before speaking to Dagger, the more of a threat he’d appear. Let Dagger get scared. That was a weapon all by itself.

  “Ferret? I know you’re there, you half-assed moron.”

  Nothing. And Dagger was sounding a bit distressed.

  “Okay, Ferret, I’ll play your game. Just wait until I see a glimpse of you again. It’ll be the last. Goodbye.”

  Dagger had definitely been disturbed. Good.

  The signs on his tracker were not making sense. They still showed Tirdal to be several minutes, almost half an hour, ahead of Dagger. Dagger was about a half hour ahead of Ferret. So why hadn’t Tirdal stopped to let Dagger catch up? They’d still have plenty of lead.

  Of course, they didn’t know how far ahead of Ferret they were. Dagger was likely playing for time, hoping Ferret’s wounds would do him in.

  Unless they planned to spread out and make Ferret choose, so they could envelope him. If so, it was even more important that he keep silent. He was the best tracker of the three.

  He wished he knew what they were planning though. And that he had someone to talk to. And that it would stop hurting.

  * * *

  Tirdal left Dagger to fret. What was the human expression? “Stew in his own juices.” That was it. And it was doubly appropriate. This level of exertion caused tremendous metabolic stress and perspiration. From what he knew of human physiology and medical treatment, it had to be about as unpleasant for Dagger. Which was good. Dagger might handle the heat better, but Tirdal had greater stamina and resistance, he was sure. The worse things got here, the more advantageous it would be.

  There was danger, he admitted. Dagger could track better, and had a weapon with much greater range. He also sounded completely insane at this point. Had he been already, and it was simply surfacing now? Had it been hidden by a social façade? Or was it something latent, triggered by his impulsive actions? Did being alone emphasize human emotions? That was always true to some extent, but was it worse in this instance?

  No time for that now, he thought. It was time to put kilometers between them, and stay in the woods while doing so. He rose carefully back to his feet and secured the artifact, then resumed his march. Behind him was the shell of his lunch, its legs still occasionally twitching even though there was no body or mind attached to it. Insects were so barely sentient they were very hard to kill properly. Whereas sentient animals were easy to kill, in theory, except for that mental activity involved.

  The local sun was well on its way down. That would change things immensely. He could see innately better than Dagger, but Dagger was very skilled with night vision. Also, Tirdal’s hotter metabolism would shine in that night vision. However, Dagger had now been awake for nineteen hours. Certainly he could go longer, but aside from thirst and hunger, Tirdal wasn’t particularly stressed. And Dagger was. The situation should change in Tirdal’s favor shortly. All that was needed was calm and patience. The waves turn rock to sand. Sand smoothes all signs. Be as the waves; persistent, calm, undeterred…

  * * *

  Dagger was furious at being cut off and ignored. It was a pity those assholes hadn’t bought it with the rest, because they were really sticking him in the ass. Some alien freak and the FNG were causing him, him! to change plans and waste time. The jumped up twerps seemed to think that they not only were relevant, but were some kind of martyrs.

  The anger helped a little with other things, too. His heart was thumping as he strode along. One of his secret phobias when young was the dark. He’d thought he was over it. He’d been through nighttime training, done the survival school gig, been on hundreds of exercises and a dozen real world missions. He started as a branch reached out and stroked his cheek, then he thrust it away roughly. He wasn’t afraid, dammit. He kept the anger fresh in his mind, but it was fading, albeit slowly.

  But human settlements always had some light and bustle at night. The populous planets had enough light pollution so that one could always see the warm glow of a
city on the horizon. Military encampments had generators and activity. Here, there was absolutely nothing. Nothing except that Blob site, all holograms. Nothing except local creatures that would eat him. No one but the Darhel, fleeing him, though he had made his threats sound real. No one but Ferret, who was out there but not talking. No one but the ghosts of his former teammates. His mind was playing tricks on him. There was the trancelike beat of Gun Doll’s music. Gorilla’s snores came to him, and the captain’s cynical presence and Shiva’s calm. He turned to look behind him, as he had every couple of minutes. There was nothing behind him, and he knew it, but it was spooky as hell out here. And there might be something behind him, with those local creepie-crawlies.

  In truth, anyone would have been afraid. It hit every evolutionary button humans have. It was dark, too quiet, full of threats and lonely. But Dagger’s ego had never seen it in those terms. He’d been suppressing his weaknesses behind a mask for so long that their appearance terrified him. One must face fears to overcome them, and Dagger had spent his life avoiding them.

  But he had to keep moving. The frigging Darhel was still humping away, damn him. When would the little rat tire? A hazy part of his mind recalled that the Darhel was alleged to have maxed the course, and he started to wonder if that was true. Then he realized that maxing it didn’t indicate an upper limit on the bastard’s abilities, but a lower one. That was frightening.

  Nah, he couldn’t be that good. Dagger had seen some real shit. He was letting himself get scared over nothing. Nothing. What kind of wuss was afraid of the dark? He could shoot the bugs as fast as they could attack, and Tirdal was a long way away.

  He yelped as something stabbed him in the ribs, then recovered. He swallowed and hit the limb aside furiously.

  Then he went berserk.

  There was no obvious outer change, though he did increase his pace to a rough, rapid stride, moving in a low lope. He slapped branches aside and didn’t realize he was sacrificing stealth for speed. All he knew was that he was catching that damned Darhel, and he was not afraid of the dark. He tripped over a stray root, and it only served to elevate his rage to a higher plane. He was panting, hyperventilating, heedless of his own safety, but all that mattered was catching that damned Darhel.

  * * *

  Ferret kept pushing his pace faster as his legs went blissfully numb. The pins and needles feeling went the entire length now, and he barely felt the brush he rubbed against. It was a good thing that he was stalking, and he’d have to keep it that way, because he was certainly leaving a trail. But at least the pain was gone. It was odd to not feel his feet, but they were working, even if the left one was a puppet’s wooden foot rather than a real one.

  The coming dark would be of help to him. Unless those two, Dagger specifically, as Tirdal wasn’t very good, were keeping a good watch behind, he shouldn’t run up on them. But once he did see an IR readout, he should easily be able to follow at distance. Too, it was harder to move stealthily in the dark. Dagger might not leave much, but Tirdal would, and the two together should be easy.

  A wave of dizziness hit him, and he squatted down to catch his breath, or tried to. He sprawled flat in the weeds, feeling them scrape past him and smelling the released sap of several types. The ground smelled slightly slimy, and he’d probably slipped on the surface as stems rolled well-greased between that and his boots. Balance shot because of my feet, he thought to himself. He reminded himself to be cautious. He had no tactile feedback from down there.

  He wondered if the nausea was due to his damaged feet, but that couldn’t be it this fast. He realized it was a combination of shock, pain, drugs and lack of food and sleep. He’d been awake almost twenty-eight hours, after days of little sleep, and was in rough shape. And he couldn’t stop now. The best thing for him was to bull through and hope they had to rest at some point, soon. In fact, they were sure to, unless he presented an immediate threat. Another reason to keep quiet.

  Still, they had the advantage. If they rested, they could take turns on watch. Ferret had only himself. But, by resting, they weren’t moving.

  He checked his tracker again. Tirdal’s lead was less. But they had both widened the gap from them to him. So he’d have to do what he could to increase his pace. Sighing, he reached into his kit for more painkillers and a stronger stimulant. He hated to use them; the painkiller reduced his awareness somewhat, and the stim nauseated him. If he were to have a chance of catching up, however, they were necessary.

  That done, he opened the last rat to chew on while he marched, tucked it into his belt, and started moving. Step forward with the right foot until weight hit the knee, then shove the left foot forward. As soon as weight was on it, step forward with the right and push with the left. He resumed his rolling, limping gait, and decided the speed was adequate. The pain was less than it had been, and as the fresh analgesic kicked in, he’d move it up faster.

  The tracks weren’t hard to follow, even in the dark. Ferret had grown up on a Fringe world, and had hunted since he was five. To him, the terrain was a book to be read. More bent leaves and abused stems told him someone had passed this way. That scratch on a tree and that bare sweep through brush indicated a long weapon: Dagger’s. Those flat areas were due to feet with a different geometry than a human’s: Tirdal’s.

  Then there was the mark left through the stems by a larger local form. He studied that at a near-jog as he crossed it. Yes, something had trotted through there quickly, in pursuit of something smaller. That meant a predator. A predator was even worse in his limping condition, and in that he’d prefer not to fire and give away his location. He wasn’t sure he could handle one with a knife, but that appeared to be his best option for secrecy. As to shooting, it was likely a better option for survival. Of course, both depended on a weapon being able to get through those appalling exoskeletons the local life wore.

  It was right then that the predator in question trotted past again. It was about rabbit sized, and it was followed by three more just like it. It was probably his limping gait sending rhythmic but uneven vibrations through the ground that attracted them. Whatever it was, Ferret saw the ground cover twitch and sway, saw the wave of motion turn suddenly towards him and charge. He yanked his field knife clear of its sheath and tried to intercept them.

  The first one was easy. He had the blade down in time and the stupid creature tried to bite it. The blade of the knife was a high-density polymer, with a ceramic edge molecularly bonded to it. The bug sheared its own jaw off on the almost molecule-fine edge. For just a moment, it was clearly visible in Ferret’s goggles, a wriggling, Japanese beetle shape as long as his foot. Then it fell under a seedling.

  The other three tried to attack at once. The first leapt, and Ferret dodged by falling. He hadn’t intended to do that, and it sent fresh spikes of pain through his legs, but he avoided a bite. A whack at the temporarily confused bug didn’t cleave its chitin, but did crush its legs under itself, as it had no time to retract them. It wriggled and twitched in place in the weeds, but wasn’t going to be a problem.

  The other two, however, were on him. One was chewing at his right boot. At least, he hoped it was just his right boot. While his foot was insensate, he still needed it to function for this hike. Then the second one started attacking his rucksack, chittering in his ear and scaring him badly.

  First, the one on the foot. It was the easier one to reach. Methodically and calmly, he inserted the blade, unsharpened edge down, between his foot and the bug, and hoped to hell it didn’t try to crawl up the blade and munch his arm. It clung to his boot for a moment, then came loose. The tip pinned it against the bark of a tree, resisted for a moment, then skewered it. It thrashed angrily.

  Quickly, he pulled the releases on his ruck’s strap, let it drop, and turned to impale the other pest. With soft ground underneath, he wasn’t able to pierce it, but it did stumble off quickly.

  Ferret panted for breath, suddenly wider awake than even the drugs had made him, a warm flush of adren
aline coursing through him. He whipped his head around to see if there were any others nearby.

  It was clear. He carefully resheathed his knife, took a quick glance at his boot and was reassured that integrity was good, even if the tough surface was badly scored and peeled. Then he reattached the clips on his pack, shouldered it, shrugged it and adjusted it. Of course, just for a minor annoyance, he couldn’t get the straps back to the original position. It rode differently on his shoulders and would take some time to get used to. But he was alive, mostly unhurt save for a skinned knuckle on his already bug-bit hand and a sore hip, and was up and moving again at once.

  * * *

  It was fear that drove Dagger to call Ferret, though he would never have admitted it. Just the sound of a human voice, or, even if Ferret refused to answer, the knowledge that he was there, reduced his fear of this black hell he was moving through. This black hell that turned bright and grainy under enhancement, fronds and branches reaching out like wings or arms to grasp at him, brush at his legs, or worse, his head. His teeth were clattering and his knees shaking, but he pressed on. Damn that Darhel, he had to catch that little freak, or this was all a bad screwup to try to explain. He’d catch a firing squad if they convicted him, and without the box for assets, he had no way to get out of the Republic.

  “Ready to give up yet, Ferret?” he asked. Just the act of talking made the fear retreat slightly, as it emphasized his humanity.

  There was no reply, so he continued, “You know we’re going to flank you and kill you, you crippled little loser.”

  Still nothing.

  “But I want to be fair, Ferret. Tell me who to send regards to, and I’ll tell them you died bravely.”

  At that, there was a response. “Bravely how, Dagger?” Ferret’s voice was angry. Good. Dagger could almost hear the teeth grinding. “Bravely against you? Or are you going to blame this on the Darhel and kill him, too? Because you sure as hell can’t blame this on the Blobs and be believed.”