by John Ringo
Dagger had no immediate reply, and hesitated just long enough. Ferret continued, “That’s it, isn’t it? He’s not really your ally, he’s a convenience.”
Dagger snarled. This wasn’t the way he’d planned it.
But Ferret was still talking. “I wonder if I can convince him of that? Hey, Dagger? Be awfully bad for you if we started hunting you instead, wouldn’t it?”
That he could respond to. “Not at all, Ferret. I don’t mind superimposing a target on your face and watching the splatter. Be good for a laugh. And you don’t think a fucking Darhel is going to give me any trouble, do you? Do you imagine he’s going to believe you? ‘Oh, I haven’t spoken to you yet, but I’m really on your side.’ That will fly.”
“Him? Trouble? No,” Ferret replied. “But I can stalk you better than you can stalk me. And you have to sleep sometime. I don’t really need to talk to Tirdal, anyway. I know where you both are. Later, asshole. The next sound you hear will be your chest exploding.”
Dagger growled again and decided he’d better talk to Tirdal quickly. If he could keep these two afraid of each other, he could play them off.
“Hey, Tirdal,” he called.
“Yes, Dagger? Are we done with insults?”
“For now, Tirdal, for now,” Dagger said, grinning even though no one could see him. “I have a surprise for you.”
“Oh? A gift of some kind? What’s the occasion?” Tirdal was doing his best to sound light and cheerful, almost human. With that deep, slow voice it didn’t work well. Instead, it was ghastly.
“Sort of, Tirdal,” Dagger said, nodding to himself. “Ferret is still alive and is right with me. You recall how well he can track?”
“Interesting, Dagger. You realize, of course, I find that very hard to believe. If you really had an ally, I would have been flanked in short order, or one of you would have secured the box before you ‘fragged’ your entire team.” Tirdal did not sound distressed. That reasonable, logical tone of his was one more reason Dagger was going to see him dead.
Tirdal obviously hadn’t Sensed Ferret, he realized! He thought this was a bluff, but he should know. If he didn’t, then that defined a limit on his Sense. Excellent to know.
“Well, it was a lucky fluke,” Dagger said, grasping for control. He really needed to rehearse his comments before talking to the damned Elf. “But once we realized how much we both hate Darhel, and the value of the box, it became easy. We both get you dead, we each get money. It’s a good deal all around. Except, of course, for you, because you’ll be dead. The fact that you can’t Sense him gives us even more of an advantage, not that we need it. You’re dead.”
“Very well, Dagger,” Tirdal replied. “You have an ally. It’s amazing how much of an advantage you feel you need over a lowly Darhel. It makes me think that you aren’t as formidable as you’d like everyone to believe you think you are.”
That stung a little, once he sorted it out. Tirdal knew how to use the language better than Dagger did. He must have spent years studying to be that sarcastic. But there were a billion credits at stake, and words weren’t going to change things.
“Tirdal, I don’t mind being generous with a billion. That’s why I was offering to cut you in. But you won’t take it, so it just leaves more for me and Ferret. As to being fair, why should I bother? We all know that Ferret’s the best tracker, I’m the best shooter, and you’re nothing. We’re not trying to prove some macho point, we’re simply going to kill you.”
“So you say, Dagger. To borrow a cliché, ‘First, you have to catch me.’ Goodbye again.”
Dagger knew better than to waste time replying. Tirdal wasn’t going to listen. Still, those seeds of doubt had been planted in him. If he kept playing them off each other, they would both be allies to him, while they imagined they were against him. It was even possible Ferret would do in the Darhel for him, if Dagger could get close enough to flank and let Ferret take him from behind. And Dagger could backtrack the discharge from a weapon easily.
Yes, this should turn out okay, after all.
The sooner dawn came or they cleared the woods, the happier Dagger would be. This was not pleasant. He grimaced. “I’m not a fucking coward. It’s just dark.” It didn’t reassure him. Dammit, there was nothing here except a few bugs he could outshoot.
And Ferret. Why was Ferret still alive? He stopped again, back to a tree, then turned in a circle, back still to it, searching through his scope for any activity in infrared. Little bugs, but no predator forms yet. And no sign of Ferret.
* * *
Ferret decided he needed to hear from Tirdal. He’d have to be doubly cautious what he said and felt, with that little freak probing at his mind, but he also needed intelligence. Whatever he could get from the Darhel would help. It likely wouldn’t be much; there wasn’t much inflection in that rich, deep voice, and as an alien, Tirdal had to deliberately emphasize his voice. If he chose not to, it was simply a monotone. Ferret would have to discern intent from very few clues. It was a whole new type of tracking.
Taking an extra breath for steadiness, he chose the channel and said, “Tirdal.”
“Ferret,” came the reply. “So you are alive.” Ferret lowered the volume. He had wanted it loud for best hearing of minute details, or any background noise that wasn’t filtered, but the level was interfering with his ability to hear his own environment. In the dark closeness of the trees, his hearing was a prime sense.
“Surprised, Tirdal?” he asked. “You know Dagger’s not really an ally to you. He’s just using you as a convenience to grab all the money for himself.”
Tirdal replied, “As a Darhel, allegedly what you’d call a ‘capitalist,’ I’m amazed at the avarice of humans. Money is a tool one uses to accomplish work. Yet you very often seem to think of it as a status symbol. Just what will you do with half a billion credits, Ferret? Wasn’t potentially thirteen million as a share enough? Especially as it was a fortuitous find rather than an earned development?”
What game was this? “I’m not here for the money, Tirdal. I’m here to see you two assholes dead, and the box in the hands of the Republic’s science bureau.” There was another scuffled weed. He was still on the trail.
“Now, Ferret, that’s just amusing and insulting to my intelligence.”
“How do you figure?” Ferret asked. The alien twerp was disturbing. He exuded a… confidence.
“Ferret, if you’d meant to ally with me, you’d have called while Dagger and I were swapping fire, and offered to help.”
“Waaah?” Ferret replied. “I heard you assholes shooting the wounded. I heard you. Then you came running past with the artifact, while Dagger looted the bodies. How stupid do you think I am?” He couldn’t believe Tirdal was even trying that line. Had Dagger sold him that thoroughly on the idea? Did he have that low an opinion of Ferret? The insult made him furious. Ferret was no political genius, nor very urbane, but he was intelligent and very good at his chosen specialty. He was reassured himself that moment by another scuff in the dirt. Dagger had passed this way.
What the hell was Tirdal playing? Did he think Ferret could be dismissed? If he really thought the two humans were a team, why wasn’t he more scared? Or did he have an ace for dealing with the sniper? That was likely why he was disturbed at Ferret’s existence. Ferret was another threat he hadn’t planned on. Except he knew already from Dagger.
Had Dagger not told him? Was it possible they were both playing their own games with that box? That was an idea. Dagger had fragged the team, Tirdal had taken the moment to swipe the box. Now they were both fighting each other. So Ferret would only have to fight one at a time, because neither was going to lend a hand. That was a good theory, and would explain why they weren’t traveling together. His thoughts were interrupted by Tirdal speaking.
“I don’t think you’re stupid, Ferret. Which is why I’m not going to listen to you try to ally with me at this point. I’ve seen the technique on human vid shows. Dagger plays malicious and evil,
you play honorable. I won’t be swayed. Now, do you have anything valid to input? Or shall we resume the hunt?”
That taunting question threw Ferret back into a rage. He couldn’t believe Tirdal, holding the billion credit box, was going to play innocent victim. “Oh, it’s a hunt all right,” Ferret replied. “And you can just fucking die, Darhel.”
“That’s been the plan all along, Ferret. It is unfortunate that it takes two humans to equal one Darhel. Goodbye.”
“You asshole!” Ferret near-shouted into his microphone, barely remembering his noise discipline.
There was no reply.
* * *
Tirdal let his Sense and senses reach out into the darkness. Without the undisciplined thoughts of humans shouting at him from mere meters away, he could feel the environment. It was raw and primal, but not unfriendly. Few of the insectoids noticed his presence, save as the passage of a creature. He was too large for most to be concerned with, and did not display the chemical signs of threat. To others, he did not appear as prey, and was thus ignored. Some felt his movement and became alert, seeking a meal, but in all cases it was simple hunger, no hatred or anger. There was only one glowing flame of anger out there, and it was far away. Distant it was, though white-hot in its intensity. Ferret wasn’t discernible yet. Tirdal focused his Sense and sought.
There. Behind Dagger, and very faint. So Ferret was playing catch-up. Nor was he as obsessed as Dagger. He would be hard to track, but was farther away, so less of a threat. It was likely the two of them would meet up shortly. That would increase the threat. What Tirdal would have to watch for would be the two of them spreading out to channel him.
It was possible they weren’t really allies, but from Tirdal’s viewpoint, they were both threats. He’d have to be certain he didn’t get into terrain that would help pin him for one or the other. Both wanted him dead.
There weren’t any other humans. He made sure. It was disturbing that Ferret had snuck past his awareness, as close as he’d been for much of it. It might be that the pain of the neural effect had stunned him, though a mind in pain should have registered. Possibly the collective shriek from four other human minds had drowned him out. Still, it wouldn’t do to rely on his Sense alone. It clearly had limits.
There were no other humans, but there was hunger. He was being followed, flanked, stalked by several larger predators and at least one mammalian flyer. He could feel the approaches, most of which veered off as he left a particularly defined territory or simply moved beyond the range to be interesting. There were some, though, that were steadily closing. Occasionally, one would drop out of the pursuit, only to be replaced by another.
Then there was that one. It was moving closer and the hunger it felt was strong, driving. It was going to attack, he felt sure. That was a crisis, but one he could deal with. Summoning the Jem discipline, he forced the tal to a lower level, anticipating its surge when he killed. He hefted his punch gun and prepared to respond. It would be soon, he felt. The creature was to his left and running, now was agitated and there was an animal eagerness.
Now. The charge came as he passed a thick tree bole. The animal was in mid leap, chittering very softly, and in a trajectory to seize Tirdal by the head. That was also a trajectory that put it in perfect position for a punch gun shot, though there was no way such a primitive form could anticipate what was about to happen.
Tirdal turned to meet the rush, raised his weapon and shot. The shot would have been instructive to a human observer. It was smooth, effortless, and caught the animal right in the underside of its head as Tirdal dropped underneath its path. It was not the shot of a clumsy creature unable to kill.
Then Tirdal got slapped by his Sense.
The insect in question was the local evolutionary equivalent of a leopard. It was a large, competent solo hunter with good instincts and high intelligence. It had consciousness and self-awareness, and it reacted to the shot. As Tirdal’s shot had been perfectly placed, its mind screamed in agony at having most of its face burned off. Then it landed on that face and tumbled so as to break its neck.
DEATH! Tirdal felt it, staggered, dropped. Feedback through his Sense let him feel the creature’s swift but painful end. Stabbing electric icicles drove into his brain from the violent, emotional outburst, and tal squirted into his bloodstream. It met the pain, washed it aside as a flood does debris, and roared toward his brain and self. He didn’t even feel the damaged edges of his chest plate grind against nerves.
He was on all fours, shaking, quivering, moaning as delicious tremors rolled over him and heat flushed out from the base of his skull. He’d left himself exposed to the creature’s emotions, and now was receiving the rewards. It was sweet, and no longer cloying but thick and syrupy. But it moved with such speed, he was overwhelmed and couldn’t respond.
Lintatai. He could feel it. He’d thought he’d felt it while sucking meat from crablike claws, but that was a shadow of this. It suffused his entire being, rippling down his spine and out to his toes and fingertips. It rolled in waves through his brain until he could see and hear it, as powerful as a tropical storm over the ocean.
Then it stopped. It didn’t retreat, but it grew no more powerful, as some hidden part of his determination slammed down doors on his Sense and halted the influx. His iron discipline and training yanked him to an eddy in the wash, where he could maintain his Self just long enough to think. He rode the crest, slipped behind it and floundered for only a moment. Then he was in control. He was still awash in a sea of powerful sensations, but he was alert and aware.
He’d thought he was gritting his teeth, but had sliced into his lower lip when he bit down. Wet earth was abrading his cheek and in his nostrils. Tendrils of weeds curled over him, twitching in the breeze of his tortured breathing. All these were real, present and he clutched at them for strength. The cool air. The darkness. He’d voided himself as he lost control, but even as unpleasant as that was, it was a real sensation. He thought to reach out, but his self-control took over. No Sense. None at all. The risk of attack was less dangerous than that of any more tal.
It took long minutes of slow, measured breathing to reach an acceptable level. He opened the front of his suit to let heat vent to the atmosphere. The coolness of evaporating sweat helped, as it was something else real and external. His strength and balance returned, but he remained prone, head on one outstretched arm that was cramping from its circulation-killing grip on the punch gun. He’d wait a while longer before rising.
The lesson here was that he had to rein in his Sense when fighting. It could be an intelligence asset until hostilities began, but then it must be locked away. Some things should not be felt, and battle was one of them. Battle must be a cerebral matter, lest it subvert the mind. So he’d fight as a human did. That was how it was done.
A smile, all teeth, spread across his face. Another valuable lesson had been learned. And it was one he could use at once. Dagger thought he enjoyed killing? Thought he was dangerous?
Dagger had no idea.
Chapter 13
Dark turned slowly to formless grayness, then to twilight. Inside, Dagger calmed and returned gradually to what passed as normal for him. His breathing slowed from ragged heaves to pants and finally to just exerted breathing. He would not admit it even to himself, but he was glad of the light.
He sought refuge in bullying, as he had always done. “Good morning, Tirdal. Have you had breakfast yet?”
“Why, yes, Dagger, thank you. I had one of the smaller flyer forms. They taste somewhat like duck, or at least that’s as close as human animals come. I would compare it more to the bligrol of Darhel. But of course, you’ve never tasted such.”
“Tirdal, we both know you’re lying about the meat,” he retorted, angered. The little asshole was so unflappable. Well, he’d flap shortly, when Dagger blew his fucking head off his shoulders.
“You seem sure of your statements, Dagger. So why talk to me? Does it make you feel less lonely? Does contradiction
please you? Does denying reality and being contrary fill your psyche? If you drown, should I look upstream for you?”
Dagger ignored the incoming attack and kept taunting, probing as he slogged forward in pursuit. Dammit, there had to be a handle somewhere. “Tell me, Tirdal, will you still take that round in the leg for me?”
* * *
“Certainly, Dagger. Where do you want me to meet you?” was Tirdal’s reply as he crunched through the brush. The ground here was covered with something akin to dried pine needles from the variety of trees on this slope. They were slightly slippery, tending to slide and roll over each other, and he bent down to lower his center of gravity with the box over his shoulder. It hurt his chest less, too, though it made for greater exertion at the unnatural angle.
“Why don’t I meet you, Tirdal?”
“Name the place, Dagger. Unless you’re afraid?” Tirdal sparred. “And will you bring Ferret with you? Or will he be stalking you? Or just keeping you company in the dark?”
“Sounds to me like you’re hiding your own cowardice, Darhel boy.”
“Why is that, Dagger? I’ve said I will meet you. If you really wish, you know how to track me; that advantage is yours. You profess patience, yet are eager for me to reduce your task. Who here is more afraid? And afraid not only of dying, but of failing in one’s alleged area of expertise. And against an urbanite Darhel. Perhaps you are not the tracker you would have others believe you are. Certainly you are not the brave killer.”
There was a shift in Dagger’s attitude. It was swift, sudden. “Well, even if we concede the point, Tirdal, the fact is that I’m a killer and you aren’t.” Just like that. Conciliatory, even if only slightly. Less argumentative. What was going on there?