by John Ringo
“If it suits you to believe so, Dagger, I’ll concede the point,” he returned.
“Hey, screw you, Darhel,” Dagger shouted. “I’m trying to… oh, to hell with it.”
That was the end of that conversation, Tirdal thought. But what had Dagger so riled?
He thought as he traveled, trusting that the problem would resolve itself in time. Shortly, his self-awareness prodded him. What was it?
His Sense. That was it. As this had gone on, it had gradually increased in sensitivity. He could feel a direction on Dagger, as he could with things that were very close. Yet Dagger was still quite some distance away, he knew. It had to be related to the continuous flow and recent push of tal. Historical details were hazy, but the Darhel had at one time tracked their prey, scarce as it was, across vicious terrain, following the thought images. That had to be what was happening here. It was probably a good thing he didn’t have the full Sense of his ancestors, on a world as populous with life as this. The combined input would likely have driven him insane at once.
The odd thing was that Dagger was not directly behind him, but was following obliquely, as if shadowing. That was interesting. “Dagger,” he said, intending to harass him with that bit of knowledge.
But that might not be a good idea. Upon consideration, the less he admitted, the better. Especially since he didn’t know how Dagger was doing that.
“What is it, Darhel?” Dagger replied, sounding highly agitated.
“How are you doing for rations, Dagger?” he asked instead. “Besides the flyer, I’ve had two local lizards and a large insectoid to eat. They do taste somewhat like chicken. I think I understand that human joke now.”
“We both know you can’t kill, Darhel,” Dagger replied, repeating his previous comments, “So don’t bullshit me.” It was clear, both from his voice and from a niggle to Tirdal’s Sense that Dagger had not eaten anything not from his processor. Interesting. Either he couldn’t hunt, or was squeamish about raw meat, and Tirdal’s blithe comments about it were more spikes in him. Best not to exploit that, yet, either. All these things could be used in their time.
That time might be soon, too, Tirdal realized. The forest was thinning, leaving a large oblate circular area that was likely due to some old burn. It was several kilometers across. Unless he turned to cut across Dagger’s course, he had to enter flat ground, which was a very unappealing option. He could go around, but that would slow him, and Ferret might fan out to flank him. Dagger could cut across, safe with his greater ranged weapon, but Tirdal could not. But he knew now what Dagger’s problem was. It was fatigue and fear of failure. And it had all come overnight. Was Dagger afraid of the dark, too? Was that why he was probing, pushing, trying to provoke a quick end? If so, even more patience was called for.
He paused to examine the terrain. There was always something not seen at first glance that would help. There was what he sought; a stream coming down from the north had cut a gully through the loose soil of this rich field. That’s what he needed. Through there he could move at a decent pace, and even if Dagger found him, he’d get few shots, and those would be obstructed. Girding himself mentally, he trotted toward the shallow creek.
* * *
Ferret was tired. This was as bad as Hell Week in DRT school, and he was amused after a fashion. He’d never thought he’d have to push himself that hard again. Yet here he was, injured, partially maimed, hungry, exhausted and strung out, his mind hazed with drugs despite his best efforts to keep the doses minimal. The initial pain had eased considerably; he now had numb feet and a dull ache that manifested itself as he walked. But a new irritation was about. His knees and good ankle were aching from the exertion of carrying unresponsive feet. His hips were starting to feel it, too. And he was still stumbling and inefficient, causing overall muscle cramps and strain.
He’d been stuffing leaves into his converter as he walked, and eating the patties it put out. Sure, you could adjust them for flavor, but they lacked real texture and weren’t the highest protein food. In fact, the leaves hereabout were almost worthless. Vitamins typically were unique to a planet, he didn’t really need minerals except potassium for this short a time frame, and fat and protein came from roots and seeds. What he was eating was going to come out about the same way it went in, which would hurt like hell. Still, it kept the edge off the hunger, even if he was craving rat pack tuna with noodles.
Something came to him and he paused in thought. Something about the signs he followed was bugging him. Just to double check, he raised the tracker.
Oh, shit. He was still following Tirdal. Dagger, however, was not leaving any sign. Not ahead, anyway. So assume he’d peeled off to outflank one or the other. Icy adrenaline rippled through him yet again, though it didn’t jolt his tired body, simply made him flush.
He thought back for a few moments. He’d seen sign of Dagger recently. Say, five minutes ago. The sign had been about fifteen to twenty-five minutes old, as he’d been gaining during the dark, which was more evidence of his greater competence over them. Still, no Dagger at present. Dagger several minutes away.
That was potentially very good if Dagger was after Tirdal, and potentially deadly if Ferret was the target. Suddenly, he felt very exposed, and his neck and head tickled in fear. His scalp had gone itchy-numb from the helmet’s harness, and he’d been planning to take it off for a bit, but thought now he would wait. Not that the helmet would do a damned bit of good against a gauss bead, but it might slow down fragments or a very long-range shot. Or deflect a bead enough to keep him alive. Anyway, it made him feel less naked.
He decided it would be good to make contact again. He might as well let those two know he was still here. And there were a few answers he wanted. Or at least questions he would ask. The answers might not be forthcoming, but that would be useful, too. And he might find out why Dagger had pulled off.
“Tirdal,” he called.
It was only a moment before Tirdal replied, “Yes, Ferret?”
“I’m still following you, Tirdal,” he said.
“Of course you are,” was the response. “There’s not much else to do until we reach the pod’s extraction points, is there?”
“True enough,” he agreed. “Tirdal, you asked why I didn’t contact you when Dagger fragged everybody. I could ask you that same question, couldn’t I? Your silence then says a lot.”
“It says either I thought everyone was dead, or that I wanted to be alone and unbothered. You have to decide, of course, though it’s rather moot. None of us can trust the others.”
“And why should I, Tirdal?” he asked. “You took the box. Why do you have it?”
“I took it to keep it from Dagger,” Tirdal replied.
“Fair enough,” Ferret said. “But why do you still have it? You could hide it, and ambush Dagger if he came for it.”
“That would be silly,” Tirdal replied. “We all know I’m not skilled at tracking.”
“True,” Ferret said. “But Dagger seems to be following you just fine. So why not try the ambush? Or, since he can’t get off the planet without you, just leave him the damned box. He’d have to carry it as well, and you could just stalk him as he neared the ship.”
“I can’t take that risk, Ferret,” Tirdal replied. “I have to keep the artifact.”
“Why?”
“I have told you.”
“Those are pretty thin reasons. You’re inconveniencing yourself, and helping Dagger.” Ferret was arguing. Something was wrong here, and he didn’t know what it was. But the situation didn’t make sense.
“There are reasons I think are valid for this,” Tirdal said.
“Like what?” Ferret asked too quickly. He really wanted to know.
There was silence. “Yeah, I thought so,” Ferret continued. “You want that artifact as much as Dagger does. You’re both scum.”
“Ferret,” Tirdal replied, “I can’t convince you what I’m doing is for your own good.”
“ ‘For my own good.
’ Sure. Humans are happiest as slaves, right?” he retorted.
Tirdal said, “I really am sorry, Ferret.” Then there was silence.
Well, if he wouldn’t talk, perhaps Dagger would. Ferret also knew something Dagger wanted kept secret.
“So, Dagger, was that dark night scary and creepy?”
“Ferret, you’re still alive. I told Tirdal he should circle back and bag you, but he’s too nice.”
“Oh, stuff it, Dagger. We all know you two are just avoiding each other. That’s why you’re attempting a flank.” That was a dangerous comment, though he didn’t specify who Dagger might be flanking. But if he was forced to reconsider it, he’d likely wait on Ferret and bag Tirdal first. At least Ferret hoped that was how it would play out.
Continuing, he said, “He wants that billion as bad as you do. In fact, I’m planning to help him kill you first, because he’s the easier one.”
Dagger replied, “So, you recognize me as a threat. That’s good, Ferret. I’ll make sure you get a nice, clean shot through the head. Will that make you feel any better?”
Ferret ignored the implication. “I’m coming for you, Dagger. You’re between me and Tirdal, so it’s tactically smart. And it’ll be fun, too. I never realized killing could be fun. Thanks for that.”
“Of course it’s fun, Ferret. That’s the point of it. Usually, they have no idea they’re about to die. You stare through the scope and watch them go straight to hell. It’s kicky. But sometimes, they know it’s coming, and they know when they’ve made a critical mistake. That’s going to be you. And I’m going to enjoy the expression on your face as I blow it to jelly.”
“You really need help, you know that, Dagger?” Ferret replied. Still, the threat had bothered him. He felt vulnerable again. Was Dagger watching him? No, not from that range in the trees. Still. He’d have to watch for Dagger to circle back and stalk him. The rules were changing in this new war.
Dagger laughed. “They picked the right man for each job. You’re the skulker and sneaker. I’m the killer. And the Darhel is just a number.”
“You haven’t managed to catch that number yet, pal. Looks like he’s making good time. Of course, he might just make it to the pod before we do, and leave us here. Hmm?”
There was a moment’s pause. Dagger apparently was reconsidering his position. “I don’t think so, Ferret. I know something you two don’t. He’s not leaving with the box.”
That had worked, Ferret realized. Dagger was more thoughtful and less reactive. Could he push him more? Perhaps. “You do realize I’ve been talking to him, Dagger?” he prodded. “And we both know what your intent is. We can sit down and talk, but first we have to kill you. Luckily, with you at an oblique, that won’t be hard when we reach the right spot. We’ll both have clear fields of fire, and good approaches.”
“Why wait, Ferret?” Dagger asked. “I’ll kill you as soon as I get a shot. So will Tirdal. Then we’ll settle things mano a Elf. But you won’t be around to see it.”
“Nice theory, Dagger. You could tell that to a shrink, if you were going to be alive to go home.” He closed the circuit. Dagger was a bit distressed, but so was he. He didn’t need to rile himself up in front of a soulless sociopath, even by audio.
Instead, he threw himself forward, forcing his feet to carry him. After so many hours of limping, he had it down. His ambling gait was at least as fast as a brisk stride. First he’d kill Dagger, then he’d kill that Darhel. If he couldn’t get out of this alive, he could certainly keep them from doing so.
* * *
Dagger, like Tirdal, saw that the terrain was changing, and smiled mirthlessly. That put the ball back in his court. Tirdal could either head out onto the grass and get shot, or turn back toward him and get shot, or head around and let Dagger flank him and get shot. If the former, it was easy — he’d be in plain view, his death clear in the scope so it could be replayed again and again. If one of the latter two, he could build a hasty blind and get the little twerp up close. Then he could see his face as he died, helpless. There was a frisson of delight in those thoughts. If the little asshole went around, like the coward he was, Dagger could get ahead of him. And that’s exactly what the tracer showed him to be doing.
Ferret was the problem. That little son of a bitch was like a rash that wouldn’t go away. Dagger wasn’t sure precisely where he was, either. Likely tracking Tirdal now, but he couldn’t be sure. He had been vague enough that he might be behind Dagger. Cursing again, Dagger wished Ferret had had the manners to die when the grenade went off.
If Ferret were physically capable and had his faculties, he might already have teamed up with the Darhel. That he hadn’t was a good indicator for Dagger. Not that it mattered. Dagger knew it was them against him. Whether they teamed up or not was a minor issue. Neither of them could trust the other, though, when it came down to it. He’d have to ensure it stayed that way.
Still, Ferret couldn’t be too close. He was talking. People who were talking weren’t shooting. What Dagger needed was to pin Tirdal down in a hurry. After that, he could simply lie in wait for Ferret; he had the longer-ranged weapon. Also, Dagger outranked him, so he could call the ball and just wait. There were lots of options. So Tirdal first.
He jogged forward in a crouch to where the trees subsided to scrub, then eased to his knees and into a crawl, the rifle dragging behind his shoulder. This was where it all paid off. He ignored the flitting flies and scurrying beetles. The day was warm and dry, the pioneer weeds ahead resilient and tough, and Dagger was slim, vicious and expert at infiltration. Pleasure rose in him, displacing the last vestiges of his former worries.
Twenty minutes later he growled in frustration. There were too many life-forms moving about this blaze, creating motion that distracted him. The tracer showed the box to be running across from southeast to northwest, and he could see nothing in that direction. There was no way to take a shot from here. The damned sensor in his helmet was crude and not much use to him, as it showed most of the higher life-forms. If he had Ferret’s tracker, there was a setting for a finer definition to resolve only humans or possibly Darhel. Terrain and position were his thing. The enemy’s thoughts were for the psych boys and point. He just took the shots.
Of course, Ferret did have that tracker, and might have him pinned down to a few meters. Granted, a punch gun didn’t have the range of a gauss rifle, but that little jackass was becoming a major pain and a real threat. He also wasn’t talking. Dagger assumed he was tracking Tirdal, that they both were, as he had the artifact and would be easier to kill.
After that it would get interesting. Neither he nor Ferret would want to be burdened with the box, but neither would want to be too far away. Dagger had the better weapon, so he’d just have to keep Ferret at bay until he could kill him, or until they came to a deal, so Dagger could kill him more easily. But Ferret wasn’t going to be easy to fool, and could track.
But first was to bag that Darhel. It didn’t really matter who did it, but Dagger preferred to have the kill for score, and to be sure the bastard was dead this time.
Should he climb a tree? There were a few, scraggly and flimsy looking, but there should be one that would give him a meter or two of elevation. That should be enough. The Darhel wasn’t within range with his punch gun, so why not? Ferret should be out of range also, so if he did this quickly he could be back on the ground for cover.
This was definitely a task for chameleon camouflage, though. He brushed on the effect and watched as his surface texture rippled and became all but invisible. The field would be detectable, but it was low enough power not to be easy to localize. So all Ferret would know without a stalk would be that Dagger was nearby, which he already knew.
Dagger rose to a crouch and stalked through the grass toward his chosen perch, which was a pseudofern that nevertheless had branches. The skin was green and soft rather than barklike, but the limbs were low enough for him to easily reach them. He clambered aloft and scanned along the streambed. The
re was movement, but it appeared to be just herbivores watering along it, and they were far downstream of where the tracer last placed Tirdal. He switched from scope to tracer, back to scope, and finally saw movement behind a tuft of crabby grass. There the little bastard was! He was using the overgrown banks for cover.
Dagger pondered, considering the shot first. Dagger never rushed, at least not in his own mind. A hornet round would flip over the bank and make a kill, but the Darhel’s harness would likely destroy it in final trajectory. No good. However, if he could get a good shot with a basic projectile, hypersonic and dumb, that would do it. It took more skill to make such a shot, but this was Dagger. Everyone knew he was the best, and the little weasel was about to, too. Or rather, he wasn’t. He loaded the round while smiling thin-lipped, and targeted the next break in cover.
There. A flicker of movement at the edge of the opening and then the Darhel was just there. It was trotting, slowly, favoring its right side. The box was in its left hand and its punch gun was in its right. There wasn’t much time to adjust for the shot, but there was enough.
The Darhel was moving at maybe eight klicks per hour. Time of flight was half a second. Say a one-meter lead. Breeeeathe.
As always, it was better than sex. The Republic military tried to weed out the “over the edge” special operations types. But no system was perfect. And Dagger was, and always had been, the perfect psychopath. For him, being the team sniper was all about power. You were the hunter. You watched your target and waited for the perfect time and took it out. It was the ultimate power over another sentient and it was better than anything else. It was a heady drug that paid for itself over and over again when you were gapping the enemy.
The shot was perfect. Dagger watched the round by observing through his scope fluctuations in the heat waves in the air and it tracked in directly to where the Darhel… no longer was.