The Hero lota-5

by John Ringo

  Shortly thereafter, he found a depression with scattered puddles. There were lizards there, and he decided that lizard was close enough, being at least a chordate. All he had to do now was get one.

  He could have snuck in and snagged one, but that took time. Consciously, he was confident of his ability to stalk, and repressed any thoughts that he might not be. Intellectually, the faster he ate the better. Somewhere below that, he desired to shoot something. That would make him feel better, get out some aggression, and was less involved than trying to grapple a reptile. Shooting was natural for him, and the rail pistol was near silent. If he adjusted the velocity down below sonic speed, there wouldn’t even be a crack from the round. Ten seconds with the controls, five seconds to aim, breathe and pop! he had a lizard. Two more pops gave him two more, as they looked small. The rest scattered, but he’d gotten three in less than three seconds.

  He moved up and grabbed the corpses, headless or nearly so from the hydrostatic shock of small beads. He whipped out his knife as he did so. He chopped off the remains of the heads and the feet and laid them on a log. With quick strokes he slit and gutted them, sectioned them into legs and torsos, and grabbed the first hind leg.

  He hesitated just long enough to get his brain in control and shut off his senses. Then he bit into the warm, rubbery flesh and tore it loose from the bone. It was slimy and stringy in his mouth, and he choked it down, coughing and trying not to vomit. Perhaps if he’d shot them yesterday, he could have had them dried and chewy by now, instead of as something resembling raw squid. He bit again, almost regurgitated the first bite along with it, and chewed, avoiding touching it with his tongue until enough saliva built up and allowed him to force it back and down.

  Grimacing, he stuffed the rest into a pocket, wiped his hands free of sticky lizard blood on his suit, and stood up. He’d need water so he could wash this stuff down in small bites like medicine. He just couldn’t make himself actually chew the stuff. And the taste would linger until he got to some water.

  Tirdal had lied, if he’d actually eaten the damned things at all. They tasted nothing like chicken.

  * * *

  Tirdal, for his part, had his own demons to wrestle with. The cat and mouse game, just as it would cause multiple adrenaline reactions with humans, was causing his system to flood with tal hormone. This was dangerous, but to get the absolute most out of his system he had to use it. He had to release the demon and risk the overload, risk the zombie state of lintatai, if he was going to win against the sniper. He’d stretched out his Sense yesterday and been able to see what Dagger was doing. Only by maintaining that state could he gain enough intelligence to outthink and outmaneuver Dagger.

  Then there was his need for more food. While Dagger could last quite some time on converted weeds, and likely could shoot an animal and eat it with little worry, he thought, Tirdal had to struggle with each creature in his psyche, but had to, had to, eat several each day. Worse, he was approaching his own fatigue limit, this being forty-seven hours into the chase. Food would keep him going, though he could already feel the stress and damage to his muscles caused by the drain his metabolism placed on his body mass. He was alert for more food now, seeking creatures with the least intellect. If they were self-aware, he could find himself over the canyon of lintatai again.

  He found two large roach type creatures and was able to pry them apart and feast on the succulent white meat without extreme discomfort while walking. The terrain was becoming easier, which was good in that he would leave fewer signs for Dagger and could move faster, but bad in that he deduced the savanna was ahead again. He would be forced to enter the broad plain, and Dagger’s shooting range and visibility would both improve dramatically. Still, Dagger had to be feeling severe fatigue. Another day would likely destroy his effectiveness, and Tirdal had been trained in patience.

  He found it ironic that he was trying to outwait a human professional in the art. Still, the end result would be instructive, assuming, of course, that he survived to report back. It would be instructive only to him if he failed.

  The terrain was very open now, the trees sparsely spread and the undergrowth thickening into scrub again, here where the sunlight was greater. It changed to thick grass on the continental plain ahead. Tirdal dropped to a crawl and slipped under what growth he could, seeking some kind of cover to use ahead. It was very awkward to crawl on the points of his elbows while clutching the box behind his head.

  There was a wash from a stream, perhaps the same one he used as before. It was narrower and shallower than the one in the woods south of here, which would make sense, the terrain here being a broad plateau above the rich forest beneath it and the ancient hills. No matter. The cut would provide cover, possible food, water, cooling to refresh him, help mask his IR signature and other lifeforms to create confusion. It would safely take him some distance.

  * * *

  Ferret decided to have another whack at Tirdal. If he could get him to team up, they might outflank Dagger, the real threat; then they could discuss the box. It might be they’d have to kill each other over it, but they could try, dammit.

  “Tirdal,” he said, “we need to deal with Dagger.”

  “Of course we do, Ferret,” Tirdal replied. Ferret was sighing in relief as he continued, “And Dagger and I need to deal with you, and the two of you with me.” Ferret gritted his teeth in frustration, but Tirdal was still talking. “An ironic situation, to say the least. Dagger’s motives are obvious: money. Yours appear to be driven by loyalty, but of course we can’t believe that. Mine are driven by a similar loyalty, complicated by other issues. You know you can’t trust Dagger and believe you can’t trust me. I know I can’t trust Dagger and know I can’t trust you under the circumstances, though if I could explain things, you would agree, I hope. Dagger knows we’ll both kill him, given the chance. Darhel don’t really have irony, but I begin to understand it. A perverse concept.”

  “So we agree on Dagger,” Ferret said. “We take care of him, then we can talk. You followed me the entire mission; you must know what I’m like.”

  “It would be a tempting offer, Ferret,” Tirdal replied, “except that I have no way of knowing whether or not you’re offering the same deal to Dagger. The artifact is the catalyst for all this trouble.”

  “Hide the damned box, Tirdal!” Ferret snapped, almost pleading. He really didn’t want to fight both of them. He really didn’t want to kill Tirdal. Tirdal had seemed like a decent enough guy. Alien. Whatever. He really didn’t want either of them to kill him, or for fate to catch up with his wounds. “I don’t need it! I just need to know that you don’t have it, and certainly that Dagger doesn’t. If you can’t get it off the planet first, we’re safe to hunt Dagger. Then we can go together — you tell me where the box is, I take it, you control the pod. Balance of power.”

  “It would be a reasonable suggestion under most circumstances, Ferret, but at present I can’t do that. I have to maintain control of this artifact. I realize that creates distrust on your part. I can’t help that.”

  Ferret, frustrated by talk, said, “Tirdal, I’m on your side, dammit.”

  “That’s probably true, Ferret,” Tirdal said, “but we both know I can’t afford to believe that.”

  “Dammit!” Ferret said, frustration in his voice. “Can’t you read my mind?”

  “I can’t answer that question, Ferret, though the answer should be obvious.” Ferret likely was telling the truth. The whole scenario wasn’t organized enough to be a conspiracy. Ferret did seem to have pure motives. Of course, those were human motives, not Darhel. And as harsh as it was, there was no reason for Tirdal to team up with a crippled human, and every reason to split Dagger’s attention. It was doubtful that humans appreciated that logic.

  “Okay, Tirdal, can you tell me where Dagger is? And I’ll go take a few shots at him.”

  “I suppose there’s no harm in telling you that, Ferret. Though shooting at him wouldn’t be sufficient proof. If you are ab
le to wound him or kill him, it will show you have a greater interest in either the artifact or your own life than in Dagger’s existence. You see the problem we face.” If he could get Ferret to do that, it would improve Tirdal’s odds. If he could get Ferret to panic, he might be able to confirm his mindset, as he had with Dagger. But it would take a strong emotion.

  “However, Dagger is behind me in terrain that is opening up. I can’t be more specific than that. As to his grid coordinates, stand by.” He considered carefully how to not give his position away. He really didn’t have Dagger localized that well, but if Ferret headed that way, it was less trouble for him. Ferret might also try the same stunt with Dagger. Either way, it made sense to share intelligence about the common enemy. Irony was truly a fascinating concept. “Based on the pod’s position as we deployed as zero meridian, here’s Dagger’s grid,” he said, and read off the numbers. “That should place him within five hundred meters. I’d bet on it being less than half that, but I can’t guarantee it.”

  * * *

  “Got it, Tirdal,” Ferret said. Wow. That was only about a kilometer ahead. They were moving as slowly as he was. Of course, three days of fatigue, wounds and the device were burdening them all. “I’ll try to bag him. Then you’ll join me after that?” he asked. His voice was rising.

  “I can’t do that, sorry,” Tirdal replied, voice still even, very even.

  “Dammit, Tirdal, I’m on your side! Please!” Ferret said, growing panicky.

  “I don’t know human voices well enough to ascertain their qualities. You’re distressed, that’s all. It’s an honest emotion, but not specific enough. You could be being threatened by Dagger, or you could just be in pain.”

  Ferret sounded sad, hurt, when he replied, “Then fuck you, you alien turd.”

  * * *

  Tirdal was still having trouble with the concept of human stress. They could almost appear to change sides on a whim, especially when angry. Yet usually, there was one side they stuck to. Though they did act on the cusp of the moment sometimes, often unpredictably and illogically. They might go outside the available choices and do something utterly irrelevant.

  What would Ferret and Dagger reasonably do? What might they do that wasn’t reasonable? Speculation was necessary, even if likely to be wrong.

  * * *

  Dagger saw the trees tapering to scrub and knew the grassland was ahead. Now would be a good time to detour off to the east and seek high ground. If he could get up on the bluffs he saw, he would be in a good position to parallel Tirdal and get off good shots. He was aching, wiped out and suffering from thirst and hunger, but this would be over soon and he could rest and even cook some meat. He had to admit the little twerp had put up one hell of a struggle. Not bad for a soft, urban wimp.

  Drawing a ragged breath through his parched throat, he shrugged deeper into the straps of his ruck and resumed walking. His step was lighter, though. The end was in sight.

  The slope up toward the bluff was steeper than it looked, which, come to think of it, was a good sign. More height meant a better field of view, meant easier shooting. He leaned far into the pace, and rested by putting his gloved hands down and pulling himself along by tufts of grass and rocks. The stems came up to his head when he did that, and mothlike insectoids fluttered up in his face. He caught one as he inhaled, which got crushed between his lips. He spat dry fluff and insect wings, grimacing in distaste. Dammit. He needed water.

  Well, there wasn’t any water, and wouldn’t be until he headed down. So it would be best to stop bitching and get the job done. He could and did drag out a freeze-dried package of fruit he’d hoarded from the rat packs. It was fibrous and tough, but melted slowly in his mouth with what little saliva he had, providing some refreshment and much needed sugar. The physical and psychological boost helped him increase his pace slightly.

  The terrain was leveling out and he was on a long fingerlike rill that headed into the forested foothills. Really, this was the long way around back to the Blob site, and he was amazed that the Darhel was doing that.

  Was it possible the Darhel were in league with the Blobs? Dagger considered that, brain working furiously. It just might be. Tirdal didn’t seem worried about the Blobs; he did seem afraid of Dagger, despite his banter. It would explain much. When he got back, he’d have to report that.

  Report what, Dagger? We’re not going back. Oh, long enough to write a report, so I suppose we can mention it, but really, who gives a damn? Kali was waiting, and Earth, the Alliance and the Republic could go die.

  But as to right now, if Tirdal San Whatever was working with the Blobs and could reach them with his mind, Dagger was screwed. But there was nothing he could do about it, so he would just keep going. And really, Tirdal had had two days to do something and hadn’t. It was worth reporting as additional cover to confuse the trail — it might even create conspiracy theories as to Dagger’s “disappearance” if he said it in a few bars. Good idea. But there was no threat here.

  Correction: there was one threat. He was the threat to Tirdal. Ferret was a non-starter. It was a shame he couldn’t cut the little guy in on a deal, at least to start with.

  Just then, Ferret called.

  * * *

  Ferret was now in a quandary. He was close to Dagger. He didn’t want to get too close. Enough into punch gun range to line up a good shot and nail the asshole was all it would take. And a wound would be as good as a kill. As long as the man was incapacitated, he could be dealt with. It would be easier to close at dark, apart from IR signature. It would be easier to close in daylight with good visibility, apart from the equal visibility he’d show. It would be best to do it soon, before pain and fatigue knocked him over. He’d staggered several times recently, and thought he’d had a momentary blackout as he walked. It might have been just the hypnotic effect of pain, but either way, it was time to end this. He didn’t have the strength to go another day, he was sure.

  Perhaps he should use that pain for effect now? Appear helpless to Dagger so as to be underestimated, or to present himself as bait. Yeah, what the hell. Enough running through the woods, it was time to bring it to a head. Part of him didn’t care anymore.

  “Look, Dagger,” he said, “I don’t care if you keep the bloody artifact. I don’t care if the little alien turd dies. I just want off this rock. Can’t we work out a deal?” It was a sellout, maybe. Worst case, he’d try to talk Dagger into giving him a ride somewhere before he took off. Best case, Dagger might make a mistake and Ferret would kill him. The problem in that was that if he were sole survivor, he’d have to have a very good story to back up his case.

  But Ferret didn’t want to die. He realized that of a sudden. He had to clamp down tight to avoid getting a stutter, because he felt, knew at that moment that he was going to die before he could get to the pod. Part of him might not care, but another part did. Death from stranding, or gangrene, or by Dagger was scarier, more absolutely gut-puckering than death from the Blobs or feral Posties.

  “That might be possible, Ferret, but you’d have to prove your bona fides. So, you kill Tirdal and you have a deal.” Dagger replied.

  Ferret didn’t need to be a sensat to know that Dagger had no intention of following through on that bargain, but was just fishing for help. The man was transparent scum. Worse, he didn’t seem to care.

  “Then you help me find him. I don’t have most of my gear,” Ferret lied.

  “Oh, Tirdal won’t be hard to find.” Dagger could almost be seen to smirk through the voice-only transmission. “He’s just out on the savanna, west of the ridge I’m standing on.”

  Ferret paused a moment before he replied. Had Dagger known he’d let out that bit of information? He just placed himself relative to Tirdal and the landscape. Ferret couldn’t think of a deliberate reason he’d do that. He must have just let it slip out. The next question was, had he realized his possibly lethal error? Or was it a gaffe he was still unaware of? Either way, Ferret had a momentary advantage and was going t
o push it.

  In his mind, however, he was triumphantly shouting, So that’s where you are, you fucking scumbag. Between the grid and that admission, Ferret had him pinned. He was on that rise ahead and to the east. It was a block perhaps two hundred meters square and longer north-south than east-west.

  Controlling his voice, Ferret said, “Okay, Dagger, I’ll track the freak down and nail him if I can. Worst case, I’ll spot him for you. I’ll get the box, and you come and talk things over. Deal?”

  “Sure, Ferret,” Dagger replied. He had an easy, smug tone that didn’t betray failure. Was he really unaware that he’d given his location away? “We can always talk things over.”

  “So let’s do it,” Ferret said. “I’ll head west and pin him and call you back when I’m ready. Whichever way he runs, we’ll have cross fire.”

  “Looking forward to it, Ferret,” Dagger agreed.

  Ferret called Tirdal at once. “Tirdal, Dagger is on that ridge. He’s trying to line up for a shot on you.”

  “Of course he is, Ferret. This is hardly news,” Tirdal replied. He didn’t sound surprised.

  Well, no, he wouldn’t be. It was, after all, entirely reasonable.

  “Yes, Tirdal,” Ferret said, “but he’s waiting for me to bag you. He thinks I’ll do it.”

  “I also think you might, given the circumstances. Even if you were not disposed to previously, you have nothing to lose by killing me and blaming me, and the two of you sharing any income. Or just bargaining with him for your life. Though I think you would be foolish to trust anything he says.”