The Hero lota-5

by John Ringo

  “I don’t trust the murdering scum, Tirdal. I do trust you,” Ferret said.

  “That would be a useful turn of events,” Tirdal agreed, not really sounding enthusiastic even by the standards of a Darhel. “However, there’s no effective way to prove it.”

  “So let me tell you this, Tirdal,” Ferret said. It was part treaty offer, part desperation, and part professional need. “I’m wounded. I need medical attention.”

  “You really have my sympathies, Ferret, but I can’t possibly get that close to you.”

  “Tirdal,” Ferret replied, “You tell me what I should do. You’re the medic.”

  “That’s fair enough, Ferret,” Tirdal agreed. At last. Something. “Describe the nature of your wounds.”

  Ferret said, “I took some of the neural grenade. Both feet and lower part of the left leg. I’ve got partial feeling in my right ankle, and the rest is a combination of numb and fucking painful. I can walk with difficulty. I took painkillers, a stabilizer, and a minor wound med.”

  “If that’s true, Ferret,” Tirdal replied, “I’m surprised you can walk at all.”

  “Much better than Dagger thinks I can, though it hurts like hell. Not as well as I need to.”

  “Describe the pain, in detail,” Tirdal asked.

  Taking a breath before thinking about the agony, Ferret said, “It was a massive jolt through my body, like an electric shock. Then it was just excruciating in my legs. After some rest and the painkillers, it’s just my feet and ankles, and the right one has partial feeling. The feet have no sensation, but when I move them, stabbing pains shoot up to my knees. A bunch of secondary effects like nausea I’m not worried about. But I expect gangrene after a while.”

  “Gangrene is unlikely, as long as you maintain circulation,” Tirdal said. His voice was the same, but he sounded a tiny bit friendlier, or at least not actively hostile. Amazing what being a cripple did for people’s mindset. “To that end, walking is helping you. As no central nervous tissue has been damaged, you should, eventually, make a full recovery. It will take months without therapy, hours or days with proper meds.”

  “Really, Tirdal? It’s not permanent?” Ferret was elated. He might actually live through this? He forced calm and caution back upon himself. He still had a battle to fight. And he was coming out of the woods, so he’d have to crawl.

  “It shouldn’t be,” Tirdal said. “Humans have recovered from neural lash before.”

  “All right, Tirdal, then I need to get medication. Do you have that?” Crawling was easier than walking, if slower. But he had both of the others located within a few hundred meters. As long as he was alert, he should be fine. And if meds were available…

  Tirdal’s response was slow. “Ferret, it’s an external effect for nerve inductance and is often described as ‘excruciating.’ My general module can mimic the effect well enough, though it’s both extremely painful and easy to find with good scanners. Dagger would likely locate me. Also, you need a nanite to rebuild the tissue. I have that, too. But, Ferret, we can’t get that close.”

  Panicking for real, now, Ferret replied, “Dammit, Tirdal, I’ve got to have help! Can’t you leave the equipment somewhere and let me find it?” He’d been whipsawed by pending doom and survival for three days now. He was about at his limit.

  Again, a pause. “That might be possible. They are not of use to me, as they are human specific. Your best bet would have been to acquire Shiva’s gear before you left the bivouac.”

  * * *

  Tirdal felt the pain under Ferret’s last reply. And at that moment, human anguish matched with human pain through Ferret just to that edge where Tirdal could feel him, Sense him.

  Ferret was telling the truth.

  Of course, Ferret was still crippled. “Ferret,” he said, “I am forced by circumstances to believe you are what you say. I can Sense you. I will meet you. I would, however, prefer that you disarm. I will also need to ask other things of you.”

  “Disarm?” came the panicked reply. “I can’t do that!”

  “You need not dispose of your weapons,” Tirdal said. “You must simply not have them at hand when I meet you. In sight, nearby will suffice. Once you are treated, we can discuss strategy.”

  “And what about you? Do you disarm?”

  Tirdal had known he would ask that, and replied, “I have the medical care you need, and the billion credit artifact. My bargaining position is much stronger. You understand that I am risking much, we both are, by doing this.”

  “Right,” Ferret replied. “I guess I knew that.”

  “So tell me where you are, Ferret. I may have to have you move some distance to a safer location.”

  “Yes, I know, Tirdal,” Ferret replied. And again, Tirdal could feel his honesty. Revealing his location was a very personal, frightening act under the circumstances. It was intimate, in its own way, and Ferret’s psyche couldn’t cover that. The flash came to Tirdal for a second only, but it was enough. Ferret was what he said. “I’m at the edge of the forest, likely south of you about fourteen hundred meters.”

  Tirdal considered. He really couldn’t go back, or he’d be exposing himself to Dagger over very flat ground. He had marginal terrain here for cover, but it was better than nothing. If he was able to treat Ferret, who had made it this far with a crippling wound, they’d have the tactical advantage. However, Ferret would ask questions, and Tirdal would have to have answers. He couldn’t come up with a convincing lie, and didn’t dare tell the truth.

  Also, treating Ferret would take time, and there was no way Dagger was going to leave them alone to do that. Really, the philosophy of life was the true path. The wounded and weak must be allowed to die that the breed could improve. There was certainly no time here to change it.

  Of course, humans didn’t think that way for themselves, and didn’t even grasp it as an alien concept. Nor was it something he wanted to broach with Ferret at this point. It might serve later, if he needed a panic as a distraction.

  “That’s really not a good place at the moment, Ferret,” he said. “Exposure is high. Can you travel more?”

  “I can move,” Ferret replied, sounding unsure. “But I can’t go forever.”

  “You shouldn’t need to,” Tirdal said. “If you can last until dark, we can meet and get you treated. All three of us need rest, and Dagger is less likely to try approaching both of us at night. Also, we can take things in shifts, provided we can come to an agreement.” Tirdal didn’t need rest that badly; he was just now reaching the level of fatigue that created disorientation. How the two humans were managing was a mystery. They were truly amazing creatures, to be studied further. He realized, however, that making them think he needed rest was good disinformation. Ferret was likely to let some minor amount slip to Dagger, which would keep Dagger off guard. Also, he could use Ferret as bait that way, and perhaps get the sniper between them. This endless draw had to be ended.

  Ferret’s reply was full of regret and resignation. “Yes, Tirdal. I can last until dark.”

  “Then let us keep each other informed and meet then,” Tirdal said.

  “Right.”

  * * *

  Dagger was glad to have heard from Ferret. It meant he was failing and couldn’t go much longer. In truth, Dagger was amazed he’d done as well as he had. But now it was time for the real expert to end this. He’d casually let slip his own location, hoping Ferret would try to approach him in an eager bid to get a shot. There was no chance of that; he had theoretically a fifteen thousand meter effective range. Ferret’s was line of sight, but the beam of a punch gun decayed rapidly from internal effects of the photons and atmosphere. Besides, he could see the tree line from here, clearly through his scope. If Ferret moved, he’d nail him.

  And speaking of which, he was reaching a good place to start spotting and shooting from. He moved to a kneeling position, automatically mindful of concealment. He’d been doing it so long it was instinct. Even from that height, though, he could see the pa
noramic spread of the plains with late afternoon sun to light everything. The grasses were waving in ripples of yellow and pale green, occasional blues and tans of other vegetation visible in patches. There were dots of herds shuffling across in various directions. The wind was generally toward him from the southwest, which likely didn’t matter here but was never a bad thing.

  Now to find his target. That was how he always thought of his enemies: targets. He recalled once giving a lecture to a class who were on a field trip to the base. The teacher had been a cute little thing, but wouldn’t give him the time of day. Since he couldn’t get in her pants, he’d decided to freak her out. One of the students had asked the age-old question, “How can you shoot someone?”

  He’d given half his gaze to the student, half to the teacher, and replied, “You just superimpose a target over their forehead and shoot the target.” Her expression had been precious.

  And Tirdal was about to get a target superimposed on him. As soon as Dagger relocated the little freak.

  Dagger raised his scope and its panoply of sensors and got to work, sitting cross-legged in the grass. He kept an eye out for intrusions or threats, because there were a couple of superbeetles wandering around in the middle distance. It wouldn’t do to have one of them attack or even just spook him. Ferret would recognize a spook if he saw one, and close in on him. Tirdal might not, but even so, it didn’t fit Dagger’s image of his own competence.

  The box was over there. He squinted down to take a cursory look, then raised the rifle slowly until the scope covered that same area. It was a sandy riverbank, and apparently Tirdal was keeping below the crest of it. There was movement, lots of movement of animals burrowing through the tall grass. No particular one stood out. Tirdal was there somewhere, but Dagger wasn’t able to tell for sure. Still, sooner or later he’d show himself. Dagger lowered the scope, and grabbed cords from a front pocket of his harness. The first plugged the tracer into his helmet display. That would make it easier to follow. The second plugged into the scope, so he could snag a quick look at magnification or in various spectra to zero in. He’d raise the rifle to proper position to shoot, of course, but in the meantime the scope would serve extra duty.

  Now it was time to wait. It was warm though not hot, but between exercise and sunlight, Dagger was sweating. At least he was still sweating. If the sweats stopped, it meant heat exhaustion, followed shortly by death. There was no one here to treat him.

  * * *

  Ferret noticed movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head. “Shit, Tirdal, you’ve got a flock of giant bats moving in.”

  There was a moments’ pause before Tirdal replied, “I see them. They are not overhead yet, though.”

  “I think they will be soon. What happened on the way in? Do you remember what the captain said about them?” There were six of the things, circling in the sun and moving across the savanna. They obviously saw something they liked. Ferret realized he was actually afraid it might be Tirdal. Of course, the same things might come after him shortly.

  “I missed that discussion also, Ferret. I think it was between the captain and Gorilla,” Tirdal said. “But there’s nothing I can do about them at this point.”

  “Tirdal!” he said urgently. “They’re not only carnivorous, but if Dagger figures out they’ve spotted you, you’re toast.”

  “I realize that,” was the calm reply. “However, there is nothing I can do at this point,” he repeated. “I am open to suggestions.”

  Ferret thought it was rather obvious. “Shoot them some bait,” he said. “If they have fresh meat they don’t have to worry about, they’ll ignore you.”

  “Of course,” Tirdal said. “If I could find game within range that I could kill with a punch gun, that would be an excellent suggestion.” There was a moment’s hesitation before he said, “And if I could withstand another psychic blow from killing something that has a consciousness.”

  It hit Ferret at once. Of course. There were a lot of sensat Darhel. It seemed as if they were all that way. Everyone had assumed that it was mostly their sensats volunteered, but there didn’t seem to be any that weren’t. If the emotions of those around them were present like that, no wonder they avoided crowds. And no wonder it was hard to kill, or be around killing. “Ah, hell, Tirdal,” he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “Nor were you supposed to, Ferret. Nor any humans. But it’s somewhat obvious now and still leaves me in a quandary. If you can get close enough to perhaps hit one, I will trust you to do so. Especially as I don’t have much choice.”

  Ferret thought about that for just a moment. “Tirdal, as soon as one of us fires, Dagger will track the shot. So we want to shoot at him only. If he isn’t ducking bolts, he’s going to be shooting back.” Meanwhile, the pterosaur flyers were steady. They seemed to have acquired a target.

  “Patching through,” Tirdal said and at once, Ferret could hear Dagger say, “So, Tirdal, the flappies tell me you smell like chicken yourself.”

  “What are you referring to, Dagger?” Tirdal asked, pushing just a hint of curiosity into his voice.

  Either it wasn’t good enough, or Dagger was too shrewd to be misled. “They’re circling over you, my friend.”

  “Oh, those,” Tirdal said. “I see them, Dagger. Some distance away. Ferret might be there, as he seemed nearly dead last time I spoke to him. Why don’t you go investigate?” Ferret snickered under his breath. Yes, Dagger, go investigate and I’ll shoot your sorry ass in the back.

  “I really don’t think so, Tirdal,” Dagger said.

  “No? Why don’t you call him, then? Ferret seems to have stopped responding, and I can’t Sense him anymore. In fact, he was rather weak the entire way through this.”

  “Right. I’m not as dumb as you look, Elf. But I will see you soon.”

  “As you keep saying, Dagger. It’s been over three days now. You make promises like a human politician.”

  “Bye, Elf,” Dagger said. The channel closed.

  Tirdal said, “Well, Ferret, that’s where we stand.”

  “Yeah,” Ferret said. Just then, Dagger called him. He patched it back to Tirdal as a courtesy.

  “Oh, Ferret, are you there?”

  Ferret kept totally still as Dagger continued, “I’m about to take a shot at the Darhel. You know I’ll get him. And then, buddy, pal, I’m not going to kill you. I’m just going to leave you here. I don’t reckon you can last six weeks of transit time back, plus six more weeks of transit time here, assuming anyone decides to corroborate our findings. You might want to just do yourself now, or snuggle up to the Blob base and hope for a nice clean nuke.”

  He absolutely burned to call the man a psychopath, a freak, a piece of shit, anything. But he had to say absolutely nothing. He gritted his teeth and took it.

  “Very well, Ferret. If you’re dead, you won’t notice. Rest in peace.”

  The channel closed, and at once Ferret said, “Tirdal, I think we all know where we stand now.”

  “Yes, Ferret. Very much,” was the reply.

  “Fine. But when we bag this son of a whore, you are going to tell me why you have the box.”

  “Ferret, unlike Dagger, I won’t lie to you. That information is not going to be available. There are things I cannot discuss, just as you have things in the Republican Army you can’t tell Darhels. But we do know where we stand regarding Dagger.”

  Sighing in frustration and pain, Ferret said, “Okay, Tirdal. I’ll trust you for now. But I have no ideas about those flyers.”

  “Nor I,” Tirdal said.

  * * *

  Dagger sat patiently, waiting. It was what he was best at. He often got frustrated on long crawls or chases, but not while waiting. There was always a payoff in a good shot. The sun was bright, his gear chafing and his helmet was heavy. He’d take that off, not being worried about incoming fire, except that he needed the imaging screen. The discomfort was minor enough. His cottony mouth and cracked lips were far more annoying,
as was the rumble in his belly and the fatigue dragging at his eyelids. He kept twitching from tiredness, almost asleep and then back awake.

  He didn’t believe Ferret was dead yet. Soon, certainly, and Dagger would be glad to help with the process. But he was alive now. The tracer showed the box to be down there, about under those gliding reptiles, so that’s where Tirdal was. Ferret was playing silent. That was a pity. It was also a bit of a pain in the ass. But he’d nail Tirdal shortly, then get back to Ferret.

  Ah, there was the trace. It was moving steadily, enabling him to compare it to terrain features, and there was low bank ahead where he might get a shot. Nodding slightly to himself, Dagger rolled forward into a crawl and eased up to the edge of the bluff. He stopped about a meter back from where the edge rolled down to meet a cliff face of earth and tumbled growth. The grass curled over him and he was nearly invisible. Once he triggered the chameleon circuit, he effectively was invisible.

  His visor still showed him the tactical display, and he waited, ready to kill that image and go to the scope proper, which was nestled against the matching window on the visor built into the sniper’s visor. He had the rifle in a good position, and squeezed the control that extruded the bipod legs. They sought the surface, spread out their paddlelike feet, and the rifle was as steady as it was going to get. All he had to do now was wait.

  The dot moved north, closer to that shallow area, where he could see the narrow waters widen and ripple around the rocks, glinting in the light. Dammit, that water looked cool and tasty. Soon, he told himself. Don’t get distracted.

  There! Bare hints of Tirdal’s chameleon helmet showed above the edge, just ripples, but Dagger knew what they were. The rifle’s rounds could punch right through that soft sand. If the first shot was only a wound, it wouldn’t matter. Once Tirdal slowed, Dagger would get into position and take him out joint by joint. Or try to get Ferret to do it for him, which could mean he’d need even less effort. He focused through the scope, through the target, inhaled and relaxed, letting part of the breath escape, then held firm and watched the image. Tirdal intersected the third line of the reticle, which should be enough lead. The oscillations caused by Dagger’s tremors were as slight as they could get, almost nonexistent, even considering his condition, and he squeezed the stud. The rifle recoiled in the slight fashion gauss weapons did, twitched slightly and steadied. There was the crack of the projectile’s hypersonic passage, the wounded air trying forlornly to keep pace with a thoroughly unnatural event, and in his scope he could see the flat, barely arced passage it left, heat-damaged air molecules showing on the screen. Dirt flew from the bank…