The Hero lota-5

by John Ringo

  Chapter 20

  Tirdal was now truly alone. He could rest and would, but first he must recover that box. Then, he must stay hidden while traveling. Certainly the Tslek base was a decoy, but if they’d detected any of this fight, they’d come to reconnoiter, and Tirdal could hardly hold off even a lone bot with just a pistol and Dagger’s rifle. And it would be obvious from their presence that the team had discovered the Tslek ruse.

  Once he had the box, he’d have to move fast, resting briefly. When he was at last aboard the pod he could relax. For now, the schedule remained to eat and move. At least he’d be able to reduce the pace and eat vegetable matter rather than meat. His overmind was calmed by that notion, his submind outraged. More meditation would be necessary to reconcile all the conflicts between thought and emotion.

  For now, he had to recover the artifact. Dagger had had no idea of its real worth. It was worth far more than money. And it was worth more than life to Tirdal, who intended to recover it at once.

  He still needed the damnable tal to operate! Injured, exhausted and hungry, it was all that could keep him functioning. He drew his awareness in to a bare few meters, alert only for predators. Should the Tslek show up, there was nothing he could do, so it was not something to be concerned about. With less noise intruding into his mind, meditation while hiking was a viable option. He ran simple exercises to calm his overmind. His submind would have to wait, a caged beast clawing at his consciousness.

  He had the captain’s tracer to find the box and the herd. The beasts had moved a good five kilometers, and it was getting dark again. That meant there were six days to reach the northern exfiltration point, and that was possible. Or might it be better to simply head south and use that day to gain distance?

  The device was to his north. Additionally, he was running low on energy. A rough three- to four-day hike was better than a ten-day hike. If he failed in the first, he still had the option of the second. That decided him as much as the fatigue and even growing frustration did.

  At a trot, his gait odd from accumulated wounds, Tirdal made his way to the north and west again, following the signal. Tangles gave way to low scrub to grass, and he swallowed water and food on the run, occasionally fortified with pain medication and nanites for healing. He could meditate the pain away, certainly, but his mind was busy enough as it was. He hoped his Masters wouldn’t be too disappointed with that decision, under the circumstances.

  It was an amusing thought. For the second time this day, his ears flicked.

  He took a few bites from his processor and swallowed some water on the run. He still had a schedule to keep. The sun was oozing below the horizon, and the air was perfectly comfortable to him. Shortly, it would chill below even his tastes, and he’d simply adjust the suit accordingly. No longer did he need to cook or freeze, and the pleasant environment helped calm him, almost as much as the meditation and medication did.

  It was full dark before he got near the herd, but if the tracer was correct, the animals ahead were his target. He approached slowly, alert for predators that might pursue them, or any kind of problem. Then he drew more tal (again!) and focused his thoughts for projection.

  He wandered through the herd from the rear, still amazed that his projection was working, and he not seen. Or perhaps part of it was the chameleon. He’d elected to use it, since it wouldn’t be needed for anything else. He would have appreciated the irony of Dagger having that same thought the day before, had he known.

  The tracer simply told him that the box was ahead. There was a way to change the sensitivity and focus in closer, but it would take time for him to figure out how and there wasn’t much point, as it had to be on one of these beasts.

  There. That protrusion above the curving back of that one. It was visible by the starless shadow it left, and the visor showed it clearly in various frequencies. It was still securely taped.

  Tirdal moved closer. The sounds of thick stalks being cropped echoed between the shells. Occasional rumbles of digestion or eruptions of gas provided cover for his footsteps. Whenever he’d seen this particular species, it had been eating. Did these creatures not sleep? Sleep only briefly? Sleep with part of the mind still alert? It was hard to tell, and not something he need concern himself with. What he needed to concern himself with was recovering that artifact. But they did seem to consume a prodigious amount of grass.

  He was considering ways to climb or jump up and pull at the tape, the way he’d attached it, when it came to him that if he could cause one side to pull lose, the artifact’s mass would cause it to drop off. That was easier than trying to jump in his present condition.

  He lined up along one side, drew his pistol and sighted carefully. It was actually practical, given the animal’s carapace, to simply shoot. The light load would cause no damage, indeed might not even be noticed. It would rip the tape, however. He thumbed the selector to automatic and fired. A ripping sound of projectiles tore through the night air.

  He’d anticipated a reaction. The herd might scatter, spooked. They might charge each other or Tirdal or anything. They might rear and attack. He wasn’t prepared for the reaction he got, however.

  Nothing.

  The tape had been sheared cleanly, and the artifact wobbled as the creature wandered forward. Tirdal followed, alert for trouble that never came, and within two hundred meters the box tumbled off one side, dangled from a strip of tape, then fell. He walked over, grabbed it by the handles and hefted it over his brutalized shoulders.

  Step One accomplished.

  He was quite loaded down with gear once again, but no one was pursuing so he could rest periodically and walk upright in the near silence. Those two simple things made it a much easier task. He decided to travel at night and rest days, as they had before. Daylight would make it easier to find a secure resting place, and the life here seemed in general to be diurnal, so predators would be stalking in the daytime and less likely to cross his path.

  He turned again, back to the north and east. It would be his last direction change, he hoped.

  The real advantage to the current state of affairs, Tirdal reflected, was that he could move as he should. The Tslek presence was far behind and no longer sensible. There were no humans to play down to, and he could trot at a good rate. He stopped twice a day for food and water and rest, slept once for five hours and was at the second extraction point in less than four local days. It was a moral victory only. Ferret had been wounded by the neural grenade and then shot. His own injured heel — from Dagger’s shot — had gone numb and would need treatment. His injured shoulders — from Dagger’s shot — were tight and painful, and might be becoming infected. The wound oozed and was starting to smell. His chest plate — from Dagger’s shot — would need surgery to correct the way it was crookedly healing. The wound in his thigh from the beasts would need attention. His ankle was swollen and only medication and Jem discipline let him ignore it. In fact, he was only the winner by a lucky chance of the scavengers, but luck was an essential if unreliable part of warfare. The load he carried made it worse, but the artifact had to be recovered, and Dagger’s rifle was the only weapon heavy enough for any real fighting at this point. He was reluctant to abandon its ten kilos, especially after a smaller predator form had tried to leap on him. There were other issues, too.

  Converted leaves kept him fed sufficiently, though there was a demand for that taste of meat in his mind that would take much work to suppress. He would suffer the privations necessary to avoid meat, and further drowning in tal. His water was adequate; Darhel have very efficient “kidneys,” and he didn’t need that much to stay healthy if not comfortable.

  He could see what was likely the shore ahead. He took a cautious look around, realized it was unnecessary, then decided to do so anyway. It would be a supreme irony to die so close to the end. He sent the signal, then repeated his surveillance.

  Everything appearing clear, he crept forward over rolling hummocks of sand with tough grass clinging to them, drag
ging gear behind him, and slipped into the water among a patch of reeds. Shortly, he was submerged to his neck. Then he considered that there might be vicious aquatic predators, which might mean the shore was, in fact, safer. It was too late for indecision now, however. He’d remain here.

  He was nervous for a while as the pod approached, slowly and deliberately, a rising dark dome like something from a human horror story… Cthulhu? But it came as ordered. Then there was another brutal swim. Swimming was not something Darhel did, because of their density, especially not when burdened with an Aldenata artifact. He’d abandoned everything else save one item in the grass behind, and left an enzymic package to hasten the destruction. Even on this duned shore, the plants should quickly grow over the nondegradable materials left, and it really wasn’t a concern.

  The gentle chop of the waves was enough to exhaust him. Still, swimming, while draining, was low impact, which relieved much of the pain in his heel. It hurt his ankle beyond what he could handle at the moment, so he reduced his stroke with that foot, letting himself bob in the water. He was gasping, pulse thudding, before he reached out a hand, grabbed an extruded stanchion, and swung himself up into the hatch. He took one last look around. Less than fifteen days he’d spent here, yet it would be part of him forever, with all that had happened. The team. The encounters with insects and flyers. The Tslek “base.” The chase. Ferret, without question. Dagger most of all.

  Part of the past. Now was time for the future.

  Thrust tapered off as the ship injected into low orbit. Tirdal San Rintai looked at the hologram of the planet in the tank before him. An off-center quarter was visible from this angle, swelling toward him with the terminator a knife-edge across it. A pleasant enough place for humans, if they ever drove back the Tslek. With their enviable ability to kill, they could keep the predatory insectoids controlled. An interesting place for Darhel, but not a home, even if the climate was so enjoyable.

  He touched the telltale from the garbage eject then and the Aldenata box began its slow tumble through space to annihilation. Attached to it was Dagger’s rifle. He couldn’t say why he’d done that, but it seemed appropriate. It was probably his imagination but he thought he could just see the box begin to burn up on reentry, an orange pinpoint in the hazy arc of atmosphere. It was a shame to destroy it after all this trouble, but it couldn’t be allowed to fall into human hands. Or Tslek pseudopods. Atmospheric friction and impact would accomplish what heavy energy weapons would otherwise have been needed for.

  He lay back in his contoured couch and pondered the humans’ probable reactions.

  Chapter 21

  The room would have been recognizable to a human martial artist. It had that spare look that avoided excess visual stimulation, while being elegant and attractive. Knifelike and spearlike weapons covered two of the walls in geometric precision that was inhuman but logical. A trained human fighter would have deduced the means of using most of them.

  Tirdal sat, legs folded, near a small charcoal brazier above which was suspended the Darhel equivalent of a teapot. The steeping herbs within were fragrant and rich. All of this added to the environment, making it tastefully exotic to the untrained but familiar and conducive to proper mental energies in those who understood the Art. The mysticism surrounding any good martial art is not so much religion as mindset. One must feel the form. The clean, charred smell of the fire came to Tirdal, too. For a moment, the steeping beverage reminded him of Gorilla’s tea. It had taken days to reach this level of calm, and he was almost back to normal, that “normal” having been imposed on his species by a race that dared to play deity. Then he reached the critical point and suddenly he was… there. In touch with himself mentally and physically, in touch with his Master, in touch with the universe. The pleading, demanding tendrils of tal, pulling at his mind and spirit, receded below the threshold to what was considered safe and untroublesome. Their retreat left only memories, which could be assimilated with his mastery of the Art into greater control for next time it became necessary to court lintatai for survival.

  What to make of the ending? The “tiger beetle” attack was instructive in that he’d been able to kill, fortuitous in that Dagger had died as a result. Yet he had not been able to deliver that final death to the sentient, even though dealing death to the lesser forms was manageable. And Dagger had had the greater position until the very end, even exhausted, enraged and afraid. There was much to consider about humans, still. They were amazingly hard to kill, and could make very determined and deadly enemies. Generations long past had seen that. They had been correct in their assessment of the potential threat. A new study and evaluation would have to be made.

  Which was not Tirdal’s problem. Focus on Dagger, his actions, thoughts and words. Remember all that took place, for the knowledge, evaluate it for its importance, for wisdom, and respect the strength of that mind, even in its sick and twisted state, for honor.

  Focus on Ferret, who’d done what he must, not knowing why. He had been the only one whose motives were pure. Crippled, outclassed, seeing his own death, he’d fought anyway, stalking two physically superior enemies, knowing one outranged and outclassed him. He could have called an entire fleet using Gun Doll’s gear, but had quietly and with dedication expended his life to maintain operational secrecy. No human would ever know of his valor. Only a very few Darhel. It was up to Tirdal to honor him.

  Gluda San Rintalar entered from the panel behind Tirdal. He Sensed her presence before he heard her, and opened his eyes in deference as she padded around the hearth and sat across from him. She was a superior of his own line, and much respected.

  Through the steam and hot gases of the brazier, her face rippled just slightly. That, too was part of the meditation. The Master had an etherealness when seen thusly, which reminded the Student that one’s eyes were only one sense of many, and were not the Sense.

  “I greet you, Rintai,” she said.

  “I thank you for the greeting, and return one, Rintalar.”

  “You are recovered?” she asked.

  “I am untroubled. There are many memories to discuss,” he said.

  “We are most eager for your report. You were able to kill and eat animals, kill predators, even kill a sentient enemy, if indirectly. This is astounding news, and credits your training,” she said. There was a trembling excitement to her body that not even her iron discipline could contain.

  “If there is credit due, it is to you who trained me, Rintalar. I am but a Rintai,” he said formally. Still, the compliment was real. He had impressed his instructors.

  “Your humbleness is honest, Rintai, but incorrect. You have done what was thought still impossible. You will be noted.”

  “Then I thank you, Rintalar,” Tirdal replied.

  “There are, of course,” she continued less formally, “still questions. Why, for example, did you dispose of the artifact? It would have been well to bring it. Especially since the humans are disturbed by the loss of a team without any hard evidence.”

  “Have they complained that much?” he asked.

  “They have,” she admitted. “They questioned whether Darhel could go insane. They have made inquiries as to you as the killer. Though their records of us in the subject of warfare and violence seem to make that a confusing and embarrassing question for them.”

  “I was the one to decide, having no superior to ask,” Tirdal replied. “It seemed the most prudent course. They have the intelligence about the Tslek decoy, they have mapping data, drawn from my mind and from what memory remains of the cameras.” His ears flicked at that statement. It had been hard to selectively erase scenes and make it appear a malfunction related to the “battle” they’d fought against Tslek bots. “As I understood, the humans were happy with the strategic result.”

  “Indeed they are, Tirdal San, and there is no mistrust of how you handled it. The caste is simply curious as to your motives.”

  “My motive was to find a way to get the artifact to our scientists
, or have it destroyed. Beyond that, it was to stay alive to accomplish that task,” he said.

  “Yes, and it sounds as if that of itself was difficult.”

  “Very,” he admitted. “Yet from it I learned the levels to which Jem can restrain tal and lintatai to turn them to use. Having survived and learned, I accept the event as positive. If I could have saved the artifact, I would have. But as the only survivor, I anticipated great inquiries as to the event, and decided it was safer destroyed.

  “As to the other,” he continued, “Earth seems to accept the story and has expressed great pleasure at learning of the Tslek trap. It also seems the cometary bases in that system were decoys. It is a shame that during the initial planetary engagement, the Tslek outer sentries killed the rest of the team. Nevertheless, they fought a valiant retreat to get the intelligence out. If not for my sensat skills and some luck, I also would have been killed. I was fortunate to have such competent professionals to learn from and who protected me. I only wish sensor data remained to show their true nature.” Earflicks being insufficient, he grinned again.

  “And of course,” he said, “the humans have a fleet en route to clear the system and prosecute an offensive. It appears the fate of several worlds was affected by a lowly Darhel.”

  “So it does,” Gluda agreed. “The fate of humanity itself may have been affected.” She shook her head and asked, “Was the artifact really a lindal?”

  “Most certainly,” Tirdal replied. “The markings were distinctive, even if the shape was odd. I speculate it was of the oldest type. There were images to confirm my analysis, but they suffered an accident.” His ears flicked again.

  “Yes, how unfortunate an accident,” she replied, her own ears indicating wry amusement. It was unfortunate to both races for entirely different reasons. “It must have been an Aldenata research site from before they incorporated lintatai into our life coding. Perhaps even from before lindai was a Power they had.”