Tarns were built ruggedly. They had to be. Some of the species of prey they hunted put up a fight, and some of them, though all had grown scarce mysteriously over latter years, were very much larger.
A Hoag's lucky bite, for instance, could cripple or kill a Tarn. Crippled, a Tarn was finished. It had no idea how much of a fight this animal could give, but it was instinctively wary. A tickle of fear ran through its small brain, but the millions of years the Tarn had held sway over all here overpowered its recently acquired instinctual worry. Starvation helped to overcome it as well. A Tarn should know no fear. It was all it could know, as all else was driven from its mind.
It really had but one option, as it crouched sniffing the air above.
.....................................................................
Baldwin had found a place to wedge himself, higher in the tree. It had not occurred to him that he would actually be able to sleep in a tree, but once wedged securely among several branches, he did so immediately.
He had just fallen into the welcome depths of his rest when he heard a branch below creak unnaturally and to his sleeping mind, ominously. Sleep vanished in a flash of hot adrenaline. He felt the presence below him. That sixth sense that all humans possess, to one extent or another, that science could still not explain, when every other facet of the physical Universe had long since been mathematically mapped and cataloged. He understood it as clearly as if it had been fed into his brain through a neural interface link. It was hot and alive and menacing, and it was below him.
He stood up and began climbing, feeling his way in the absolute darkness, terrified.
Whatever was below him knew it had been detected. It now moved without stealth, coming directly up the trunk, tearing loose bark and chunks of the tree as it clawed its way upward. Baldwin heard the unmistakable sound of its claws. It was only just below him, and coming as quickly as it could!
Left hand holding a higher branch to hold himself steady, while he swayed perilously on a thinner limb, afraid to climb higher onto even thinner branches, he snatched free his right-hand blaster, there was nothing else he could do, felt the safety switch give under his thumb, heard the whine as it charged itself, while he brought it to bear, then his finger closed on the actuator! It erupted.
The glow seemed to grow at the end of the weapon then leap away. A thousandth of a second. The burst of yellow/white flame, a ball of pure energy, ripped past the startled predator below, now illuminated for that tiny span, as they looked into each other’s eyes, the top predators of their respective worlds, one now deposed, the other now the top predator of many worlds.
The thing screamed defiantly as the light burned its eyes. It twisted its head away, trying to escape the glare, then the flash passed, striking a branch directly beneath the creature.
Baldwin did not know if the blast loosened it, or if the thing had leaped to escape its torment, but its leap coincided with Baldwin's second shot, which burned through where it had been but missed entirely.
The blast passed all the way to the ground before exploding, somehow passing through the gaps in the branches without striking any of them. The light of its plummet and subsequent explosion illuminated the predators fall, it twisting in the air, searching frantically for purchase as it fell.
His third shot caught it before it caught a branch. Meat, bone and gore rained through the forest as the explosion ripped the creature apart, and then all was dark again, except for the spots dancing in Baldwin's eyes.
Chapter 13
Nago knew when they neared. The strange smells, the strange burned smell foremost of these, but others his acute senses detected as well, permeated the forest for kilometers around the crash site. Landing site. Whatever it was. The smell led him on, his file of two hundred men following behind him relentlessly, as he pushed hard onward, wanting to arrive yet this day.
Early evening would be the perfect time to attack, if it really was a mortal object, like the stories his mother had told. The wealth and power such an object would bring was well beyond Nago's limited ability to comprehend. He had never considered anything on this vast a scale. He had no reference by which to judge. Yet he had ambition to spare.
The ship itself would be full of Outsider stuff. Not the stuff they were given, the Colonists, but the weapons and gadgets and such his mother had spoken of at such length, and whose value he could only guess at.
Weapons that shot flame. Talkers that spoke over vast distances. Machines that raced over the land or flew through the air and even between the worlds. Machines that cooked without fire. Machines that could talk like humans, and did all the work! The things she had spoken of were endless, but most had been incomprehensible, too foreign to his way of thinking to properly understand.
He had not believed her stories of other creatures which were as smart as humans, animals that could talk like humans, fight and build cities and all the things that made humans the masters of all they purveyed. Smart as humans but appeared as animals in the field! That was the one thing he had never been able to reconcile in his mind.
But now the possibility of their accuracy was profoundly disturbing! How could he credit some of the things she had said without crediting them all?
Animals with the intelligence of humans!
Nago motioned to the men directly behind him, a hand held horizontally palm down, to indicate that they should halt, and came to a stop himself. He dropped to one knee.
Ahead and dimly glimpsed through several breaks in the foliage loomed the edge of a mighty blackened cliff. But it was no cliff. There were no hills here. Nor was it even rock.
Gasps of surprise or fear behind in the column nearly brought angry words to Nago's lips, but he choked them back. He at least, had been prepared for something like this. Whatever it was it looked very damaged.
If it was damaged, and there was little doubt as its exterior was twisted, bubbled, buckled and ruptured in just the small area Nago could see, it would make sense. His mother had said that the Outsiders would never come here, except to leave more of the Banished. Eventually we would have to go to them, which was something he had never understood. He understood now, even if he did not understand the mechanics of the thing. This thing could fly through the air, or at least had been able to. He had seen it with his own eyes. There was no disputing his own senses. Many things were now becoming quite clear.
"This is an Outsider artifact." Nago told Jorg when Jorg arrived from the rear of the column where Nago had posted him. It would not be as easy as slipping a blade into his exposed back on the trail as they ran. The tribe might or might not accept it, under the circumstances. "We will kill the men who control it. They will have weapons which shoot fire and make thunder. Many of us will die, but I will kill any coward who flees. Convey my words."
Jorg moved without hesitation. It was good that he had. Nago would have greeted insolence in front of the rest of the men with the edge of his blade. There were no men here who would doubt Nago's threat. No man here would show cowardice. In the expected battle, warned of the Outsider's weapons, they would stand and fight and die valiantly with honor, and to the last man, as long as he were there to lead them. If he died, Nago thought with wry humor, he supposed it would not matter what they did after that point. If he died so would the attack. At that point he would be beyond the caring. Nago was a man not especially afraid of anything.
Nago removed the bow from his shoulder and in one fluid movement extracted an arrow from his quiver and notched it to the bow's drawstring. Faster than a striking Tarn could leap and cover the distance between them, could Nago loose his arrow. Nago knew this because he had had to do exactly that on numerous occasions. The Tarn was the only natural predator on Bali who threatened man. Even so, a Tarn could still kill in its death throes. A man must be agile as well as quick with his weapon. Nago was all of that.
Both his bow and quiver full of arrows were made of the indestructible Outsider material, but most of his men now carri
ed arrows fashioned of Yewl wood, each a beautiful work of art in and of itself, but highly inferior to the dwindling supply of Outsider arrows, which despite great care were still lost regularly.
He would say it. Outsider stuff. Manufactured by humans from the Outside. Why had stupid superstitions risen in the first place? There was no way to know now, how or when they had begun, but it was plainly obvious now how ridiculous they were. Utterly contrived. Had probably been created by power-hungry men wanting to cement their authority with superstitious dogma. It was a thing he could understand even as it angered him.
The Outsiders would not come to us, we would have to go to them, his mother had said. We would never even have tried, not knowing! Nago knew now. He would wring much knowledge from these Outsiders.
"I want captives. Alive." Nago hissed to the men behind him, to be repeated to all those behind them.
"We will have enough daylight if we attack now." Jorg whispered when he returned. Nago nodded agreement. There still remained an hour of daylight.
Nago waved his hand, like brushing dust from a table and the line behind him erupted past him, rushing towards the metal cliff that was a machine, a machine that flew between the stars.
Jorg stayed at his side, as was his place, his own bow and Outsider arrow knocked and ready on his drawstring.
Despite their rush they made no noise as they advanced. Not so much as the whisper of a disturbed leaf. The Dunaj had become feared as much for their silence while attacking as for their ruthless tactics, before they had vanquished all their local enemies. The custom had always been to rush into battle screaming, but that merely alerted the enemy and Nago had eliminated that tactic immediately.
Nago had not been fighting for glory but for supremacy. A surprise attack was always the most lethal. The first their enemies knew of the Dunaj presence was the rain of arrows they showered on the enemy encampment. It was a very effective tactic.
When the last of the men had gone by Nago fell in behind Jorg, whose discomfiture at having Nago behind him he felt keenly, and followed as his men moved on to the artifact, spreading out along its visible length. The line of two hundred men seemed miniscule in comparison to the machine. They met no resistance as they moved in.
It now became obvious how very severely damaged the ship really was. Its condition suggested the possibility that there weren't any survivors at all. Its fiery descent had not been natural then. That was now clear.
"It's damaged." Nago whispered afraid, even now, that the thing might awaken and react violently. He knew absolutely nothing of its capabilities.
"I trust it not." Jorg answered, his eyes wide, too much white showing in them.
"It's not the machine but the men within her that you need fear!" Nago hissed, angered at both of them for their weakness, not only Jorg's but his own as well, but singling Jorg out. "This is just metal. Do not be a coward!" Jorg looked away chastened, but Nago knew that he was himself just as fearful, but he would not let it show.
His men would see only their fearless leader! Showing fearlessness and courage despite all else was as much an aspect of leadership as making sound decisions. To show fear would be the anvil upon which the steel of his leadership could be broken. No. Nago would not show fear. Not ever. No matter what.
The bow would be cumbersome and unwieldy inside the ship, a portion of which he could see through a shattered section of the wall directly before him. They were replaced in his quiver and on his back and his sword leapt from its sheath into his hand, light as a feather and finely balanced, almost faster than the eye could follow. He stepped forward into the rent in the side of the metal cliff which was not a cliff, sword leading the way, and ready for all the demons of hell, should they pounce, but there was nothing to greet him except destruction.
There was no question now whether this was or was not a dwelling of men. Around the first curve of the passage he found the first of the Outsiders. A female. The side of her head was caved in as from a massive trauma, from which she had bled profusely. Her blood was everywhere. On the walls, the ceiling and the floor, as if a madman had thrown it about in maniacal glee.
"Women!" Jorg said contemptuously too loudly, to show he was no coward. A fool's act, when there might yet be living men aboard armed with their Outsider weapons, whose potency they were as yet entirely unaware. Nago angrily waved him to silence, a look of fury on his countenance. Jorg looked away.
The woman bore no weapons, though there was a strange tool clipped to her belt. What drew Nago's attention were her beautiful white teeth. His mother had had teeth like that. Despite the head wound it was obvious the woman had been beautiful when alive.
"I want any of these women we find. Alive. Kill the men as necessary but capture the women." Nago whispered, but Jorg and the men crowding around them did not seem to hear, so absorbed were they in scrutinizing the woman and the ship around them.
Nago repeated himself; "I want any of these women we find. Alive!" He said this more loudly. Startled, they passed the message back through the line, and to the men still outside the ship. He had their attention now.
Good. Nago turned from the woman and began leading his men into the ship, but not before signaling to Jorg to resume his position at the rear of the column.
Jorg moved but did not appear to take it very gracefully.
The hour of daylight left soon dribbled away somehow, while they had only begun to search the massive artifact. They found more corpses. The ship was full of Outsider artifacts, which they did not know or recognize. They found much, but they found no one alive.
Since the ship would provide excellent cover, they gathered together as close as possible, and bedded down for the night within the pitch darkness of several interconnected, shattered corridors.
Nago took a turn at watch in the pitch darkness. His sight was not his only sense, and despite the darkness he would prove a formidable foe against any intruder. He was too excited to sleep anyway.
It was a shame there were no survivors. There was much that could have been learned. Though they had not yet searched the entire ship, he did not think the odds high that any had survived. Not considering the condition of the bodies of those they had found.
The women they had found had all been beautiful. Atvar might have found herself suddenly relegated to a less elevated position in his household. That thought brought a smile to his face in the darkness.
Yes it was too bad.
Chapter 14
Despite Lan's years of service and the ample opportunities he had had for this activity, he always found himself drawn as now, to gaze out upon the stars or starscapes the ships he traveled within happened to be traveling through.
The Battleship Maximus was no luxury liner, nor this mission a vacation holiday where he could do as he pleased, but since they had boarded earlier, they had been left to do pretty much as they pleased, here where there were no other Infantry and the Officers were unsure of their authority over them. The cold look in Lan's eyes did not invite familiarity.
They did not know if they dared attempt to issue Lan orders. What if he refused? Lan Carter's record was there for anyone with the authorization to punch up on a computer screen and see. So Lan lounged around while the rest of the ship went about its duties.
There was evident anger on some of the Officers faces he had seen. Lan ignored them. He ignored their righteous indignation as he would have ignored any order they may have attempted to give him, if any had attempted to do so, that was not directly related to the mission at hand, without response or even recognition.
To respond to them, and especially to respond by growing angry, would give them what they wanted. They wanted a reaction, to affect him, to show their superiority. The only time such men could get a response from Lan was when they tried to stare Lan down. Lan's icy look was hard to hold. Hard indeed!
Besides his battlefield prowess Lan was also a master swordsman. To challenge Lan to a duel meant certain death. Lan had found a wooden
practice sword in his hands soon after he had learned to walk, they all had then and there, only to be replaced later by the real thing, and other primitive weapons, and only just recently replaced by the blast rifle of the Federation Space Corps' Infantryman.
The petty intrigues that seemed to occupy the minds of so many humans, no matter what Branch of the Service you found yourself within, or even in life as a general rule, only filled Lan with utter contempt. It was an unnecessary expenditure of valuable energy. Energy that should be conserved for when it was truly needed, which was why he so enjoyed relaxing in an observation lounge when the opportunity presented itself, and merely watching the Universe go by.
It recharged his inner life force, and on a practical note, served to keep him out of trouble. Lan found trouble easily, or it found him. Whichever way you wanted to look at it.
Maximus was in Jump. Normal space had vanished, had been replaced by the surreal immateriality of the space between space. The view was mesmerizing. It pulled at a place deep within Lan, holding him spellbound and in awe, and always brought home to him how small and insignificant was man's place in the larger scheme of things.
"It seems strange to see you so enthralled." Becla said. Lan had not heard her enter the lounge. That was not good. A man should never leave himself unguarded, even for a moment!
"It holds a strange mystery for me. You think you should be able to figure it out, but it eludes you." Lan said. He had never shared the way he felt about it with anyone before, yet it just spilled out of him now. Regretfully he drew his eyes from the swirl and wash of colors outside the viewport; reds, blues, yellows, greens, violets, brown's, and others unnameable and unknown in normal space, all intermixed and existing seemingly without substance, on and on for eternity, or seemingly so. He looked back at Becla, said;
Duty, Honor or Death the Corps Sticks Page 9