by John Ringo
"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 nevertheles
s 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. There 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.
* * *
Tirdal's Sense tingled, and he felt Dagger's grin. He knew he'd been sighted, but the only thing to do was keep moving doggedly forward. He felt compelled to increase his pace, but the fractured chest plate was still hurting severely, and he didn't want to risk damaging any organs. He kept steadily at it, sloshing through the shallow stream and trying to keep his head down while still making time. He hunched as he rose over rocks, stood painfully upright where it was low and smooth, and kept his Sense aware.
Dagger was exuding cruelty, frustration, egotism and hate. Then, suddenly, they faded to nothing. How odd. Nothing material had been known to affect the Sense, only distance. Yet Dagger was easily within range.
Tirdal realized what was happening just in time. Dagger was in a trance state, preparing to shoot. His emotions were down as he focused on the task and entered alpha state. That was it.
Then an overwhelming wave of cruel pleasure rushed by. Dagger had fired and the round was on the way.
Tirdal felt the rush of emotions from the shot and sprang backwards, causing another tearing sensation in his chest, made worse by the mass of the artifact yanking at his arms. Then, ignoring the pain, he leapt across the open area as the first shot flew by, and rolled down flat. His helmet systems were buzzing like mad, careting the location of the sniper, but Dagger was well out of range of his punch gun. He could feel the hate and frustration of the sniper drop to nothing again and realized that it would be this cat and mouse all the way across the meadow. It was time to push Dagger again.
Calming his breathing so Dagger wouldn't hear the exertion and pain, he said, "I can keep this up all the way, Dagger. You transmit your emotions so easily. Even the beetles are more reticent. At this range, I have literally seconds to know you're planning a shot . . . from that tree, and to evade it. So why don't you give up now and I'll promise you a safe flight home and a fair trial for mutiny, theft and the murder of your team?"
The only answer was an intense wall of rage blowing over him. That, and a volley of five hornet rounds that came whizzing overhead and dove for him. His harness cracked out its defensive signals, and the two that were close thudded harmlessly into dirt, showering it in small fountains. One careened off a rock with a sharp sound, while the last two, far ahead, hit two of the herbivores in the small herd. The rounds didn't penetrate their armor but they must have stung. The beasts stirred and began to move at a trot.
Quickly, Tirdal splashed along and caught up with them, using their agitated movement for cover.
"Really, Dagger, emotional outbursts will not solve the problem," he said, taunting. Jem discipline had to be different from human martial arts, but there was obviously some similarity. He would give Dagger the simplest, most childish instructions to insult him further.
By now he was among the animals, moving slowly and deliberately to keep them between him and Dagger. "First, let's consider our center. Look within while breathing slowly, and find the 'hradir,' what you would call a pool, except it is a sphere. It is round so as to be even, calm and unruffled by waves. Our emotions cause waves upon it, but like any volume of water, it absorbs the energy and holds it within. If that is too complicated, think of a soap bubble. That often works best for those with chaotic minds, or children."
The only reply was two more shots. The first was near enough for Tirdal to throw himself prone as one of the creatures shook and reared back. The other was quite some meters away and indicated that Dagger really didn't know where he was at this point.
* * *
Ferret heard the shot far ahead and dropped down for cover. While it was only a joke that he could hide behind a leaf, he was good, and was invisible in an instant. Then he analyzed the threat. He had his sensors maxed and they confirmed that faint cracking sound to be a gauss rifle, sniper type. The gear quickly assessed sound pressure, atmosphere, general terrain, and flashed an estimated distance up. There were seven more shots in two volleys. So Dagger hadn't hit with his first round. That was interesting. Was he in fact shooting at Tirdal and missing? Or at other threats? Ferret decided he'd keep alert for any more local forms. He recalled vividly that they were armored against most rounds. Was Dagger dealing with several small ones or one tough one? Or was Tirdal attacking him and drawing his fire?
No way to tell. And the information he'd acquired really didn't tell him anything he didn't already know from his own senses and the lifesigns gear. It was confirmation, though, and that was a help. Slowly, he rose and moved forward. Now would be the time to make headway on them.
The trees were thinning, so the best guess was that they were shooting it out on flat ground. Dagger likely had sought a tree or other high point. If he used his chameleon, he'd be hard enough to see, and Darhel couldn't kill, which was why Tirdal was running.
Correction: Darhel had never been known to kill. But Tirdal certainly seemed different. So assume he'd find it awkward but not impossible. Hesitation would likely be his undoing, and he was smart enough to know it, so he'd be hiding.
Time to talk to Tirdal again.
"Tirdal, Dagger is between us, approximately. Should we attempt to flank him?"
Tirdal came on in only a moment. "That would be a good idea, Ferret, if I could be sure of where you were, and if we could trust each other. As it is, I expect you to shoot as soon as you locate me. So I'm afraid I can't agree."
"Dammit, Tirdal, Dagger's the greater threat here." The alien was so . . . alien. Precise, logical. Any human would be at least disturbed if not worried. Tirdal was not. It was infuriating.
"I agree. But it's also likely you consider me to be the easier kill. Therefore, to expose myself would be to invite the two of you to try for me first. That's the rough part of a three-way war, Ferret. Whoever moves first, dies."
Sighing, Ferret acceded to the inevitable. He wasn't going to persuade Tirdal yet. He'd have to bide his time. For now, threats would make things worse. So he said, "Okay, Tirdal, I guess
we can't work a deal now. But keep it in mind. Dagger's the threat we have to eliminate, then we can try to come to a deal." Though if he got a lucky shot at Tirdal, he'd damned well take it.
"Fair enough, Ferret. Good hunting."
"Yeah, you too," he grudgingly admitted. "As long as it's Dagger you're hunting."
"Of course I can't be convincing in that regard. Now if you don't mind, Ferret, I think we're done for now."
Tired, aggravated, head itching and now going numb, Ferret limped on, and decided to harass Dagger some more. If he could push Dagger into exposing himself or making any mistake at all, they might get rid of him. It would also be a bargaining chip with Tirdal.
He smiled for a moment. Every part of him was either numb or screaming in agony. He'd always thought he didn't want to die in bed, but he was beginning to think it had advantages.
"So, Dagger, it's not going too well, is it?"
"Sooo, you think you can see. Tell me, Ferret, where are you?" Dagger asked back, voice light.
"Dammit, Dagger, you coward," Ferret exploded. "I'm tempted to tell you so I can blow you away."
"You're going to stop me?" Dagger replied with a snicker. "Are you trying to suck up to Tirdal the same way? You know he's with me, don't you? That's why he's not helping you." The last part was reasonable, but bullshit. Dagger wasn't as tough as he tried to be, and Ferret had always known that. And in the last . . . had it only been two days? It seemed like months . . . every moral weakness the man had had come out to play.
"He's not helping me because he's a gutless freak," Ferret said. "We both know that. I'm not afraid of him, but you should be afraid of me."
"But, Ferret, my friend, aren't you suffering neural effects? Are you going to limp up and bag me?" Dammit, Dagger knew how to twist things. That insult was worse because it was true. Ferret choked back tears and forced his quavering voice under control. Every step sent metal spikes through his legs. Every stumble from a foot that couldn't find its own footing was another jarring jolt through the heel and up. Muscles were cramping up in his legs, in his hips, even in his neck and shoulders from wincing and reacting. His much-lightened ruck wasn't helping either, in that regard. The cumulative effect was causing a severe headache under his helmet-numbed scalp. That was causing sporadic nausea, which made it hard for him to even swallow water.