Dark turned slowly to formless grayness, then to twilight. Inside, Dagger calmed and returned gradually to what passed as normal for him. His breathing slowed from ragged heaves to pants and finally to just exerted breathing. He would not admit it even to himself, but he was glad of the light.
He sought refuge in bullying, as he had always done. "Good morning, Tirdal. Have you had breakfast yet?"
"Why, yes, Dagger, thank you. I had one of the smaller flyer forms. They taste somewhat like duck, or at least that's as close as human animals come. I would compare it more to the bligrol of Darhel. But of course, you've never tasted such."
"Tirdal, we both know you're lying about the meat," he retorted, angered. The little asshole was so unflappable. Well, he'd flap shortly, when Dagger blew his fucking head off his shoulders.
"You seem sure of your statements, Dagger. So why talk to me? Does it make you feel less lonely? Does contradiction please you? Does denying reality and being contrary fill your psyche? If you drown, should I look upstream for you?"
Dagger ignored the incoming attack and kept taunting, probing as he slogged forward in pursuit. Dammit, there had to be a handle somewhere. "Tell me, Tirdal, will you still take that round in the leg for me?"
"Certainly, Dagger. Where do you want me to meet you?" was Tirdal's reply as he crunched through the brush. The ground here was covered with something akin to dried pine needles from the variety of trees on this slope. They were slightly slippery, tending to slide and roll over each other, and he bent down to lower his center of gravity with the box over his shoulder. It hurt his chest less, too, though it made for greater exertion at the unnatural angle.
"Why don't I meet you, Tirdal?"
"Name the place, Dagger. Unless you're afraid?" Tirdal sparred. "And will you bring Ferret with you? Or will he be stalking you? Or just keeping you company in the dark?"
"Sounds to me like you're hiding your own cowardice, Darhel boy."
"Why is that, Dagger? I've said I will meet you. If you really wish, you know how to track me; that advantage is yours. You profess patience, yet are eager for me to reduce your task. Who here is more afraid? And afraid not only of dying, but of failing in one's alleged area of expertise. And against an urbanite Darhel. Perhaps you are not the tracker you would have others believe you are. Certainly you are not the brave killer."
There was a shift in Dagger's attitude. It was swift, sudden. "Well, even if we concede the point, Tirdal, the fact is that I'm a killer and you aren't." Just like that. Conciliatory, even if only slightly. Less argumentative. What was going on there?
"If it suits you to believe so, Dagger, I'll concede the point," he returned.
"Hey, screw you, Darhel," Dagger shouted. "I'm trying to . . . oh, to hell with it."
That was the end of that conversation, Tirdal thought. But what had Dagger so riled?
He thought as he traveled, trusting that the problem would resolve itself in time. Shortly, his self-awareness prodded him. What was it?
His Sense. That was it. As this had gone on, it had gradually increased in sensitivity. He could feel a direction on Dagger, as he could with things that were very close. Yet Dagger was still quite some distance away, he knew. It had to be related to the continuous flow and recent push of tal. Historical details were hazy, but the Darhel had at one time tracked their prey, scarce as it was, across vicious terrain, following the thought images. That had to be what was happening here. It was probably a good thing he didn't have the full Sense of his ancestors, on a world as populous with life as this. The combined input would likely have driven him insane at once.
The odd thing was that Dagger was not directly behind him, but was following obliquely, as if shadowing. That was interesting. "Dagger," he said, intending to harass him with that bit of knowledge.
But that might not be a good idea. Upon consideration, the less he admitted, the better. Especially since he didn't know how Dagger was doing that.
"What is it, Darhel?" Dagger replied, sounding highly agitated.
"How are you doing for rations, Dagger?" he asked instead. "Besides the flyer, I've had two local lizards and a large insectoid to eat. They do taste somewhat like chicken. I think I understand that human joke now."
"We both know you can't kill, Darhel," Dagger replied, repeating his previous comments, "So don't bullshit me." It was clear, both from his voice and from a niggle to Tirdal's Sense that Dagger had not eaten anything not from his processor. Interesting. Either he couldn't hunt, or was squeamish about raw meat, and Tirdal's blithe comments about it were more spikes in him. Best not to exploit that, yet, either. All these things could be used in their time.
That time might be soon, too, Tirdal realized. The forest was thinning, leaving a large oblate circular area that was likely due to some old burn. It was several kilometers across. Unless he turned to cut across Dagger's course, he had to enter flat ground, which was a very unappealing option. He could go around, but that would slow him, and Ferret might fan out to flank him. Dagger could cut across, safe with his greater ranged weapon, but Tirdal could not. But he knew now what Dagger's problem was. It was fatigue and fear of failure. And it had all come overnight. Was Dagger afraid of the dark, too? Was that why he was probing, pushing, trying to provoke a quick end? If so, even more patience was called for.
He paused to examine the terrain. There was always something not seen at first glance that would help. There was what he sought; a stream coming down from the north had cut a gully through the loose soil of this rich field. That's what he needed. Through there he could move at a decent pace, and even if Dagger found him, he'd get few shots, and those would be obstructed. Girding himself mentally, he trotted toward the shallow creek.
Ferret was tired. This was as bad as Hell Week in DRT school, and he was amused after a fashion. He'd never thought he'd have to push himself that hard again. Yet here he was, injured, partially maimed, hungry, exhausted and strung out, his mind hazed with drugs despite his best efforts to keep the doses minimal. The initial pain had eased considerably; he now had numb feet and a dull ache that manifested itself as he walked. But a new irritation was about. His knees and good ankle were aching from the exertion of carrying unresponsive feet. His hips were starting to feel it, too. And he was still stumbling and inefficient, causing overall muscle cramps and strain.
He'd been stuffing leaves into his converter as he walked, and eating the patties it put out. Sure, you could adjust them for flavor, but they lacked real texture and weren't the highest protein food. In fact, the leaves hereabout were almost worthless. Vitamins typically were unique to a planet, he didn't really need minerals except potassium for this short a time frame, and fat and protein came from roots and seeds. What he was eating was going to come out about the same way it went in, which would hurt like hell. Still, it kept the edge off the hunger, even if he was craving rat pack tuna with noodles.
Something came to him and he paused in thought. Something about the signs he followed was bugging him. Just to double check, he raised the tracker.
Oh, shit. He was still following Tirdal. Dagger, however, was not leaving any sign. Not ahead, anyway. So assume he'd peeled off to outflank one or the other. Icy adrenaline rippled through him yet again, though it didn't jolt his tired body, simply made him flush.
He thought back for a few moments. He'd seen sign of Dagger recently. Say, five minutes ago. The sign had been about fifteen to twenty-five minutes old, as he'd been gaining during the dark, which was more evidence of his greater competence over them. Still, no Dagger at present. Dagger several minutes away.
That was potentially very good if Dagger was after Tirdal, and potentially deadly if Ferret was the target. Suddenly, he felt very exposed, and his neck and head tickled in fear. His scalp had gone itchy-numb from the helmet's harness, and he'd been planning to take it off for a bit, but thought now he would wait. Not that the helmet would do a damned bit of good against a gauss bead, but it might slow down fragments or a very long-range shot. Or deflect a bead enough to keep him alive. Anyway, it made him feel less naked.
He decided it would be good to make contact again. He might as well let those two know he was still here. And there were a few answers he wanted. Or at least questions he would ask. The answers might not be forthcoming, but that would be useful, too. And he might find out why Dagger had pulled off.
"Tirdal," he called.
It was only a moment before Tirdal replied, "Yes, Ferret?"
"I'm still following you, Tirdal," he said.
"Of course you are," was the response. "There's not much else to do until we reach the pod's extraction points, is there?"
"True enough," he agreed. "Tirdal, you asked why I didn't contact you when Dagger fragged everybody. I could ask you that same question, couldn't I? Your silence then says a lot."
"It says either I thought everyone was dead, or that I wanted to be alone and unbothered. You have to decide, of course, though it's rather moot. None of us can trust the others."
"And why should I, Tirdal?" he asked. "You took the box. Why do you have it?"
"I took it to keep it from Dagger," Tirdal replied.
"Fair enough," Ferret said. "But why do you still have it? You could hide it, and ambush Dagger if he came for it."
"That would be silly," Tirdal replied. "We all know I'm not skilled at tracking."
"True," Ferret said. "But Dagger seems to be following you just fine. So why not try the ambush? Or, since he can't get off the planet without you, just leave him the damned box. He'd have to carry it as well, and you could just stalk him as he neared the ship."
"I can't take that risk, Ferret," Tirdal replied. "I have to keep the artifact."
"Why?"
"I have told you."
"Those are pretty thin reasons. You're inconveniencing yourself, and helping Dagger." Ferret was arguing. Something was wrong here, and he didn't know what it was. But the situation didn't make sense.
"There are reasons I think are valid for this," Tirdal said.
"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 nevertheless 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.
"Oh, the neural effects were minor. I'm still walking, still talking, and still have a few weapons. I wouldn't count on having range on me. You may be a better shot, but I have tactical position, and Gun Doll's cannon," he lied.
That seemed to make Dagger pay attention. "You're lying," he said. "Or you would have mentioned it earlier."
"Sure I'm lying, Dagger. Come here and find out. Want to meet at two thousand meters and we'll each give it our best?"
There was no reply for a moment, and Ferret pressed home his advantage. "How about something more manly? Let's say a hundred meters. Or fifty. Something a real man can call a challenge? I've seen what Doll could do to a target at fifty meters with this monster. Be kinda fitting to have her hardware splash you across half the continent. Ready, old pal?"
"Ferret," Dagger replied, and it sounded for a moment as if he had caught something in his throat, "I don't play macho, you know that. I see you, I kill you. So if you really have that cannon, you better use it."
"Oh, I will, Dagger," Ferret promised, feeling a rush that revitalized him yet again. He hated running on drugs and nerves, though. "I will."