The coming daylight was a necessary salve to Dagger's sanity, but it wasn't enough. Between fatigue and poor rations, he was lagging badly. Now he was wounded, too. He knew he had to catch Tirdal today, end this today, or he wasn't going to be in shape to do it ever. Then there was Ferret. The little twerp was one hell of a tracker, and tough as nails to still be following. He wasn't even in it for the money. The asshole was doing this from duty, and seemed to think it would matter.
He reached for his canteen straw and sucked at it, but got nothing. He'd been sweating all night and had sucked it dry. He was going to have to take a break and get some real food, as well as more water. The weather wasn't excessively warm at the moment, but he was exerting himself a lot. Hell, he had to be exhaling a quart of water a day, never mind what he was pissing away. If he'd had any idea there'd be a real fight after the grenade, he would have made sure he had some rations with him. He'd dropped his ruck because he hadn't figured to need anything for those few seconds. He was lucky to have the rifle; he hadn't needed it, but just never put it down if he could help it. The wisdom of that habit was obvious now. He could kick himself for not thinking of food when he grabbed supplies. But who would have thought it? He vaguely remembered a week in training regarding logistics and support tail. He'd slept through most of it, eager only for the afternoon's shooting and running.
It was ironic, he thought, the position he was in. The reason he always harassed people about their food choices was because he really wasn't as hardcore as he pretended. He hated raw meat, and he hated bugs, worms and larvae. Now, he was in a position where he had to either eat them or die. He'd trained for it, hated every minute of it, took vengeance upon the world by harassing all others about it, and now had to do it himself. It served to wake him slightly, the rage did. The universe seemed to take delight in fucking him over his discovery of the box. But he'd get out of this, and it would just make the memory that much sweeter.
Somewhere here there had to be some of those flyers or small mammals. He needed food, but would have to be a hell of a lot hungrier to eat raw bug. So mammal it was. Something with its bones on the inside. He kept an eye on the terrain for any area that might contain them, and tried not to think of all the bugs he saw. He was connecting them with food, and that brought back bad memories of that week of training.
Shortly thereafter, he found a depression with scattered puddles. There were lizards there, and he decided that lizard was close enough, being at least a chordate. All he had to do now was get one.
He could have snuck in and snagged one, but that took time. Consciously, he was confident of his ability to stalk, and repressed any thoughts that he might not be. Intellectually, the faster he ate the better. Somewhere below that, he desired to shoot something. That would make him feel better, get out some aggression, and was less involved than trying to grapple a reptile. Shooting was natural for him, and the rail pistol was near silent. If he adjusted the velocity down below sonic speed, there wouldn't even be a crack from the round. Ten seconds with the controls, five seconds to aim, breathe and pop! he had a lizard. Two more pops gave him two more, as they looked small. The rest scattered, but he'd gotten three in less than three seconds.
He moved up and grabbed the corpses, headless or nearly so from the hydrostatic shock of small beads. He whipped out his knife as he did so. He chopped off the remains of the heads and the feet and laid them on a log. With quick strokes he slit and gutted them, sectioned them into legs and torsos, and grabbed the first hind leg.
He hesitated just long enough to get his brain in control and shut off his senses. Then he bit into the warm, rubbery flesh and tore it loose from the bone. It was slimy and stringy in his mouth, and he choked it down, coughing and trying not to vomit. Perhaps if he'd shot them yesterday, he could have had them dried and chewy by now, instead of as something resembling raw squid. He bit again, almost regurgitated the first bite along with it, and chewed, avoiding touching it with his tongue until enough saliva built up and allowed him to force it back and down.
Grimacing, he stuffed the rest into a pocket, wiped his hands free of sticky lizard blood on his suit, and stood up. He'd need water so he could wash this stuff down in small bites like medicine. He just couldn't make himself actually chew the stuff. And the taste would linger until he got to some water.
Tirdal had lied, if he'd actually eaten the damned things at all. They tasted nothing like chicken.
Tirdal, for his part, had his own demons to wrestle with. The cat and mouse game, just as it would cause multiple adrenaline reactions with humans, was causing his system to flood with tal hormone. This was dangerous, but to get the absolute most out of his system he had to use it. He had to release the demon and risk the overload, risk the zombie state of lintatai, if he was going to win against the sniper. He'd stretched out his Sense yesterday and been able to see what Dagger was doing. Only by maintaining that state could he gain enough intelligence to outthink and outmaneuver Dagger.
Then there was his need for more food. While Dagger could last quite some time on converted weeds, and likely could shoot an animal and eat it with little worry, he thought, Tirdal had to struggle with each creature in his psyche, but had to, had to, eat several each day. Worse, he was approaching his own fatigue limit, this being forty-seven hours into the chase. Food would keep him going, though he could already feel the stress and damage to his muscles caused by the drain his metabolism placed on his body mass. He was alert for more food now, seeking creatures with the least intellect. If they were self-aware, he could find himself over the canyon of lintatai again.
He found two large roach type creatures and was able to pry them apart and feast on the succulent white meat without extreme discomfort while walking. The terrain was becoming easier, which was good in that he would leave less signs for Dagger and could move faster, but bad in that he deduced the savanna was ahead again. He would be forced to enter the broad plain, and Dagger's shooting range and visibility would both improve dramatically. Still, Dagger had to be feeling severe fatigue. Another day would likely destroy his effectiveness, and Tirdal had been trained in patience.
He found it ironic that he was trying to outwait a human professional in the art. Still, the end result would be instructive, assuming, of course, that he survived to report back. It would be instructive only to him if he failed.
The terrain was very open now, the trees sparsely spread and the undergrowth thickening into scrub again, here where the sunlight was greater. It changed to thick grass on the continental plain ahead. Tirdal dropped to a crawl and slipped under what growth he could, seeking some kind of cover to use ahead. It was very awkward to crawl on the points of his elbows while clutching the box behind his head.
There was a wash from a stream, perhaps the same one he used as before. It was narrower and shallower than the one in the woods south of here, which would make sense, the terrain here being a broad plateau above the rich forest beneath it and the ancient hills. No matter. The cut would provide cover, possible food, water, cooling to refresh him, help mask his IR signature and other lifeforms to create confusion. It would safely take him some distance.
Ferret decided to have another whack at Tirdal. If he could get him to team up, they might outflank Dagger, the real threat; then they could discuss the box. It might be they'd have to kill each other over it, but they could try, dammit.
"Tirdal," he said, "we need to deal with Dagger."
"Of course we do, Ferret," Tirdal replied. Ferret was sighing in relief as he continued, "And Dagger and I need to deal with you, and the two of you with me." Ferret gritted his teeth in frustration, but Tirdal was still talking. "An ironic situation, to say the least. Dagger's motives are obvious: money. Yours appear to be driven by loyalty, but of course we can't believe that. Mine are driven by a similar loyalty, complicated by other issues. You know you can't trust Dagger and believe you can't trust me. I know I can't trust Dagger and know I can't trust you under the circumstances, though if I could explain things, you would agree, I hope. Dagger knows we'll both kill him, given the chance. Darhel don't really have irony, but I begin to understand it. A perverse concept."
"So we agree on Dagger," Ferret said. "We take care of him, then we can talk. You followed me the entire mission; you must know what I'm like."
"It would be a tempting offer, Ferret," Tirdal replied, "except that I have no way of knowing whether or not you're offering the same deal to Dagger. The artifact is the catalyst for all this trouble."
"Hide the damned box, Tirdal!" Ferret snapped, almost pleading. He really didn't want to fight both of them. He really didn't want to kill Tirdal. Tirdal had seemed like a decent enough guy. Alien. Whatever. He really didn't want either of them to kill him, or for fate to catch up with his wounds. "I don't need it! I just need to know that you don't have it, and certainly that Dagger doesn't. If you can't get it off the planet first, we're safe to hunt Dagger. Then we can go together—you tell me where the box is, I take it, you control the pod. Balance of power."
"It would be a reasonable suggestion under most circumstances, Ferret, but at present I can't do that. I have to maintain control of this artifact. I realize that creates distrust on your part. I can't help that."
Ferret, frustrated by talk, said, "Tirdal, I'm on your side, dammit."
"That's probably true, Ferret," Tirdal said, "but we both know I can't afford to believe that."
"Dammit!" Ferret said, frustration in his voice. "Can't you read my mind?"
"I can't answer that question, Ferret, though the answer should be obvious." Ferret likely was telling the truth. The whole scenario wasn't organized enough to be a conspiracy. Ferret did seem to have pure motives. Of course, those were human motives, not Darhel. And as harsh as it was, there was no reason for Tirdal to team up with a crippled human, and every reason to split Dagger's attention. It was doubtful that humans appreciated that logic.
"Okay, Tirdal, can you tell me where Dagger is? And I'll go take a few shots at him."
"I suppose there's no harm in telling you that, Ferret. Though shooting at him wouldn't be sufficient proof. If you are able to wound him or kill him, it will show you have a greater interest in either the artifact or your own life than in Dagger's existence. You see the problem we face." If he could get Ferret to do that, it would improve Tirdal's odds. If he could get Ferret to panic, he might be able to confirm his mindset, as he had with Dagger. But it would take a strong emotion.
"However, Dagger is behind me in terrain that is opening up. I can't be more specific than that. As to his grid coordinates, stand by." He considered carefully how to not give his position away. He really didn't have Dagger localized that well, but if Ferret headed that way, it was less trouble for him. Ferret might also try the same stunt with Dagger. Either way, it made sense to share intelligence about the common enemy. Irony was truly a fascinating concept. "Based on the pod's position as we deployed as zero meridian, here's Dagger's grid," he said, and read off the numbers. "That should place him within five hundred meters. I'd bet on it being less than half that, but I can't guarantee it."
"Got it, Tirdal," Ferret said. Wow. That was only about a kilometer ahead. They were moving as slowly as he was. Of course, three days of fatigue, wounds and the device were burdening them all. "I'll try to bag him. Then you'll join me after that?" he asked. His voice was rising.
"I can't do that, sorry," Tirdal replied, voice still even, very even.
"Dammit, Tirdal, I'm on your side! Please!" Ferret said, growing panicky.
"I don't know human voices well enough to ascertain their qualities. You're distressed, that's all. It's an honest emotion, but not specific enough. You could be being threatened by Dagger, or you could just be in pain."
Ferret sounded sad, hurt, when he replied, "Then fuck you, you alien turd."
Tirdal was still having trouble with the concept of human stress. They could almost appear to change sides on a whim, especially when angry. Yet usually, there was one side they stuck to. Though they did act on the cusp of the moment sometimes, often unpredictably and illogically. They might go outside the available choices and do something utterly irrelevant.
What would Ferret and Dagger reasonably do? What might they do that wasn't reasonable? Speculation was necessary, even if likely to be wrong.
Dagger saw the trees tapering to scrub and knew the grassland was ahead. Now would be a good time to detour off to the east and seek high ground. If he could get up on the bluffs he saw, he would be in a good position to parallel Tirdal and get off good shots. He was aching, wiped out and suffering from thirst and hunger, but this would be over soon and he could rest and even cook some meat. He had to admit the little twerp had put up one hell of a struggle. Not bad for a soft, urban wimp.
Drawing a ragged breath through his parched throat, he shrugged deeper into the straps of his ruck and resumed walking. His step was lighter, though. The end was in sight.
The slope up toward the bluff was steeper than it looked, which, come to think of it, was a good sign. More height meant a better field of view, meant easier shooting. He leaned far into the pace, and rested by putting his gloved hands down and pulling himself along by tufts of grass and rocks. The stems came up to his head when he did that, and mothlike insectoids fluttered up in his face. He caught one as he inhaled, which got crushed between his lips. He spat dry fluff and insect wings, grimacing in distaste. Dammit. He needed water.
Well, there wasn't any water, and wouldn't be until he headed down. So it would be best to stop bitching and get the job done. He could and did drag out a freeze-dried package of fruit he'd hoarded from the rat packs. It was fibrous and tough, but melted slowly in his mouth with what little saliva he had, providing some refreshment and much needed sugar. The physical and psychological boost helped him increase his pace slightly.
The terrain was leveling out and he was on a long fingerlike rill that headed into the forested foothills. Really, this was the long way around back to the Blob site, and he was amazed that the Darhel was doing that.
Was it possible the Darhel were in league with the Blobs? Dagger considered that, brain working furiously. It just might be. Tirdal didn't seem worried about the Blobs; he did seem afraid of Dagger, despite his banter. It would explain much. When he got back, he'd have to report that.
Report what, Dagger? We're not going back. Oh, long enough to write a report, so I suppose we can mention it, but really, who gives a damn? Kali was waiting, and Earth, the Alliance and the Republic could go die.
But as to right now, if Tirdal San Whatever was working with the Blobs and could reach them with his mind, Dagger was screwed. But there was nothing he could do about it, so he would just keep going. And really, Tirdal had had two days to do something and hadn't. It was worth reporting as additional cover to confuse the trail—it might even create conspiracy theories as to Dagger's "disappearance" if he said it in a few bars. Good idea. But there was no threat here.
Correction: there was one threat. He was the threat to Tirdal. Ferret was a non-starter. It was a shame he couldn't cut the little guy in on a deal, at least to start with.
Just then, Ferret called.
Ferret was now in a quandary. He was close to Dagger. He didn't want to get too close. Enough into punch gun range to line up a good shot and nail the asshole was all it would take. And a wound would be as good as a kill. As long as the man was incapacitated, he could be dealt with. It would be easier to close at dark, apart from IR signature. It would be easier to close in daylight with good visibility, apart from the equal visibility he'd show. It would be best to do it soon, before pain and fatigue knocked him over. He'd staggered several times recently, and thought he'd had a momentary blackout as he walked. It might have been just the hypnotic effect of pain, but either way, it was time to end this. He didn't have the strength to go another day, he was sure.
Perhaps he should use that pain for effect now? Appear helpless to Dagger so as to be underestimated, or to present himself as bait. Yeah, what the hell. Enough running through the woods, it was time to bring it to a head. Part of him didn't care anymore.
"Look, Dagger," he said, "I don't care if you keep the bloody artifact. I don't care if the little alien turd dies. I just want off this rock. Can't we work out a deal?" It was a sellout, maybe. Worst case, he'd try to talk Dagger into giving him a ride somewhere before he took off. Best case, Dagger might make a mistake and Ferret would kill him. The problem in that was that if he were sole survivor, he'd have to have a very good story to back up his case.
But Ferret didn't want to die. He realized that of a sudden. He had to clamp down tight to avoid getting a stutter, because he felt, knew at that moment that he was going to die before he could get to the pod. Part of him might not care, but another part did. Death from stranding, or gangrene, or by Dagger was scarier, more absolutely gut-puckering than death from the Blobs or feral Posties.
"That might be possible, Ferret, but you'd have to prove your bona fides. So, you kill Tirdal and you have a deal." Dagger replied.
Ferret didn't need to be a sensat to know that Dagger had no intention of following through on that bargain, but was just fishing for help. The man was transparent scum. Worse, he didn't seem to care.
"Then you help me find him. I don't have most of my gear," Ferret lied.
"Oh, Tirdal won't be hard to find." Dagger could almost be seen to smirk through the voice-only transmission. "He's just out on the savanna, west of the ridge I'm standing on."
Ferret paused a moment before he replied. Had Dagger known he'd let out that bit of information? He just placed himself relative to Tirdal and the landscape. Ferret couldn't think of a deliberate reason he'd do that. He must have just let it slip out. The next question was, had he realized his possibly lethal error? Or was it a gaffe he was still unaware of? Either way, Ferret had a momentary advantage and was going to push it.
In his mind, however, he was triumphantly shouting, So that's where you are, you fucking scumbag. Between the grid and that admission, Ferret had him pinned. He was on that rise ahead and to the east. It was a block perhaps two hundred meters square and longer north-south than east-west.
Controlling his voice, Ferret said, "Okay, Dagger, I'll track the freak down and nail him if I can. Worst case, I'll spot him for you. I'll get the box, and you come and talk things over. Deal?"
"Sure, Ferret," Dagger replied. He had an easy, smug tone that didn't betray failure. Was he really unaware that he'd given his location away? "We can always talk things over."
"So let's do it," Ferret said. "I'll head west and pin him and call you back when I'm ready. Whichever way he runs, we'll have cross fire."
"Looking forward to it, Ferret," Dagger agreed.
Ferret called Tirdal at once. "Tirdal, Dagger is on that ridge. He's trying to line up for a shot on you."
"Of course he is, Ferret. This is hardly news," Tirdal replied. He didn't sound surprised.
Well, no, he wouldn't be. It was, after all, entirely reasonable.
"Yes, Tirdal," Ferret said, "but he's waiting for me to bag you. He thinks I'll do it."
"I also think you might, given the circumstances. Even if you were not disposed to previously, you have nothing to lose by killing me and blaming me, and the two of you sharing any income. Or just bargaining with him for your life. Though I think you would be foolish to trust anything he says."
"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 panoramic 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 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, 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 . . .
And the little bastard fell!