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.”
Chapter 14
Dagger was really getting pissed, and really getting tired. These two cockroaches hadn’t died, weren’t falling back, and weren’t nearly as afraid as they should be. They should both be dead. They should both be rotting bug chow. And he wasn’t going to get a long range shot, and wasn’t going to get close. Except he needed to.
The bitch of it was, there was no way to bow out if he wanted to. He’d be tried for treason, mutiny, desertion, murder and anything else they could find to tack on, then either shot in the neck or tossed in a vacuum chamber. He’d committed so many capital crimes, there was no way to turn back. He’d known what he was doing when he tossed that grenade, had been prepared to risk the bugs and the possibility of Blob ships as he left, because that risk existed anyway, and the payoff was huge. But this was just a nightmare.
Thinking back to his shooting, the goddamned Elf was right, Dagger decided. He normally moved right up until the shot was taken, then shifted. To make this kill would require getting closer, or much calmer, or both. At close range, the time of flight would be impossible for the Darhel to avoid. So first he’d try the calm. It would be fitting to use the Darhel’s own smartass comments against him. He knew when a shot was good, so the trick was to restrain the satisfaction until after he hit. Then he could laugh his ass off.
The scope picked up a heat ripple that wasn’t like the herbivores, behind them and a rill of dirt. Back to work. He slowly squeezed the stud and watched, still in trance like at a match, as the parabolic cone of the bullet’s path arced toward the ripple.
As if reading his mind, because he was, the annoying little creep dropped before the bullet hit. Dust rose on the bank beyond him. Sighing, growling, holding back his anger, Dagger tried again. Good shot, and this time he closed his eyes. He’d give the round time to do its magic to avoid anticipation. But he’d known it was a good shot, and that was all it took, apparently, for the asshole to pick up a reading. He wasn’t there when the round went past. It ripped through more grass, sending stems flying, but didn’t touch the Darhel. Son of a bitch.
The little bastard was rapidly getting out of range, too. While the weapon was rated for fifteen thousand meters, one rarely saw an opponent over three kilometers. The Darhel had been within a klick of him there for a few moments, and he’d been so tied up in trying to get the shot that he hadn’t pursued. Blast it. The little rat had got him so wound up he hadn’t been thinking.
Dropping down from the tree, he headed off in pursuit, crouched low. He wasn’t afraid to admit to himself that Ferret was a threat. He was still at an adequate range for bagging Tirdal, outside that of the punch gun, close enough to see by eye and maneuver. That might not be close enough, though. The shadows were getting long, and night fell quickly here. He’d have to stick closer.
He’d also, he realized, have to take a stim. He’d been running for nearly thirty-six hours now, and hadn’t slept, had barely eaten, and hadn’t even had that much to drink. Hopefully, that injured little troll wasn’t any better off and would lag back soon. He wondered what supplies Ferret had? He knew he was last, and could rest in theory. He could stop for food certainly.
What game was Ferret playing anyway? Was he trying to score points by stopping Dagger? Or stopping Tirdal? He’d thought for a while the two were allies, which was laughable. He must have seen Tirdal with the artifact and made a logical but wrong conclusion. If he could steer him toward Tirdal first, that would take a lot of stress off Dagger. Smiling, he opened up the circuit. “Hey, Ferret,” he called.
“There you are, Dagger. So, you missed Tirdal with seven shots. Too bad.” Ferret was gleeful underneath. Time to put a stop to that.
Lying, and hating himself for it, Dagger said, “I hit seven times, Ferret. You know I always do. That’s not why I’m calling.”
“Right, so what’s your point?” Ferret asked.
Smiling broadly, Dagger said, “You recall that Tirdal is a gunnery sergeant, and ranking being here. He gets to call the pod. It might be best if you were to concentrate your efforts on him first, then worry about me.”
“So, he did screw you over, huh?”
“Of course he did, Ferret,” Dagger said. The best way to deal with a story change was to make the lie big, and condescending. “Did you actually believe I’d ally with that Darhel freak? I’m insulted.” As soon as he said, it, he realized he was insulted. Did Ferret actually think he’d ally with the dirty little Elf? Dammit, every time he had to deal with them, these assholes were a pain.
“Dagger, you’d pimp your mother for a buck. Everyone saw the hard-on you had for that box. Hell, we half expected you to fuck it right there.”
“Didn’t see that grenade coming, though, did you?” Dagger said, and laughed.
“No deal, Dagger,” was Ferret’s cold reply. “You die first. And thanks for letting me know you really are afraid, as well as a lousy shot in a crunch.”
Silence.
Dagger squeezed his rifle in white-knuckled frustration. That was not how he’d wanted it to go. These two scumsuckers were tying him in knots. Remember, he thought, people who are talking are not shooting. So it was time for Dagger to stop talking.
He checked the tracer again. The Darhel was about two kilometers away. No risk from the punch gun. He dropped into the river’s channel to get more water. It would have to be processed by his suit before he could drink it, but it made sense to fill up while he could. He swallowed the stim, washed it down with the warm, flat dregs from his suit’s integral canteen, then stuck down a siphon tube to suck water into it for later. That done, he strode out, intending to close with the Darhel.
It was amazing how fast dusk fell with this planet’s rotation. The shadows were long before he reached the woodline on the far side of the clearing. Tirdal was still ahead, a good two kilometers, and still moving at a swift pace.
Had he been in the Darhel’s position, he would have stopped to set up an ambush. That the little crud didn’t, but just kept running, was proof of his cowardice. If they kept heading north they’d hit that savanna, and then he’d either have to get in the open or head back toward Dagger, and Dagger would gap the little freak. He smiled again at that cheerful thought. It wouldn’t be long now.
Once inside the woods, everything changed. It was dark. The sun behind him flickered like flames through the shifting growth, throwing thick shadows that grew thicker and more substantial as the light faded, until he was once again in pitch blackness. He kept the IR and enhanced screens up on his visor so he wouldn’t have to see the stark nothingness. He now knew how Gorilla felt. He’d made fun of Gorilla’s phobia for months before he’d given up. Now it struck home. His own fear was something he accepted and denied simultaneously, and that made it something he’d never actually dealt with.
A tree stepped in front of him, or seemed to. Another reached out its limbs and clutched at him. Hands of roots caught his feet, and he moved at a light run, once again turning every dozen steps to scan around. The trees were cavorting and laughing at him, snagging on his rifle barrel and leaning in toward him.