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.”