Aliens Vs. Predator 1 - Prey Read online

  Noguchi sighed and tapped a few keys. As the small screen faded to black, she leaned back in her form-chair and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and growled softly through clenched teeth. When the opportunity had presented itself, she had not hesitated. Only twenty-nine years old and already offered an overseer's post for the Chigusa Corporation. Prosperity Wells, at the far edge of the Beta Cygni system, very quiet; "Sounds exhilarating," she'd said.

  Right. Only her six months of phase-in was almost up and she was so sick of this rock she could vomit. A necessary career move, she kept telling herself.

  Well, at least there's air-conditioning . . .

  Noguchi stretched her arms over her head and arched her back. Her lunch break was almost over, time to get back to the office. She usually ate with Hiroki, but he'd had a meeting with a few of the ranchers and she had decided to slip back to her apartment and go over a stat report for the company. Might as well let him keep the reins for the last few weeks of his stay. Besides, only in her private chamber did she feel free to relax; to let her feelings show anywhere else was-it was not an option. There was too much at stake for her to be anything but completely professional.

  She glanced at the holo-mirror by her door on the way out and nodded at what she saw-cool, composed, detached. Attractive in a typical Japanese way, although that was not important to her. She looked. . . authoritative. The ranchers didn't seem to like her very much, but they would respect her-her honor would accept nothing less.

  Dachande felt his anger flare and then, almost regretfully, he let it pass. Half a lifetime ago, such a display of brash audacity would have meant a quick death for the young male; the yautja who would dare to challenge him? Certain thei-de. And grinning all the while he delivered it, too.

  But he was Leader now. Not a kind Leader, but a just one. There were others who would kill for such an offense-but these days, he would teach. There was no point in a match you knew you would win. Doubt was necessary or it was but an exercise.

  All of this flitted through his mind in less than a second.

  Tichinde pushed at him again.

  Again Dachande slipped the move unthinkingly. He saw the surprise on the young one's face. And perhaps, too late, a touch of realization that he had made an error. A very bad error.

  The juvenile yautja gave up their stunned hush at this new transgression and roared for blood. It did not matter whose.

  Dachande reflected no longer. He grabbed Tichinde's hands and held them high with his own.

  Tichinde screamed into his face, the shrill sound blended with the cries of the spectators.

  Dachande did not pause.

  The Leader jerked his head forward. Their skulls met with a dull crack that sent a peal of renewed clatterings and hisses through the assemblage.

  Tichinde pulled his hands loose and staggered back, arms still held high, but dazed.

  They circled.

  A tiny trickle of pale blood ran down Tichinde's face from beneath his dlex band. Without taking his gaze from Dachande, the student reached up and touched the flow, rubbed it between his fingers for confirmation; he did not seem to like the feel.

  Too bad.

  Tichinde spread his arms wide, back hunched, and screamed. The sounds were garbled with fury, but the inflections unmistakable Nan-deThan-gaun. The Kiss of Midnight.

  Tichinde's intentions were crystal: he would kill his Leader, if he could.

  Enough was enough. Dachande locked his fingers together and leapt. He landed beside the impudent yautja and brought his double-fist down, hard, into the small of the still screaming Tichinde's back. Tichinde fell to the floor. His lower jaw smacked the mat quite audibly.

  Dachande jumped back quickly as Tichinde slowly regained his feet. Aware of his audience, the Leader moved with all the grace and skill he could muster. The motion was nearly perfect and any of the watchers who could recall even a bit of training would be impressed by the flow of it. Which was the point.

  New blood oozed from the young male's lower mandibles. The watching students sang out calls of victory for their Leader as Tichinde turned to face Dachande. The cries of derision from his peers were perhaps what spurred the young male into action. With a strangled hiss, the bleeding yautja ran at Dachande, fists extended.

  Give him credit for spirit. Credit for brains, no. For skill, hardly. But he was no coward.

  Still, it was poor form. Dachande fell to his knees before Tichinde reached him and grasped the student's over-stretched upper body with one hand, his nearer leg with the other. Suppressing a grunt, he strove to make the move appear effortless.

  As if the youth weighed no more than a suckling, Dachande stood and thrust Tichinde high over his head.

  The howling yautja tried to escape and regain the floor, but his writhings were to no avail. Dachande held the young male high, let out a growl of conquest-then threw Tichinde across the room.

  The mob of howling young males split, narrowly avoided the flung body before it smacked into the wall. They chanted triumph for Dachande, harsh sounds of vain-desintje-de; pure win.

  Dachande made no chant himself and none was needed. The fallen Tichinde spoke for him.

  For a short time, nobody moved.

  Finally, Tichinde staggered upright and walked slowly toward his Leader, head bowed. The outcome was obvious, and a further display of aggression would be dishonorable, not to mention stupid. Tichinde stopped in front of him and raised only his eyes to see what Dachande would decide; in such a Challenge, death was not an unreasonable punishment.

  Dachande pretended to consider his options as the chants fell to a breath-held stillness and over-stretched tension. There was really no question for him; a good Leader did not have to kill one of his own to prove anything-and to embarrass the young male would tell later in Tichinde's Hunts. He waited because all eyes watched and the hesitation was penalty enough.

  After a few breaths-time Dachande tilted his head to one side and spoke. "Payas leitjin-de. " He paused. "Hma'mi-de. "

  Tichinde hung his head lower and stepped back, his relief visible. Several young males came forward to touch Tichinde's hair in appreciation of the Leader's compliment. The precise tip of Dachande's head combined with the words indicated both acknowledgment of the student's submission and a respect for his bravery-"Remember God's practice." Tichinde was allowed his life and his name, but with the ritual warning a slap to his embarrassed face. Still, there was no real shame in losing to one who had faced the Hard Meat with nothing but talons and blade.

  Dachande almost allowed himself a grin, but did not want to lighten the effect of his pronouncement; he raised his hand and gestured for the students to fall in line for training. Tichinde knew who was Leader, and would not forget it. And if another yautja strayed from obedience . . . ?

  After this, it would not likely happen. If it did, there would be more than one "dachande" on ship. His honor would accept nothing less.

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  They were still in space, but it wasn't nearly so deep now. The ship's drone had mellowed as the gravity drives slowed them to intersystem speeds.

  "Eleven days, buddy boy, and then no more of your dick in my ear for what, seventy-two hours?"

  Tom grinned and shook his head. "You wish."

  Scott raised his coffee cup in a mock toast. "Here's to pretty girls and sunny days, Tommy." He sipped the watery liquid and grimaced. "Nothing like a nice mug of shit to put a shine on the morning, hey?"

  "It's . . ." Tom glanced at his terminal. "Four in the afternoon, you pig. Happy hour."

  "Right," said Scott. "Whatever."

  They sat in silence for a few moments. Tom worked studiously at one of his crosswords, tapping in words and erasing them at the same rate. Scott gazed into the darkness and tried to remember the words of a poem he used to know. He could probably just look it up in the ship's library, same as Tom and his puzzle, but learning how to kill time was a good trick in their line of work. Nothin
g to do and plenty of hours to do it.

  'Twas brillig and the slithy toves, did gyre and-something-something wabe-all mimsy were the borogoves and the something-bath outgrabe-

  "Six-letter word for `saint'?"

  Scott thought for a second and then smiled. "Thomas."

  "Funny. Like not wanting to fuck over all things great and small makes me some kinda prince. I mean, really-" Tom paused. "Hey, that's it. Prince. You're good for something after all, you pagan asshole."

  "You still pissed about last night?" Scott shook his head. It seemed that this debate would never die-but eleven days was eleven days. "Like I said, survival of the fittest. The fact remains that if the human race needs to do something to survive-and the lower orders don't have the power to stop us, we'll prevail. It's not right or wrong, it's just the way things are."

  Tom looked up from the monitor, jaw set. "So it's all right to do whatever we want, exploit any ecosystem, as long as we don't run into anything big enough to kick our butts-that's basically it, right?"

  "Couldn't have put it better myself."

  "That's opportunistic rationalization, Scott. Where's your sense of social responsibility? Didn't your mama raise you right?"

  "I was a tube child, thank you very much."

  "That must be it." Tom hit the store button on his keyboard and stood. "Now, if you'll excuse me a moment, I have this sudden overwhelming urge to take a dump."

  Scott chuckled. "I'm not even gonna touch that one."

  Tom slapped him on the shoulder and exited the control module. Tom was all right, he didn't take himself too seriously at least. Scott had been paired up with worse. He felt his grin slowly melt as he turned his gaze back to the deep. Killing time, that was all.

  Beware the jabberwock, my son, the jaws that bite the claws that catch-beware the jub jub bird and shun the frumious bandersnatch.

  Yeah, that was it. What, he wondered, did it mean? And why was he thinking about it now?

  Hiroki's face remained expressionless as Noguchi lit a cigarette at her desk and exhaled a haze of gray smoke. She knew he disapproved, but she also knew that it was not appropriate for him to speak of it; it was, after all, her office now. It was not even a habit , that she was particularly attached to

  But wouldn't your father be displeased, Machiko?

  Noguchi inhaled deeply.

  Hiroki uncrossed his legs on the couch and smoothed his small mustache carefully with one finger. "As I was saying, Ackland expressed some concerns with the agreement. He says that he has the support of the other ranchers, or at least Harrison and Marianetti."

  "Well, that's three of the big four," Noguchi began. "Perhaps we should contact the company-"

  A small green light flashed from the control panel set into her desk, accompanied by a low tone.

  "Excuse me, Hiroki."

  "Of course." He picked up a sheaf of hard copy and settled back into a plush cushion.

  Noguchi punched up visual and hit receive.

  "Mr. Shimura, we have an unidentified incoming at-oh, Ms. Noguchi."

  Noguchi smiled slightly at the young man's visible discomfort and waited. He was one of the scan watchers, a low-level company worker.

  "I, uh, I have a message for Mr. Shimura. Is he there?"

  Noguchi frowned. "Yes, he's here. But you can give me the message, Mason." She glanced at Hiroki, who made a point of being deeply engrossed in the rhynth count report he was reading.

  Mason swallowed. "Uh, yes, ma'am. Long range is showing a UFO. It's probably just a meteor, but it's not breaking up, it is going to hit-if it stays on its present course, it'll make planetfall about thirty klicks north of here-open pasture. Make a boom when it lands."

  "Any damage likely?"

  "No, it's not that big."

  "Then don't worry about it." Noguchi stubbed her cigarette out into the pewter tray on the desk. "We can investigate after the roundup. Noguchi out."

  The screen went blank. She took a deep breath and then looked at Hiroki. He had set down the file and was watching her, face impassive as usual. At least there was no sympathy. She opened her mouth, uncertain as to what she was going to say; their relationship had progressed to a first-name basis, but that didn't make them friends.

  "I-" She forced herself not to look away. "I've been here nearly six months, Hiroki--and still they report to you. The ranchers, even the staff treat me like a stranger. I have done all I can think of to make this job mine"

  Noguchi fell silent and waited. Hiroki watched her for a few seconds and then stood and faced her, hands clasped behind his back.

  "Maybe that is your problem, Machiko. You're trying to adapt the job to you, rather than adapting yourself to it. You can't run an operation like this and hide from it at the same time, no matter how nice the office."

  Noguchi nodded slightly, thoughtful. This sounded like something he had been waiting to say until asked, which made her wonder how long he had been holding his tongue. Still, she needed an informed opinion. The ranchers respected Shimura--no, even further, they trusted him. She had not thought to find out how he had achieved their loyalty.

  "There are only one hundred and thirteen civilians on Ryushi," he continued, "and besides the thirty or so company staff, we are dealing with freelancers here-not men and women who jump when the voice of the corporation speaks. They are not drones looking for advancement; they are people with children and homes. Quoting regulations will not get you very far."

  Noguchi felt a flash of anger, but she fought to keep it under control. "What would you suggest, Hiroki? That I bake cookies and invite them on picnics?"

  "I suggest that when you ask for an opinion, you should consider the advice you receive." Hiroki picked up his sun helmet from the synth-marble coffee table and walked to the door. He paused with his hand on the entry controls and looked back at her.

  "Look, I'll be around for another two weeks, and then you're on your own. I will do what I can to help in the meantime." He smiled a little. "I think you will do fine, Machiko."

  She stood and nodded at him. "Thank you for your . . . assistance, Hiroki."

  "It is nothing. Get out of the office once in a while, get your hands dirty." He opened the door and then grinned easily. "Get some rhynth shit between your toes."

  Noguchi sat back down and rested her hands lightly on the black-lacquered surface of her desk. Hiroki's words had stung a bit, but perhaps because there was some truth there; it deserved consideration. Hiroki was, after all, being promoted off of Ryushi. The ones who went up the ladder were generally not those that kept a low profile, as she had been doing.

  Perhaps it's time to make some of my own moves . . . Noguchi took another cigarette from the small silver case in her desk drawer and rolled it thoughtfully between her thumb and forefinger. What was the saying?

  The journey of a thousand kilometers begins with one step . . .

  At first there was only the vision of dark, cracked matter all around, seen through a thick cloud of oily smoke. The electronic eye scanned the pit and then looked up. With a sudden lurch, the tou-dte kalei moved forward, using its segmented pincers to pull itself out of the crater.

  It was a large, armored mechanism, the tou-dte kalei, designed to withstand almost any type of environment so far encountered; it was actually modeled after a kind of predator discovered on Than, a world of dense metals and poisonous weather. Something like the Hard Meat, but more efficiently built-it could climb, walk, run, or dive into liquid. And while the robot crawler did not Hunt as the real creature could, it served a purpose that was more important than simple survival; it was the bearer of life.

  Dachande switched to the rear gkinmara, another of the rounded eyes that transmitted sensory information. "Lou-dte kalei" was a joke, really, a derogatory term that was sometimes used for a female-literally, "child-maker." Not that Dachande had ever heard the name spoken to a female's face. A warrior who would dare such would not be wise, for an insulted and angry yautja female was not somet
hing even a not-too-wise male wanted to create. Assuming the warrior was armed and expert, it might almost be an even match, but Dachande would put his wager on the female. His most recent partner had tossed him across a room during the heat of their mating and that had been an accident.

  Mating. Ah, now there was a pleasant thought.

  As if in accordance with Dachande's thoughts, the heavy dlex ramp in the tail of the crawler lowered and the machine began its function. An egg, the beginning of the Hunt, made its way gently down the plated ramp to be deposited on the dusty ground.

  The crawler moved slowly forward to lay another.

  Dachande rolled the control bar on the table in his private chamber. The front view appeared again in the oval monitor's screen; the crawler went toward a high mountain of some unknown material, perhaps the cliff was of tjau'ke or compressed dust. This world was a warm place, but not as humid as some. Twin suns and no freestanding liquid in sensory range. The read on the crawler showed that there were still dozens of eggs to be set; the red lines and smudges of the counter changed with each placement. Each egg was coded and tuned to a reader that would maintain the connection even after the egg hatched and became Hard Meat. They would not leave the Hunt until all the prey had been taken. To leave even a single one behind was criminal.

  Dachande had not visited this place before, although the records showed that there had been Hunts here, many seasons earlier. It was listed as wide and spacious, with no antagonists and many hiding places; large, four legged creatures dwelled there naturally, ideal hosts-perfect for training. They would go in fast and dark, that was standard, but there could hardly be anything on the planet to cause them problems. It was but another dry world with little to offer save a place to Hunt. The galaxy was full of such places.

  A small tarei'hsan ran in front of the egg-layer, dark in color and spined like an insect of some sort. Its tail curved over its body and ended in a point, and its arms were much like the arms of the lou-dte kalei. The crawler rolled over it, the treads crushing the tiny bug into the mottled ground. Dachande shook his head. Better it should die thus, for stupidity did not further any race and running under tank treads was not high up the scale of cleverness.