Loincloths only were the standard dress for the trainees; Blooded generally wore chest harnesses as well, for which she continued to be thankful. The yautja wouldn’t be aroused in any way by her nudity, but she was still human enough to feel some modesty.
Topknot and his followers lined up beside Tress and Sakana, the Leader speaking quickly, apparently wrapping up a speech he’d been at for a while. Noguchi stepped away from the dark corner, gleaning as much as she could from his postures and words. Her physical makeup made it nearly impossible to speak an entire sentence in their language, but after a year of total immersion, she understood a lot more than they suspected.
. . . he is—a Blooded of songs, a yautja who—wins? wins many children, has trophies of all and many enemies . . .
The Leader’s respectful tone and the eagerness of his students was impressive; she’d never seen Topknot acknowledge another Hunter as anything better than competent. Whoever was docking had quite a reputation, and she decided to stay for his grand entrance.
Broken Tusk—Dachande—was sung about, all great Leaders are. Perhaps this one is actually as worthy as he was . . .
As the air lock hummed into motion, Topknot finally noticed her. He silenced the hissing young males, ignoring her. Noguchi was well aware that her presence often complicated matters; she hung back but didn’t leave, determined to exercise the rights of a Blooded Hunter, doing as she pleased when not on a Hunt.
She was surprised when he stepped into view, flanked by two others. He was in front, there was no doubt who was the Leader, but he was young. The new arrival wore body armor but no mask; the scars across his speckled brow and on his clawed hands were extensive, but from the condition of his tusks and talons, he looked no older than an unBlooded.
Topknot greeted him, touching his shoulder and tilting his head, calling him by name, a phlegmy rattle. When the young warrior returned the gesture, Noguchi saw the piece of cloth wrapped around his wrist—
—and her vision tunneled, her heart skipping a beat. Without thinking, without making the appropriate request to approach, she stepped forward to see it better, certain that she must be mistaken.
No, can’t be—
It was part of a Marine Corps banner, the three red stripes for land, sea, and aerospace, the design unmistakable—the meaning unmistakable, worn around his
right forearm as a trophy, and she reached out to touch i*-_
—and remembered herself even as he backhanded her, knocking her to the floor, her arm going numb from the powerful smack.
Noguchi submitted automatically, her mind simultaneously chiding her for her stupidity and trying to rationalize the banner. The youthful Hunter stared at her for a moment along with Topknot and the others, silent and still—and then turned away, not acknowledging her apology but not interested in pursuing the matter, either. As one, the group started out of the lock, her insubordination ignored but not forgotten, Topknot already telling the newcomers about the territorial stakes.
Alone, Noguchi stayed on the floor, feeling conflicted, angry and embarrassed and horribly confused. No Hunter would wear such a thing unless, unless he’d taken it.
But the code, it had to have been a fair fight, the Marine must have attacked first because they won’t Hunt intelligent species . . .
She couldn’t even pretend to accept that. The predatory race Hunting humans? The difference in technology, in strength, in pure aggressive capacity—”fair” didn’t enter into it, a Hunter could easily slip away from a human assault. It wasn’t supposed to happen,
there were rules against it in spite of the Clan’s general xenophobia—
—and they respect him. If it’s such a taboo why do they respect him? What was his punishment?
There was no point in trying to convince herself that the Hunter had suffered for his actions, and even if the Marine had attacked first, even if the warrior couldn’t get away and was forced to kill—she was human.
Human, and living with a race that is disgusted by me and those like me. Hunting with a race that exalts a human killer.
This Hunt would be her last. No one would be sorry to see her go, Topknot would surely be thrilled to drop her off somewhere populated by her own kind.
And then what? Go back to corporate hustling, to a life with no life, to fifty hours a week behind a desk and no one to talk to. For excitement you could take up sport hunting, weekends spent at a sim range, firing light at a screen—and inside, the part of you that is warrior will wither and fade, and you’ll be one among billions, a lonely woman marking time until she runs out of will. Your Blooding will mean nothing, it will be an ugly scar from a life you once had. No more Hunting, Machiko. How honorable you ’11 be . . .
Noguchi sat on the floor for a very long time, feeling things that she thought she’d left far behind.
11
The drop into Bunda’s atmosphere wasn’t easy, but the small shuttle’s design had been loosely based on the USCMC UD-4 series—not close enough to allow for maneuverability or comfort, but Lara was willing to settle for what it did offer—the capacity to drop into a planet’s atmosphere without burning to a crisp.
Thanks to an auto program loaded up by one of the pilots on Bunda, the shuttle broke through only moments from the survey station and flew itself to the designated coordinates, giving the three passengers an opportunity to see the world that had found them. H/K MAX teams usually stayed out in the field for months at a time, with occasional R&R stops at satellite stations—but even without weeks upon weeks of sterility to compare it to, Lara thought that she’d never seen such a beautiful place. Bunda was fantastically, wildly alive, the pale lemony sky strewn with flocks of indigenous birds, the surface thick with plants in multiple shades of green. Ellis pointed out some movement through one of the clearings they passed over, and they
saw a group of brown-furred humanoid creatures loping through the heavy grasses, tailed, each no more than a meter high. Like primates, if Lara remembered her history, test monkeys. Seeing them running free through the warm, living jungle was amazing, an antidote to the slaughterhouse that had been DS 949.
The three of them sat in the warming cockpit, Ellis and Jess half-sitting on the copilot seat together. Lara was the only one with any flying experience, although hers was almost exclusively zero gee. It struck her again how incredibly lucky they were; saved, with only a few hours of air left, by people who had the technology to see them safely to this paradise.
If only it wasn’t Company . . .
“There it is,” Jess said, pointing roughly northeast from their moving position. Almost as he said it, the shuttle veered toward the station, giving them a clear view of where they were going. It wasn’t as beautiful as Bunda, but it was close.
It was a design that Lara had heard about but never seen—an ME.Hess, Multi-Envelope, named after the architect who’d drafted the first, on Earth. The MEs were relatively inexpensive, durable, and because their contact with the ground was limited to a small number of relatively slender stabilizing posts and a single industrial lift, there was little danger of unexpected interaction with a planet’s natural inhabitants—an important consideration in unexplored environments.
“It looks like a bunch of balloons with a couple of ledges tacked on,” Jess said, and Lara smiled, nodding. In essence, that was exactly what they were looking at; the gigantic off-white spheres were filled with buoyant gasses, supporting a series of decks for landing and observation, laboratories, and a decently sized living area. The uninflated “balloons” were much cheaper to transport than powdered plasticrete.
And Lord knows the Company’s always looking at the bottom line—
A rather tense male voice spoke clearly through the
‘com, startling her a little. She wasn’t used to being addressed by her title anymore.
“Lieutenant Lara, this is Kevin Vincent, ASM for Bunda survey, do you read?”
Acting or Active Station Manager. Lara took a deep breath and tapped the return, aware that Jess and Ellis were both watching her nervously. She’d been second-in-command for the H/K team, only Pop outranking her; for a while, at least, she’d be speaking for all of them.
“Affirmative, Mr. Vincent. This is Second Lieutenant Katherine Lara from W-Y49392 Nemesis. Also present are Martin Jess and Brian Ellis from Nemesis. On behalf of all of us, I’d like to—”
She’d wanted to thank him first thing, boost their chances for a warm reception, but Vincent cut her off.
“You’ll be landing on Deck Seven, ETA four minutes. Please remain aboard until we’ve had a chance to verify your status; we’ll let you know when you’ve been cleared.”