Tirdal had been getting rather disturbed by the flyers, but they were now circling off to the south in the failing daylight. It was likely the shot against Ferret had tossed enough vapor up that the smell of blood was clear. That would explain their interest. He didn’t know if they were nocturnal, but losing their presence was a good thing.
Tirdal knew humans would feel unpleasant about the creatures eating one of their own. He wasn’t bothered emotionally, and was glad of the distraction. Ferret had put on an impressive showing in this incident, and there would be much to consider and report. In the meantime, he was still of use to Tirdal, even if it was as bait. He wished he’d been able to examine that mind more. It had been frightened, hurt and overwhelmed, yet had stuck to a goal through all hindrance. Truly the mind of a warrior, as untrained and inexperienced as it had been.
But the universe wasn’t fair, and dwelling on it wouldn’t affect anything. Tirdal would meditate later and think of Ferret; for now, he had urgent needs in this world. He sank as low into the gully as he could, ensuring his head was below any line of sight.
First was the wound on his back. It was in a position where one would have a buddy treat it, but that was not an option. He opened his suit and peeled it down, avoiding inhaling the sweaty stink of himself. Two hundred and seventy Earth hours in the suit with no bathing. It was just one more of the glamorous aspects of military service.
Reaching back carefully, he was able to gingerly apply a nano-loaded bandage. It would heal in a couple of days, he decided, though it would leave a furrow that would have to be treated by professionals. In the meantime, he wouldn’t be putting that box on his shoulder.
It would make sense to put it in his patrol pack, distributing the load. If he snugged the hip belt and used the head band, too, he could distribute the mass well. However, he’d be less flexible thus constrained. Likely he’d just have to take the mass on his shoulders and deal with it.
To that end, he should remove excess mass. There were things in there he was not, frankly, going to need for this. He reached in and started sorting.
He was going to change suits, he decided. The damaged one could be left behind. He pondered for a moment, but yes, it could. Even if the chameleon circuits failed, he planned to be far enough away to dodge Dagger’s fire, and the camouflage hadn’t helped so far, so why keep a torn suit? He unzipped and shimmied between the two, shoulders stiff and keeping low. A considerable amount of sand came with him, but that was inevitable. Five kilos lighter, he considered what else could go.
Socks. He didn’t really need socks, even though humans issued them, and he wouldn’t be changing again soon. Keep one pair to swap off and dump the rest. He thought of using them for extra padding on the straps, but that was a field expedient and he’d be losing mass, so why bother?
Ammo. He had an energy pack in the punch gun that was good for eighty more full-power shots. That should be enough. He’d take one spare to be sure. That left four of them he could dump. He’d better keep his camera and recorder. It didn’t mass much and contained information that was important.
That was about ten kilos removed. It would help considerably, and with the device strapped inside his pack it was far less bulky.
Why was he doing that, though? There was no question left in Tirdal’s mind but that the sniper had a tracer somewhere, and the box was the logical place. He sat with it in his lap, turning the box over and over until he found it. It was an almost undetectable spot, which could have been a bit of dirt except that it didn’t come off. And it wouldn’t come off, either. The tracers required a special solvent to remove. He tried digging at it with his monomolecular blade but only just scratched the cover of the device.
So. He was being traced, not only tracked. Tracking he could have dealt with, eventually Dagger would come in close and he would have a reasonable chance. He should have pushed things at the camp, kept them almost in contact. But between the damage from the hornet round and the ultimate prohibition against killing a sentient he’d chosen the other path. He should have pushed the issue further when Ferret started shooting. He hadn’t been able to see Dagger at that point, but a few cover shots wouldn’t have hurt the situation. It would have been a morale issue at least, helping Ferret and disturbing Dagger. The truth was that his Darhel mind needed a very conscious decision to shoot and he hadn’t made it. Now it was going to cost him.
He knew he was being traced. But did Dagger know that he knew? That was the question. Since the meadow the sniper had been less responsive, but Tirdal could feel his anger out there, somewhere. Not close, but definitely still on the track. If he didn’t realize Tirdal had left the device somewhere… Yes, that was an idea.
Things were quiet now, too. Quiet to his Sense in this fading light. Had Dagger decided to rest? If so, Tirdal could approach and kill him.
The problem with that was that he’d have to not use his Sense to do so, lest the reaction from battle throw him over the edge into lintatai. And without using his Sense, he was vulnerable to a shot from Dagger.
No, Dagger had to get close enough to him, but not be allowed take a shot. A resting Dagger was a bad Dagger, in that regard. Tirdal needed him off balance. He could wake the man, but that would give away what he planned. Dagger would fatigue further, but he’d know Tirdal couldn’t approach him. That was an advantage he needed to keep.
He thought about retreating to the south, back to the site of the murders. That’s where the gear was. But there was nothing there he needed that justified the hike, and it would put Dagger between him and the second extraction point, thus reducing his options. It would be nice to have some of the gear, but it wasn’t a fair tradeoff. Ferret’s lifesigns tracker might be useful, and he likely had ammunition and water. But he wasn’t skilled in the tracker’s use, and he’d expose himself considerably trying to get it. Not worth it.
So, rest for now, move as soon as Dagger stirred. Tirdal stretched out his Sense for weather, animals, and one specific animal, then leaned back with his ruck as a chair back to rest. His overmind could relax and recover while his submind stayed alert. It wasn’t as good as real sleep, but a solid meditation would help.
Chapter 17
Dagger twitched and said, “Unh?”
Coming awake, he realized he’d slept for some hours. It was dawn again, the sky above him just purple. He felt much better, too. Now to nail that damned Darhel.
He crawled cautiously out of his ersatz shelter, and opened his suit to drain and dump. He pinched out a turd that was hard and sore, because he was dehydrated, but it took pressure off. It was so hard he could feel his ass slam shut as it dropped, but he hurt a hell of a lot less afterwards. That accomplished and dust wiped off his hands and face, he chewed some more of the moist leaves. They helped a bit, but real food was called for. Well, that would just have to wait. He’d taken care of the rest.
“Good morning, Tirdal!” he greeted, trying to sound even more cheerful than he was. He donned gear and brought up the sensors.