It was more than ten miles back to the small base camp Heyoka had established for this training exercise and he smoldered every step of the way. What a mess, and it was his fault, not Kei's. He just wasn't getting through. He had to find some way to make him listen.
The hrinn were talented, fearsome fighters who could add much to the war effort, but they had long been classified as a grade seven culture by humans, too primitive and aggressive for assimilation into Confederation culture, little more than savage barbarians.
The battle on Anktan last year had given them a proverbial foot in the door, but at this point, no one was going to equip a hrinnti division and send it off to fight on its own. If hrinn could not be trained to integrate with human forces, they would lose their chance to participate in the larger cultural life of the galaxy, and that failure could only be laid at his feet.
At the front of the column, Mitsu maintained the lead and set a stiff pace, though not one that could tax the hrinnti component of his small force. Kei, for once, kept silent and merely covered ground with great long-legged strides.
The land swept ever upward toward low green mountains that formed the backbone of this large island. Since it had proved impossible to communicate with the laka and discern their names for natural features, Confederation surveyors had numbered the major landmasses of Oleaaka. This particular island continent, third largest on the planet, had been designated Island Three, not a particularly original name, but serviceable. For some reason, Three was the only inhabitable landmass and also possessed the greatest number of relatively intact flek ruins, perfect for military exercises.
He had seen holos of the laka, a graceful, highly cooperative species, which possessed two pairs of both upper limbs and lower ones. The first pair of arms were slight with four tiny fingers on each hand, used apparently for harvesting and pruning plants. The second pair were heavy-boned and sturdy for tasks requiring strength, rather than precision.
In the holos, they stared out with shy, haunted eyes of varying shades of pink. Their kind had seen the flek come, as had so many other unfortunate species across the galaxy. Of all those, though, only they had also seen them go. without an apparent fight. Flek had transformed the rest of the invaded worlds into sweltering hellholes and none of those other species existed anymore. More than one expert had speculated the laka had survived because they had evolved along the same vaguely insectoid model as the flek themselves. Perhaps their old enemy had hesitated at the last, much as humans might have found some sense of kinship with a humanoid race.
He was overheated and panting by the time they made camp, but Mitsu looked positively ghastly. Months in Rehab had not given her much opportunity for conditioning. She staggered to a halt, leaned over and braced her hands on her thighs, gasping for air. Her skin was flushed, her eyes half-closed.
"Go get cleaned up," he told her.
"I'm—fine!" she wheezed.
"Yeah," he said dryly, "I can tell." I should not have put her in this untenable position, he told himself. He'd thought a return to duty would help, but he should have realized Kei and the others who had fought in that last battle would object to her presence. Another screw-up to be tallied in his column. He stalked away to find Montrose, his second-in-command.
Corporal Abe Montrose was the most gifted of the humans assigned to him to help stage this exercise. Of course, only the most talented of human recruits were selected for Ranger training. That was a given. Still, even among a class of standouts, he was impressive and Heyoka had taken him for his Second.
Montrose was well over six feet with curly dark hair and medium-dark skin. His eyes were almost black, much like a hrinn's, Heyoka thought, and he had an innate economy of words. Perhaps that was why he fit in as well as any human could in this mixed company.
"Any problems, Corporal?" He dropped into a canvas camp chair that creaked uneasily with his weight.
Montrose saluted, then folded his arms behind his back in a stiff parade rest. "None, Master Sergeant."
"At ease," Heyoka said.
Montrose relaxed. "Did you have problems out on the run?"
"We found the sodding ruins." Heyoka flicked an ear. "Beyond that, don't get me started."
"No, sir." Montrose stared tactfully above Blackeagle's head.
Heyoka sighed and stretched until his joints cracked. "This is a training exercise," he said. "We have to expect problems."
A glint appeared in Montrose's eye. "And you found them?"
"To the max." Heyoka leaned back and put his hands over his eyes. "This wasn't what I envisioned, when I took this assignment."
"Of course not, sir."
"Go rustle us some rations," he said. "And see that Jensen eats too."
"I'll take care of it, sir." Montrose saluted again and then strode briskly off toward the supply tent.
I must be getting old, Heyoka thought sourly. He flexed his handclaws and raked a black strand of straying mane out of his face. Why else would I be aggravated just because someone agrees with me?
How old was old for a hrinn anyway, he wondered. Was he, at thirty-seven, old? Then he realized that, like so much about his species, he just didn't know.
Kei climbed until he found a flat-topped boulder at a safely private distance from camp. The hillside sloped sharply down toward the invisible sea, thick with trees and silver-green vegetation. This landscape reminded him a bit of Levv's mountain hold, where he and Bey and even the Black/on/black had been birthed. The Black/on/black did not remember, but he and Bey had only left it for the first time less than a year ago, as humans reckoned such things.
The relentless sun beat down on his black fur, making him pant, but he disdained to seek shade. Hundreds of intriguing odors rode on the air: water, warm-blooded animals, insects, a hint of decay, ripening fruits. His nose twitched.
He perched on the rock like a predator overlooking a game trail, then broke the gleaming black laser rifle down into its component parts and carefully set to cleaning each element. The scent of fresh solvent rose in the late afternoon sunlight, while the mindless calls of tiny four-legged avians filled the air. The by-now-familiar drill at least gave him something to occupy his hands when all he really wanted was to tear something apart!
Flek scent had been threaded through the ruins, but old and stale. If he hadn't encountered it fresh back on his home world, he probably would not have noticed it at all, so what had been the point of going there today?
Humans were so unfocused, always dithering, endlessly talking and preparing to fight, but, as far as he could tell, never actually doing it. He had his own laser rifle now and knew how to use it, was well versed, in fact, in the use of a dozen different weapons and demolition materials. He had his teeth and claws and ability to blueshift. What more did he need to join the battle with their common enemy?
And why had that traitor, Mitsu, been allowed to run with even this stupid fake hunt? She had been outrageous back on Anktan, maintaining she was flek, when she could have looked in the nearest pond and seen that wasn't even remotely possible. The Black/on/black insisted the enemy had coerced her and the delusion wasn't her fault, but Kei was certain no one could ever have made him believe he was anything but a hrinn.
Perhaps humans were weak-minded as well as soft-skinned and clawless. A low snarl rattled in his throat. No wonder the flek beat them at almost every turn. The Black/on/black should have chosen his huntmates more wisely.
His sensitive nose caught the scent of human on the steamy breeze. He looked up from his work, but the rock-strewn clearing was surrounded by forest and he could see nothing except a hundred intertwined shades of green backed with silver. His hackles raised, he reassembled the rifle in sure, quick motions, then concealed himself behind the outcropping of black volcanic rock.
He was expecting Montrose, who always smelled of soap, or one of the others, Kline of the sour sweat perhaps, but it was Mitsu's scent, thick with new cloth, that strengthened in his nostrils, and from behind, not before him.
"Being a bit careless, aren't you?" she said.
He whirled. The slim form stood behind the bole of a massive tree, rifle in hand.
He bit back a growl. "What business is it of yours?"
"Chow's on," she said. "I thought you'd like to know."
His ears flattened. "I will catch my own food!"
"Never forage off-world, unless you must." She sounded like his instructors at boot camp. Her face was very pale for a human, and looked even more so, beneath that shock of black hair. "You never know in advance whether alien proteins will be compatible with your body chemistry."
Kei had heard this lecture before, but it never made any sense to him. What exactly were "proteins" and "chemistry"? "I will eat when I am ready," he said gruffly.
"Get your rear back to camp," she said and jerked the muzzle of her laser rifle in that direction. "Now."
"No." He retrieved the polishing cloth from the rock and buffed the stock.
"You may look like him," she said, "but you couldn't hold a candle to Blackeagle. He always followed regulations and rules even more carefully than most humans. He took our game and outdid all of us, whereas you can't swallow your pride long enough to see what he's risked for you, for all of you. If you don't qualify, he fails too."
"He is the Black/on/black!" Kei said. "He makes his own pattern, as you say, his own rules! It is for the rest of us to follow!"
"Then get your hairy behind off that rock and follow!" She was flushed now, breathing hard.
She seemed altogether too fragile and young to be a warrior. He had trouble understanding why one such as this had not been culled long ago.
"Get back to camp," she said, "and carry out your duties."
"Police the area?" he said. "That is beneath a warrior. Why didn't he order you, the traitor, to do it?"
"I would do it in a heartbeat," she said, and her voice was low, "if it would erase what I did. But it won't, and he wouldn't let me, anyway."
"You don't belong here!" he said.
"No," she said, "but I am here, for now, and there's nothing you or I can do about it."
The rising breeze blew his fur the wrong way. He threw his head back and assessed the sun. It was late. He should return. The tranquility he had sought here had been broken. "I was going back anyway," he said.
Mitsu shaded her eyes with her hand. The sun hung red and huge in the western sky so its twinned reflection gleamed in her blue eyes. "Yeah," she said, "I thought so."
Chow was wretched, of course. Heyoka had forgotten just how thoroughly unpalatable mission rations could be in the wrong hands. With an effort, he swallowed the reconstituted eggs and ham. He stood and gazed around. "Montrose?"
"Yes, sir?" As always, Montrose's trim form seemed to appear from nowhere.
"Who's the idiot who ruined tonight's dinner?"
Montrose's dark eyes gazed over Heyoka's shoulder. He locked his hands behind his back. "That would be, uh, me, sir."
Heyoka flicked an ear. "You did this?"
"Yes, sir."
Heyoka mulled that over. "Don't ever cook for desperate men, Montrose. You haven't the knack."
"No, sir," Montrose said. "Thank you, sir."
"Find me some ration bars," Heyoka said. "They taste like sawdust, but at least they're fresh sawdust."
"Right away, sir." Montrose hesitated, his brows raised.
"Yes?" Heyoka sat down in his camp chair and nudged his plate downwind.
"I called Corporal Jensen when chow was ready, as you instructed, but she never showed up to fill her tin."
"That's probably because she has better sense than the rest of us," Heyoka said.
"Yes—no, I—" Montrose broke off and stared at his boots. "Begging your pardon, sir, but I don't know about that. All I do know is—she's not in camp."
Heyoka jerked back onto his feet.
"And neither is Private Kei." Montrose looked anxious. "I've checked and they're both missing."
Scenarios whirled through Heyoka's head—Kei stalking Mitsu because she had fought for the flek—Mitsu challenging Kei for insulting her earlier—
"We have to find them," he said, trying to hide his panic. "Have the squad fall in."
Montrose dashed off to the mess tent. Heyoka snatched up his rifle and pocketed several spare charges. Which one would he shoot, he wondered, if he did find them fighting? The partner he had fought alongside all these years, or the single best hope for his people?
Kei refused to go unless Mitsu went first. She couldn't decide if this was because he didn't trust her at his back, or if he meant to strike her down at the first opportunity.
Then she realized he could have blueshifted and torn her throat out whenever he wanted, even in front of Blackeagle, and no one could have reacted fast enough to stop him. Before that last battle, Blackeagle had also been able to reach metabolic overdrive, but he had burned himself out saving her. That was her fault too, like so much else.
The shadows lengthened as they picked their way down through the rocks, thick brush, and the edge of the forest. The background sounds shifted subtly and she thought she could hear the surf, even way up here.
"Why did you defend the flek?" Kei asked suddenly behind her shoulder.
Her stomach knotted and she went cold. She ducked her head and fought to keep her voice level. "Because I was nuts."
"That is not an answer."
"They made me believe I was one of them," she said. Such a simple explanation for such an overwhelming experience. The white room. She put a trembling hand to her head. It was all there in her mind, waiting to drown her again. The meds had shown her how to push it away, so that it didn't dominate every waking thought, but they couldn't eradicate the deepest of the conditioning. It would always be with her to some degree.
The rhythm of a flek working song surfaced and it was all she could do to keep her hands from beating it out.
Kei snorted. "Only a soft-brain could be made to believe such a thing!"
"The flek have their ways," she said. "Pray you never have cause to find out."
"I would die first!" he said.
The breath caught in her chest and her throat constricted so tightly it hurt to breathe. "I wish I had," she said.
"Coward!" he said. "You have only to volunteer for battle, if you wish to die and redeem your honor! Surely there are human regiments that would take you!"
"No," she said, focusing on the rough ground at her feet. "There are not. The meds recommended a medical discharge."
The terrain sloped ever downward. Why had Kei climbed so high, she wondered. It was almost as though he were looking for something up here.
"Then fight me!" he said. "Redeem your honor that way!"
She turned to look up at him, tall against the green-blue sky, black and massive. Fighting him would be a certain end to her pain. She could stop trying and just let death overtake her. She had fought to survive on Anktan last year and look where that had gotten her. If she had died, Heyoka could have devoted all his attention to fighting the flek. Perhaps he wouldn't have burned himself out.
But if she taunted Kei into killing her, he would be blamed. The whole hrinnti training project would be washed out and she would be letting Blackeagle down—yet one more time.
"You sure are one lop-eared, stupid private," she said, "I wouldn't dirty my knife with your blood if you begged me."
A snarl rattled in Kei's throat.
"Get your ugly carcass back to camp and start policing the ar—"
Kei leaped down in front of her, claws extended, fangs revealed in a fearsome snarl.
"Nice try, hairball." Her hand itched for her knife, but she made herself keep walking, detouring doggedly around him through vines and low-growing shrubs. A sudden slithering in the grass startled her and she stopped. Small animals of some sort? Then she realized the plants were moving. How strange. A fibrous mottled-green vine slid over her boot, snaring her, then another. She leaned down to free her foot.
He whirled upon her. "Stand and fight!"
"I don't fight privates with vacuum for brains," she said, "although, if you play your cards right, I might give you a lesson sometime, if I'm not too busy."
The big hrinn threw back his head and roared. Startled, she stumbled, fell backwards, then tumbled down the green-shrouded hillside. When she hit the first rock, she felt a rib snap. With the second, darkness engulfed her so that she was rolling down a long, onyx tunnel. The third and fourth rocks hardly hurt at all.
Fourteenth Coordinator paused on the rocky ledge and peered out over the tree-covered heights. Ordinarily, laka did not venture on this side of the island. Bad things had happened here long ago. The land itself had been thoroughly savaged and it was rumored traces of that evil still lingered. But, as Third Gleaner had reported, the aliens who called themselves "human" had descended from the skies again and were dug in over here. It was prudent to keep an eye on them.
She heard a piercing shriek which did not match any of the known animal cries in her vocabulary. She craned her head. The disturbance came from below in one of the many ravines carved into this side of the mountain. Of course, such disturbances were to be expected with humans around. It was thought they could be quite violent, when provoked, and it was suspected most of their number were male.
Still, these creatures, strange as they were, never interfered with the gleaning of food from the forest and mountainsides and the wet season was almost upon them. The hatchlings to come must be well fed, so they had the energy to grow and take their place in the community.
She had contributed three sacs herself this time. Eldest Coordinator thought more and more slowly these days. Soon the poor creature would not be able to finish a thought between one sunrise and the next, and someone would have to take her place.
A savage growl erupted from below. Shrubs whipped back and forth as though something monstrous were passing by. Fourteenth Coordinator cringed, then decided to hurry back to the compound. This was no place for a decent laka like herself. She must get back and oversee the harvest, make sure the cultivators weren't wasting their efforts on inferior plantings, gleaners weren't wandering aimlessly, breeders not swaggering about and boasting of the part they would play in the coming ceremony. So much to see after. She was quite too busy to worry herself with these brutish creatures.
The tracks on the outskirts of camp were plain enough. Kei's colossal prints had been overlaid by Mitsu's smaller ones, her boots clearly new. Heyoka signalled Bey and the other four hrinn to fan out and follow the scent trail, which would be more reliable than any sign visible to the eye.
Heyoka stationed Montrose back at the camp to hold down the com. He would coordinate, especially if the search party became separated, and, at any rate, someone needed to respond to any messages received from the Marion, the ship still in orbit. He couldn't just go off and leave the camp deserted.
Fifteen minutes later, the trail they were following veered up the mountain, over vine-covered rocks, along a tumbling stream that dashed itself to glittering spray every few hundred yards. Gray clouds were gathering overhead and the wet smell of impending rain filled the air. Heyoka took the middle of the column and let the humans bring up the rear.
Bey halted at a pile of boulders, dark against the setting sun to the east. "Here," he said. "They both stopped."
"Any blood?" Heyoka asked as he climbed the last few feet.
"No," Bey said, "but I do smell a trace down that ravine."
"Hrinnti or human?" Heyoka's nose wasn't as keen at this distance as that of those members of his species who had been raised on Anktan. They'd had more practice, he supposed.
Bey plunged down the slope in a controlled slide that looked to end in disaster every second, but somehow avoided it. He disappeared into a mass of foliage, then reappeared seconds later. "It's human blood," he shouted up, "but there's no sign of Corporal Jensen."
Heyoka reached for a calm that he most definitely did not feel. At least there wasn't a body—yet. "What about Kei?" he asked.
Bey's onyx eyes were enigmatic. "He is not here either."