Aliens vs Predator 2 - Hunter's Planet Page 6

  This, after all, was the pack that would lead Lar'nix'va to greatness. It was a good pack, and the yautja knew it well. No reason to dismantle it when such was not necessary. What was the saying? Thin.-de le'hasuan 'alounmyin-del bpi-de gka-de hasou-de paya. "Learn the gifts of all sights, or finish in the dance of the fallen gods."

  Lar'nix'va had no intention of moving his feet and shaking his spear in that particular festivity.

  "Very well. We should have an exercise. A portrayal of teamwork."

  "Yes," said Bakuub.

  "A Hunt!" said another.

  "A challenging Hunt," chimed in a third bellow.

  "But what is worthy of such a Hunt? What will truly test our merits as a working unit?"

  Lar'nix'va's mandibles clattered together in a sly yautja smile. "The most truly worthy prey. The other creatures who hunt on this planet, who have no doubt caused the death of our Leader. A prefatory foray into their realm."

  "Yes."

  "Pyode amedha," cried another.

  "Wait," said Bakuub. "Is it wise to do this before we know what truly transpires upon this planet?"

  "You are not revealing cowardice, are you, Bakuub?" said Lar'nix'va.

  "Soft Meat!" cried a warrior.

  "Yes. A true challenge," echoed another.

  Lar'nix'va nodded. "The others agree. We must hunt the oomans. We must hunt the clever hunters. And we shall hunt our loosed Hard Meat at the same time." He grabbed a spare spear and waved it in the air. "Hunt and thus our glory as a pack will be restored!"

  The cheers of his companions buoyed his spirits, and his soul began to yearn for killing.

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  I don't know about this," said Attila the Hun. "I don't know about this at all."

  "Don't know about what?"

  "This entire enterprise. It smacks of duplicity. It smells of trouble. It reeks of-"

  "I think the phrase you're groping for so literarily is `It's very suspicious.' "

  The android looked taken aback. "Well, don't you agree? I mean, from out of the blue comes a Greek bearing a gift. I believe the dictum states clearly that one should be chary of such."

  "I don't think 'Livermore Evanston' sounds very Greek, do you?"

  "The fact that he didn't come with a bloody Trojan horse doesn't change the fact that . . . that . . . well, that this whole thing sounds not only fishy but dangerous!"

  The look on Attila's face was so sincerely chagrined that Machiko Noguchi slowed down to a walk. She halted her assistant and trainer, who was of course not at all winded. She herself spoke breathily, and a light patina of sweat covered her forehead.

  "Aren't we wading a little deep into the ancient kingdom of mixed metaphors?"

  Evanston had agreed that Machiko should keep in shape, and as there were no exercise machines or rooms devoted to same, she was allowed to avail herself of the circular corridor on the second deck, which was pleasantly similar to a short track.

  Round and round and round . . .

  Puff and puff and puff . . .

  The thing was, if Machiko didn't do some strenuous exercise as well as her kata and her little softshoes with holographs thrown up by good of AH, she'd be so antsy she'd be in a thoroughly nasty mood and probably insult or hit someone. And if not him, then one of his several toadies who ran this boat.

  What had happened was this:

  She'd signed on.

  That simple. She'd accepted Livermore Evanston's offer, laid down her Joanna Hancock right by his own squirrelly scrawl.

  As promised, it took only the weekend for all the red tape to get bleached and snipped. Evanston had advised her to take the day afforded her to pack and make arrangements for what she wished to bring with her.

  All she'd wanted to take with her were a few paintings she'd grown fond of, some photos and some music cubes, a painting set she found helped her meditate . . .

  And, of course, Attila.

  Attila was a little trickier, since her license for him extended only to Company territory; and Evanston seemed a little nonplussed about taking a training android to Hunter's Planet (that simple term seemed to be the favored appellation, spoken with a wide range of irony and emphases and melodrama by both the impresario himself and the crew). However, once assured that Attila would not only help keep her in tip-top fighting and physical trim, but, with his multifaceted abilities, actually be of help in the effort, the Boss agreed.

  Besides, he adored the name.

  People at the office were appropriately stunned and impressed by her company and her swift departure. She gave them a quick toodle-loo and showed them her backside, though not quite in the way that perhaps she would have preferred.

  She and Attila were ensconced in luxurious quarters aboard the space yacht. Evanston asked if perhaps "the Hun" wanted his own room, or perhaps just a broom closet somewhere, and when Machiko had answered that Attila always slept in the same room, like a "big teddy bear," the fat man had just leered.

  All to the good, if it kept the guy's mind away from the possibility of any midnight peregrinations. Machiko honestly doubted that Evanston had any designs in that direction. Doubtless, money, power, and sheer personality kept him deep in whatever sexual activities he pleased to partake of. No, he surely hadn't taken ages to trip out to Buttlick, Milky Way, to try to jump a scarred, over muscled, stringy-haired gal's bones, no matter how sexy she might be. He had come because she was, in his words, "unique."

  That didn't mean, though, that he wouldn't try, the lech.

  Actually, Evanston was fortunate.

  Starships could go lots faster now than in days of yore. And though Blior, in the Norn system, was a far way out of the normal sphere of interstellar activity, it happened to be in the same Einsteinian neighborhood as Dullworld, relatively speaking.

  "I'm as much a warrior in the land of mixed metaphors as I am in any other land," said Attila. "But truth to tell, I rather liked it back where I was."

  "Even though I was miserable?"

  "Ah, but you would have been so much more miserable without me. I had a purpose, a positive value reinforced every single day. What being, biological or manufactured, can truly look for comfort in his duties?" Attila sighed. "For a while I could." He looked off sadly at a stolid bulkhead, as though staring through some imaginary porthole into the depths of space. "Now I'm just a bag carrier."

  "Come on. You're my trainer, my associate, my secretary, my alter ego, my-"

  "Your robot slave."

  "No . . . that's absurd. Again . . . you're my . . . MY ..."

  She wanted to say "friend and boon companion" or something sweet and supportive, but somehow the words stuck in her throat, like peanut butter.

  Maybe that was why she'd run off with the yautja. They had hard and steely emotions, just like her. Honor and valor were all, and emotions soft and tender or simply good-natured were nonexistent.

  A reality where shame and weakness could be fought with and defeated, and a noble Death was as much a victory as a noble conquest.

  "My better half."

  "Oh, dear. Don't strain yourself." But Attila the Hun was smiling, happy with whatever crumbs of genuine approval she threw his way. "Still and all, I am on record: This is a bad idea. You will regret it, and I already regret it. But, then, I have very little choice in the matter."

  "That's right, guy. And don't you forget it." She smiled. "Would you rather have assumed my lovely job back there? How well would you have done on a mining world without me?"

  Attila was silent for a moment. "Very well. Point taken."

  "We do this job, make some money . . . and we can start up something on our own . . . our dream, Til ......

  "Your dream, you mean." Truculently.

  "Hey. You came up with it, not me."

  Still walking, round and round and round.

  "A suggestion, merely." The accompanying sniff was affected, Machiko knew. Attila didn't have sinuses.

  "Our own school of
martial arts and `Spiritual Training through the Physical.' That's the exact phrasing you used. I liked it then and I like it now."

  "What, back on Earth?"

  "Still a world of opportunity . . . . That, or some other older civilization. With culture. Plays, musical events . . . art, Til. Real art, not just books in some dank library. Panoramas, cities, things to do . . ."

  Although he was fighting it, the android clearly was brightening. "Yes . . . yes, I do admit . . . it all sounds very tasty indeed" Darkness again, lowering of the prominent brow ridge. "But we've got to survive this next leg first. And we don't know exactly how long it will be."

  Machiko shrugged. "I told you about my experiences with the Predators, Til. I told you about what I had to do to reconnect with human beings again. I told you about the hell on Ryushi. My anguish on Gordian. I survived. I'll survive again."

  A look of profound thoughtfulness had taken hold of the android's face. "Yes, but it all proves that you're a magnet for trouble."

  "C'mon, Til. If that's true, you'll actually be able to prove out all these great fighting theories of yours . . . and actually see me in action."

  A sheepish look appeared on Atilla's face. He said nothing, and Machiko did not needle him.

  It had always been one of Attila's private embarrassments that he'd never actually had a fistfight or a street scuffle, let alone been involved in anything like a battle or a fight for his semi-life. That was, as far as he knew. All the war stuff, after all, had been fed into the neural complex center of a practically tableau Rasa android. His body had been around for a while, and his personality and odd subaware stuff were still clinging to his artificial neurodes and dendrites and synaptic colloids, but he had no substantial memory of his past. Machiko used this fact to reassure him. Perhaps, she claimed, he'd in fact been a valiant warrior in some anti-litter campaign and had been taken captive by the slobbish enemy, his brain hastily and poorly scrubbed of memory. Identity he'd never felt in short supply of; memory was an entirely different affair.

  Not that Attila was ever in short supply of things to do. While Machiko was doing her forty-hours-plus of bureaucratic nonsense per week for the corp, he would read, paint, master musical instruments, and compose music, becoming a well-rounded-indeed, a renaissance-robot. However, when Machiko was around, his focus of attention was entirely upon her, as if he were some sort of faithful Labrador retriever. At first ever-single and self-sufficient Machiko found this annoying. However, she rapidly got used to it and now actually enjoyed it.

  Attila was along on this trip as much for company as anything else. She enjoyed the surprising aspects of her personality that she displayed around him. It was like discovering a new Machiko inside her, a funny and clever Machiko, though more vulnerable, more hurt than she'd ever admit to anyone else.

  "Maybe that's what I'm afraid of," said Attila.

  "Okay, okay. This kind of mopey attitude is not the sort of thing I'm in the mood for. Maybe I should just take the dry sleep that Evanston offered."

  Attila shook his head adamantly. "Not and stay in any kind of trim or tone."

  "Ha ha! There's the drill instructor I know-that's why I need you. Had I gone alone, chum, you can bet I'd be snoozing in one of those chambers right now, with a nice little sleep aid for company"

  Attila seemed to take that well.

  They continued walking along the hallway, chatting lightly as was their wont. The corridors of the ship had nothing of the metal-and-glass sterility usually associated with Long Drag boats. In fact, they were more like an odd penthouse, what with the colorful and tasteful wall patterns and artwork, along with the occasional piece of antique furniture. Livermore Evanston tended to prefer rococo, baroque, and Victorian decorations, and the principal rooms had a strangely cluttered look for a starship. But, then, it was all very homey, especially the fireplace in the dining hall, and it was the private space yacht of a rich man. Machiko thought it fascinating.

  Attila's mouth made a slight tic, a sure sign he was consulting his internal chronometer. "All right, that's fine for the exercise."

  "Anything special you'd like next?" said Machiko.

  "Yes, as a matter of fact . . ."

  "Be my guest. Your choice."

  "Actually, if you don't care to accompany me, you need not," said Attila.

  "You're too kind. No, actually, I'm enjoying seeing what you get up to when I'm not around. Go ahead shoot. What did you have in mind?" said Machiko.

  "Hmm. Well, maybe we should go over some exercises . . . can't be too careful about preparation."

  "Nonsense. I'm up to here with exercises, anyway. Let's have fun. Your kind of fun."

  Attila brightened considerably. "Yesterday I did have a peek into the library and thought it most interesting."

  "Oh."

  Attila nodded his head emphatically. "Not boring old microfiche or computer screens. Real volumes. Some with leather binding and marvelous illustrations. Exquisite."

  "So you'd like to pore over some antiquities."

  "I'm sure you'd be bored."

  "Not at all. Let's go."

  Attila looked positively ecstatic. "I'm sure there are rewards. I thought I saw a volume of haiku that would interest you. You are aware of the poetry of your ancestors."

  "Oh, yes. I think I wrote one or two in my romantic youth. Certainly, TH. That all sounds quite grand."

  The library was on the second level. They took the antigrav pneumatic tube box to get there, one of the few items on board the craft with streamlined modern design. The first thing that Evanston had done was to give them a tour of the boat, including a brief glance at the library and art room. He'd given them access to these throughout the trip; at their destination Machiko placed her palm on a light strip. It read her DNA pattern. A door whisked open, revealing a room full of shelved books. The place had a wonderful, comfortable old booky smell.

  Attila immediately gravitated to the poetry section, poring over a vellum volume with great awe and reverence.

  Machiko discovered a whole section devoted to classic comic books. Now, that interested her. She was looking over a collection of ancient Superman stories when Attila looked up suddenly from his reading and said, "Machiko." Softly.

  "Yes."

  "Shhhh. We're alone, right?"

  "I didn't see anyone in the corridor, and unless they've got visibility dampers on, there's no one in here."

  "Good. I believe that this library has an annex."

  "No, it doesn't. Evanston showed us just one room."

  "I'll bet he has more books. I bet the truly interesting ones are in the annex."

  Machiko got a little annoyed. "What anex?"

  "Shhh. I detect no observation equipment in this room, but I've noticed that voices do tend to carry through the corridors in this environment." He got up and walked over to a shelf of books. "My sensors picked up a control box here, behind these books." He carefully took the books down and placed them on a table. Sure enough, there was some kind of electronic switch on the wall-nothing like on the outside, either.

  "Hmm. Curious. Purely mechanical. No identification required."

  "I really don't think you should fool with that." Normally, Machiko would be just as curious as Attila. However, she didn't want to go ruining a good thing by getting caught snooping around where she didn't belong.

  "Come on. If it was all that important, it would have an identity access seal. My spatial and analytical sensors detect a room next door, along with more paper and leather." His eyes seemed to glow with enthusiasm. "That must have some true antiquarian prizes."

  He began to touch the controls.

  Machiko got up. She could order him to stop, she supposed, but somehow it didn't seem worth it. Attila seemed interested and intent, and it was good to see him so fascinated with something.

  Besides, she was getting a little curious herself.

  Suddenly a complete panel of the library shelving opened, revealing a door.

  At
tila looked totally delighted. "Just like in the movies. A secret room."

  He turned another switch, and a soft yellow lambency spread through the new room.

  Machiko stepped forward to have a look.

  Sure enough, there were books lined on more shelves.

  Attila stepped forward, examining spines.

  Machiko had noticed something else besides books.

  "Fascinating," said Attila. "How very curious . . . our benefactor seems to be a war buff. He's got extensive biographies of generals from Julius Caesar through Napoleon, Rommel, and even Lickenshaun from just a few decades ago. He's got all the books of John Keegan from Face of Battle to A History of Warfare. He's got all of von Clausewitz's writings. Of course, the Art of War. Many first editions. My goodness, he's even got things by Maenchen-Helfen, the most meticulous collator of Hunnish data concerning my namesake. Perhaps he's some sort of war-gamer. He's got that sedentary look about him."

  Machiko walked to the other end of the small room. There was a glass case there, like those used in museums. Set inside the case were several items.

  A glove.

  A broken javelin.

  Half a bloody mask.

  And a knife.

  "An interesting collection," said Attila. "And extensive. If he just wanted the data, it would all be stored in-"

  "Til," said Machiko in a sharp, hushed tone.

  "My goodness. A first edition of-"

  "Til!"

  "Coming, coming."

  The android moved to her side. She pointed down at the display. He blinked at her. So.

  "Til. The pack I was telling you about?"

  "Yes. The yautja. The Predators."

  "This glove . . . these weapons . . . theirs."

  "What. The pack's?"

  "Not necessarily. I mean, these are part of their general war culture."

  "I thought their whole culture was war."

  "War. Hunting-all to gain honor, prove themselves.

  "Yes. I've heard all your stories." He looked down through the glass case again, clearly mulling over this new turn of events.