Maverick

Chapter 11. Maverick

A forest glen: sunlight filtered cool and green through the leaves, while nesting redwings darted through the lower branches of the trees, piping cheerfully. High in the canopy above a newly emerged cicabeetle announced its successful pupation with a loud, low-pitched drone, and off in the distance the happy cries and howls of hunting kin echoed across the valley.

The bowl-shaped floor of the forest clearing was covered with rocky outcroppings, mossy old stumps and fallen logs, and the mangled remains of four robots.

A skinny youngling sauntered past, proudly carrying his prize by the wires that had once connected it to a neck. Someone on the other side of the clearing shouted, distracting the youngling; he dropped City Supervisor Gamma’s head onto a slab of exposed rock, and the resulting clang sent him scampering away. By the time the youngling realized what he’d done and turned back to retrieve the head, it had begun rolling down the slope. Picking up momentum, it skittered across a patch of wet slimewort, dinged off a jutting rock, and took an off -kilter hop and then a long, wobbling bounce. The youngling bounded down the slope after it, trying to catch up with the rolling head.

He skidded to a stop when the head thudded to rest in a pile of soft humus and rotting leaves at the base of a mossy tree stump, not half a trot in front of the tough-looking stranger’s nose.

The head apparently annoyed the stranger. He got to his feet, yawned, and cast a baleful glare at the youngling. Then he sniffed the head in a disinterested fashion, marked it with his scent, and sat down again.

The youngling decided to go find another trophy.

Maverick watched the young kin turn tail, then turned his attention back to the head. So that was a WalkingStone, eh? Big furry deal. It wasn ’ t so tough. He brought a hind paw up and indulged in a good scratch behind the ear and resumed picking at the bit of grainy material that was stuck between his front teeth. On the other paw, I can ’ t say much for the way they taste. Dislodging the shred of Linguist 6’s arm, he spat it out and turned his attention to the group of kin that was busy dismembering the last relatively intact carcass. WhiteTail was easy to spot.

And that ’ s the old guy ’ s daughter, huh? Yuck. She ’ s got spindly legs. Walks like she ’ s got starch in her tail. And she ’ s a bit young, even for your tastes.

Still, what the hey. Maybe in a year or two she ’ llturn into something worth howling about. And in the meantime, let ’ s not lose sight of why we came here. The old guy ’ s in charge, and he depends on her. Off paw, I ’ d say that she ’ s definitely the angle to work, for now.Maverick yawned again, in a deliberately casual way, and gave the rest of the clearing a once-over.

On the whole, he had to admit that this group hunt business hadn’t turned out too badly. At first it’d looked like something straight out of one of his worst nightmares: A chaotic mob of two hundred clumsy pack-kin charging through the briars and stingworts, barking and howling loud enough to send even a deaf smerp running for cover.

But by the time they’d gone a hundred trots from PackHome, the mob had started to break up. Somebody who actually knew something about hunting caught a whiff of a smallgrazer and led a split off on that trail. A bunch of younglings treed a nuteater and stayed behind to bark like fools, jump around a lot, and prove once again that kin can’t climb trees, no matter how hard they try.

Other groups splintered off to chase other promising scents, but Maverick kept his eyes on LifeCrier. There had been a lot of twists, turns, and feints-for a moment there he’d had the absurd idea that LifeCrier was trying to ditch them all and sneak back to PackHome-but even though his left hind leg had started to throb, he’d managed to stick with the old kin the entire way.

After all, that was the whole point of coming to PackHome, wasn ’ t it? To find the center of power, get close to it, and work your way up In the pecking order.And up to a certain point, the plan really had seemed to be working. The group following LifeCrier was down to fewer than ten kin when they’d burst from the underbrush and run straight into the pack of WalkingStones.

Maverick let out a disgusted little sneeze. WalkingStones? You mean the horrible, nasty, killer monsters that we need SilverSides to protect us from? Mother, I ’ ve seen trees that put up a better fight! Despite all the scary talk about silent death and glances that killed, there’d been no lightning, and no thunder. The WalkingStones had simply stood there on their hind legs, staring at the onrushing kin, looking for all the world like a bunch of startled whistlepigs caught out in the sunlight.

If LifeCrier had shown even a second’s hesitation, that would have been the end of it. But the old fool obviously believes this SilverSides business. He charged right in.

And OldMother help me, I followed him.One of the WalkingStones had started to point its left foreleg at LifeCrier. Maverick really hadn’t had time to think, or even slow down; he’d feinted, stutter-stepped, and charged straight for the WalkingStone.

It was a good gamble, Mavvy old boy. If the stories about them throwing lightning from their paws are true, you saved the old guy ’ s life. That could have been a real good play, gratitude-wise.With a mighty grunt, he’d gathered himself and sprung upon the WalkingStone, seizing its foreleg in his jaws.

That’s where everything had gone wrong. Biting the WalkingStone’s limb was like biting gravel. Between the cold pain in his teeth, the oily and utterly unappetizing taste of the WalkingStone’s flesh, and the apparent lack of any bones in the limb, Maverick had momentarily forgotten everything that he knew about balance and timing. He’d been counting on his momentum to pull the WalkingStone off its two feet, just as he’d been counting on its inertia to check his leap.

Instead, the thing’s foreleg had simply tom away in his teeth and he’d gone flying head-over-haunches into a patch of blooming stingwort. His heroic leap had ended up as a clumsy pratfall.

Maverick looked around the clearing again-a clearing full of kin who were not noticing him-and felt a sense of frustration. It ’ s definitely darned tough to impress the locals by landing fiat on your tailbone.

Of course, I suppose it could be worse. Though at the moment it ’ s hard to imagine how.

Between getting the wind knocked out of him and giving his sore leg a bad twist, he’d managed to take himself out of the fight for a few minutes. By the time he’d crawled out of the stingworts and gotten back up on all four legs, the battle was over. Old LifeCrier was up on a rock giving a victory benediction (though Maverick had to admit that the old kin did look a bit pale and shaky), the younglings were doing an extremely sloppy job of skinning and dressing the downed carcasses, and WhiteTail was busy braiding a bunch of those silly little amulets, like the one LifeCrier wore, and handing them out to the kin who’d managed to stay in the thick of the fight.

His gaze locked on WhiteTail again, and he allowed himself a wry smile. Okay, Mavvy old boy, so much for coming into PackHome like a conquering hero. Guess it ’ s time to try Plan B: Fall in love with the leader ’ s daughter. He groomed his fur a little bit, straightened up his shoulders, and started rehearsing his opening line. Then he gave WhiteTail one last appraising look, and grimaced. All the same, her legs are spindly. Oh, the things I do for my meals. Pasting a cheerful smile on his face, he started his tail going in a slow, friendly wag and sauntered over.

The rest of the younglings had wandered off, dragging the detachable parts of the last WalkingStone with them. WhiteTail was squatting beside the now headless torso, carefully stripping out the thin, tough veins that were threaded throughout its chest cavity. She seemed to be picking them out on the basis of color; the impression was reinforced when she measured out three equal lengths of yellow, green, and black vein and quickly braided them into a necklace.

With deliberate casualness, Maverick sat down and watched her work, an interested expression on his face. When she failed to notice him after a minute or so, he discreetly cleared his throat and wagged his tail a bit more vigorously.

She looked up; their eyes met for an instant. No sparks flew. She went back to her work.

So much for love at first sniff. Mavvy old boy, you ’ re going to have totalk to her. After a few moments of silence, he cleared his throat again and spoke up. “Praise SilverSides. ”

“Praise SilverSides,” she answered, without looking up or slowing her work.

Okay, Mavvy, let ’ s turn on the charm.“Say, WhiteTail, can you believe that fight? We took four WalkingStones down and didn’t even get singed. I tell you, SilverSides must be watching over us for sure. ”

WhiteTail paused in her work long enough to fix Maverick with a strange look. “Do I know you?”

The question caught Maverick by surprise. “Well, no. I mean, er-”

WhiteTail’s ears went up, and she leaned in closer to sniff at Maverick. “Still, there’s something familiar about you. ” She sniffed again, and then her eyes narrowed just a hair. “Oh, I remember now. You were in the front row at the meeting, weren’t you?”

Okay, lad, there ’ s your opening!Maverick leaned back a bit, puffed his chest slightly, and gave her an easy smile. “As a matter of fact, I was. Fascinating sermon, simply fascinating. Your father is-”

“You were the one who kept jumping in early on the cheering, weren’t you?”

Oops.Maverick’s ears went flat. “Er, actually-”

WhiteTail set her knife aside, sat up alertly, and looked closely at Maverick. “Yes, I remember now. Did you know that I was watching you almost the entire time?”

Maverick’s ears popped up straight. “You were?”

WhiteTail turned back to the carcass, but not before shooting one last look of disgust at Maverick. “Did you really think that you were the first one to try to improve your status by loudly faking belief!”

“Fake? Look here, girl, I-” The argument died in his throat.

Face it, Mavvy old boy, she ’ s a very clever one, and she ’ s got you by the ears. You may as well try the truth.Maverick plopped down on his belly, crossed his forepaws, and laid his chin on his paws. “Okay, I admit it. Every pack I’ve ever met has their own kind of strangeness, and I thought this SilverSides business was just one more weird local custom. I’ve been on my own for over a year, and I’m getting really tired of being an outcast. Can you blame me for trying too hard to fit in?”

WhiteTail set her knife aside again and favored Maverick with a less enigmatic smile. “You get two points for honesty, stranger. Most fakers just protest louder when they’re caught. You’re the first one I’ve met who’s shown even a vestige of integrity.

“In return for that, I’ll give you a little confession of my own. I don’t believe, either. ” WhiteTail’s eyes narrowed, and she watched him closely, studying his reaction.

Well, Mavvy, this honest bit seems to be getting us somewhere. Let ’ s go with it.Maverick sat up, cocked his head sideways, raised one ear, and gave WhiteTail a bewildered look. “You don’t? But at the meeting you said-1 mean… ”

WhiteTail’s expression hardened. “Understand one thing, stranger. LifeCrier isn’t just the leader of PackHome, he’s my father, and I’ll do whatever it takes to protect him. That includes tricking him into leading a hunt when the pack is hungry. ” With a swiftness that surprised Maverick, WhiteTail suddenly snatched up her stone knife and set its point against his breastbone. “Or cutting your heart out and feeding it to the sharpfangs if you try your pious-believer act on him. Do I make myself clear?”

Gingerly, Maverick pushed the point aside. “Absolutely. ”

“Good. ” She dropped her guard and turned her attention back to the carcass. “Now either get lost or make yourself useful. Do you know anything about WalkingStone anatomy?”

Maverick followed her gaze down into the jumbled pale blue mess that was the inside of the WalkingStone’s chest cavity. Judging by color, there were at least six different kinds of veins, but the cavity was strangely bloodless and there was nothing that he could clearly identify as a heart. For that matter, he wasn’t even sure that he could tell the difference between organ and muscle. A lot of the cavity was filled with the oily blue gravel he’d been picking out of his teeth since the fight.

“No,” he finally admitted.

“Good. Here’s your chance to learn. Help me roll this thing over, will you?” With a grunt of exertion, WhiteTail started pushing at the corpse. Maverick helped her. Despite being legless and headless, the corpse was surprisingly heavy, but together they managed to get it flipped.

“Now, stranger-” She looked up sharply. “Say, what is your name, anyway?”

He hesitated a moment. Well, boy, just how far do we want to push this honesty business? “Maverick,” he said at last.

“Maverick? That’s an outcast name. Don’t you have a pack name?”

He looked away, and his tail started twitching in tight, nervous jerks. “Not any more. ”

WhiteTail gave him another appraising look and then shrugged. “Pay attention; I don’t like to repeat myself. ” She picked up her knife and turned to the corpse.

“Now,” WhiteTail began in a cool, formal voice, “the problem with hunting for WalkingStones is that there doesn’t seem to be anything inside them that we can eat. ” She dug her knife in between where the shoulder blades should have been-if the thing had had bones-and opened the carcass down the back. By this time it was no longer surprising to find that the WalkingStone had no spine.

“They have no liver,” WhiteTail continued. “No heart, no kidneys, and the muscles-well, you’ve already tried a leg. What did you think?”

Maverick grimaced at the memory. “I’d rather eat a stinktail. ”

WhiteTail nodded sagely. “A popular opinion. ” She caught Maverick’s eye and directed it to the WalkingStone’s shoulder area. “Another problem is that the WalkingStones don’t seem to have a proper skin. It’s impossible to tell where the skin ends and the muscle begins-which makes it really funny to watch the younglings try to flay one of them.

“But there’s something else even more peculiar about the skin that I want you to see. Look there; what’s happening?”

Maverick got up on all fours and sniffed closely at the spot WhiteTail had indicated. “Why, it’s healing. ”

WhiteTail frowned helplessly. “This WalkingStone is dead, right? I mean, its front legs are over here, its back legs are-” she looked around the clearing a bit and gestured in the direction of a fallen log, “-over there, I think. And Mother knows where the head’s gotten to.

“But leave the skin alone for a few minutes, and wounds flow closed so fast you can watch it. Leave the organs alone long enough, and they melt down into this gritty blue stuff that’s indistinguishable from skin or muscle. ” WhiteTail dug the knife in again and extended the cut across the WalkingStone’s hip area.

“So far as we can tell, there are only two organs in a WalkingStone that don’t change shape. One is the brain. The other-” she plunged her forepaws into the wound and began groping around inside the body “-is usually right about-” a slightly startled look flashed across her face, and then resolved into a smile “-here!” With a sucking, popping sound, the corpse gave up the organ, and WhiteTail fell over backward with the recoil.

Maverick looked at the thing she’d gone to so much work to pull out. “ A giant egg?”

“That’s what it looks like, all right. ” WhiteTail got back on her feet, brushed some of the clinging blue grit off the thing, and then found her knife and tapped the egg a few times with the blade. “But it’s got the hardest shell that I have ever seen. “

Maverick wrinkled his nose in a deep frown. “Still, *an egg?”

“Interesting thought, isn’t it? That WalkingStones might be some kind of giant flyer? Although personally I think the shape and size is more like a sharpfang egg. ”

Maverick shook his head. “No. ”

WhiteTail tapped the egg with her knife again. “Agreed, sharpfang eggs are soft and leathery, while this one is as hard as a rock, and too small. Still-”

Maverick pushed in and laid a paw on the egg. “No, you don’t understand. These four WalkingStones we killed; they all carried eggs?” WhiteTail nodded. Maverick looked her straight in the eyes. “Don’t you see?”

WhiteTail didn’t see. “What?”

“No wonder they were such poor fighters. We jumped a bunch of females who were all nesting. ”

The instant those words left his lips, Maverick knew he’d made a mistake. Whatever warmth had been in WhiteTail’s eyes, it was gone now. She drew herself up to her full, slender height and asked, “And tell me, O great hunter, since when is a mother protecting her young harmless?”

“Well,” Maverick hedged, “there are some; female whistlepigs, and redflyers too, and… ”

“Useless, absolutely useless,” WhiteTail growled. “I shouldn’t be wasting my time with you. ”

Maverick froze, rooted to the spot, as his internal voices erupted into a full-scale screaming argument.

Submit, idiot, submit!

What? Tothis insolent little pup?

Who also happens to be the leader ’ s daughter!

Don ’ t do it, lad. Roll over and bare your throat to her now and you ’ ll never get another chance to show her who rules the den.

But you werewrong, idiot!

“Well?” WhiteTail said in challenge.

Maverick was saved by the arrival of LifeCrier, who blithely trotted right between them. “Okay you two lovebirds, break it up. We’ve still got a day’s hunting ahead of us. ” A few trots away, he looked over his shoulder without breaking stride and added, “Well, daughter? Are you coming?”

WhiteTail’s hackles went down, her lips relaxed back down over her fangs, and she turned to follow him. “Yes, Father. ” Maverick started breathing again, and he turned his back to WhiteTail and took another look at the egg.

The bite on his hindquarters took him completely by surprise.

“ Yike!”He leapt half a trot in the air and came down in a whirl. WhiteTail was standing there with a wicked smile on her face and a little bit of his fur in her teeth. “What was that for?” he demanded.

“Just a reminder, sweetheart. I’m not done with you yet. ” Then, with a cold glare and a vicious snap of her whip-like tail, she turned and trotted after her father.

Maverick sat down and watched her go. When she was safely out of earshot, he softly said, “Mavvy old boy, are you sure you want to be in the same pack with her?”

Five minutes later, when LifeCrier had gathered all the other adult hunters and gotten them formed up and ready to move out, Maverick still hadn’t come up with an answer to that question. So he took one last look at the WalkingStone egg-only to discover that a skinny youngling had dragged it off, wedged it in a crevice, and started pounding on it with a rock. Then he sighed, got to his feet, and trotted after the rest of the pack.

Had he understood that the egg was actually Linguist 6’s microfusion power pod, he would have moved considerably faster.