The Hero

Chapter 12

Ferret’s legs weren’t hurting as much. He figured that was good, tactically. He was almost back to a reasonable pace, and had tossed the crutch. He was still limping as he moved, but he was moving by himself. Medically, he figured the lessening pain presaged massive tissue damage from gangrene or something similar. He actually might survive if he could get these two beaten and call the pod. There were good AI medical facilities aboard. He still considered that tantalizing chance, now far behind him, of using Doll’s transmitter for backup. He really, personally, didn’t care if a war started, instead of all this back and forth. But command would not be happy with his sorry ass, even if he survived. Anyway, it was only a chance, and he’d abandoned that for this track. Fretting wasn’t going to help.

The voice in his earphones surprised him. “So, Ferret, how are you doing?”

He clamped his mouth tightly shut, lips thin. The longer he could wait before speaking to Dagger, the more of a threat he’d appear. Let Dagger get scared. That was a weapon all by itself.

“Ferret? I know you’re there, you half-assed moron.”

Nothing. And Dagger was sounding a bit distressed.

“Okay, Ferret, I’ll play your game. Just wait until I see a glimpse of you again. It’ll be the last. Goodbye.”

Dagger had definitely been disturbed. Good.

The signs on his tracker were not making sense. They still showed Tirdal to be several minutes, almost half an hour, ahead of Dagger. Dagger was about a half hour ahead of Ferret. So why hadn’t Tirdal stopped to let Dagger catch up? They’d still have plenty of lead.

Of course, they didn’t know how far ahead of Ferret they were. Dagger was likely playing for time, hoping Ferret’s wounds would do him in.

Unless they planned to spread out and make Ferret choose, so they could envelope him. If so, it was even more important that he keep silent. He was the best tracker of the three.

He wished he knew what they were planning though. And that he had someone to talk to. And that it would stop hurting.

Tirdal left Dagger to fret. What was the human expression? “Stew in his own juices.” That was it. And it was doubly appropriate. This level of exertion caused tremendous metabolic stress and perspiration. From what he knew of human physiology and medical treatment, it had to be about as unpleasant for Dagger. Which was good. Dagger might handle the heat better, but Tirdal had greater stamina and resistance, he was sure. The worse things got here, the more advantageous it would be.

There was danger, he admitted. Dagger could track better, and had a weapon with much greater range. He also sounded completely insane at this point. Had he been already, and it was simply surfacing now? Had it been hidden by a social façade? Or was it something latent, triggered by his impulsive actions? Did being alone emphasize human emotions? That was always true to some extent, but was it worse in this instance?

No time for that now, he thought. It was time to put kilometers between them, and stay in the woods while doing so. He rose carefully back to his feet and secured the artifact, then resumed his march. Behind him was the shell of his lunch, its legs still occasionally twitching even though there was no body or mind attached to it. Insects were so barely sentient they were very hard to kill properly. Whereas sentient animals were easy to kill, in theory, except for that mental activity involved.

The local sun was well on its way down. That would change things immensely. He could see innately better than Dagger, but Dagger was very skilled with night vision. Also, Tirdal’s hotter metabolism would shine in that night vision. However, Dagger had now been awake for nineteen hours. Certainly he could go longer, but aside from thirst and hunger, Tirdal wasn’t particularly stressed. And Dagger was. The situation should change in Tirdal’s favor shortly. All that was needed was calm and patience. The waves turn rock to sand. Sand smoothes all signs. Be as the waves; persistent, calm, undeterred…

Dagger was furious at being cut off and ignored. It was a pity those assholes hadn’t bought it with the rest, because they were really sticking him in the ass. Some alien freak and the FNG were causing him, him! to change plans and waste time. The jumped up twerps seemed to think that they not only were relevant, but were some kind of martyrs.

The anger helped a little with other things, too. His heart was thumping as he strode along. One of his secret phobias when young was the dark. He’d thought he was over it. He’d been through nighttime training, done the survival school gig, been on hundreds of exercises and a dozen real world missions. He started as a branch reached out and stroked his cheek, then he thrust it away roughly. He wasn’t afraid, dammit. He kept the anger fresh in his mind, but it was fading, albeit slowly.

But human settlements always had some light and bustle at night. The populous planets had enough light pollution so that one could always see the warm glow of a city on the horizon. Military encampments had generators and activity. Here, there was absolutely nothing. Nothing except that Blob site, all holograms. Nothing except local creatures that would eat him. No one but the Darhel, fleeing him, though he had made his threats sound real. No one but Ferret, who was out there but not talking. No one but the ghosts of his former teammates. His mind was playing tricks on him. There was the trancelike beat of Gun Doll’s music. Gorilla’s snores came to him, and the captain’s cynical presence and Shiva’s calm. He turned to look behind him, as he had every couple of minutes. There was nothing behind him, and he knew it, but it was spooky as hell out here. And there might be something behind him, with those local creepie-crawlies.

In truth, anyone would have been afraid. It hit every evolutionary button humans have. It was dark, too quiet, full of threats and lonely. But Dagger’s ego had never seen it in those terms. He’d been suppressing his weaknesses behind a mask for so long that their appearance terrified him. One must face fears to overcome them, and Dagger had spent his life avoiding them.

But he had to keep moving. The frigging Darhel was still humping away, damn him. When would the little rat tire? A hazy part of his mind recalled that the Darhel was alleged to have maxed the course, and he started to wonder if that was true. Then he realized that maxing it didn’t indicate an upper limit on the bastard’s abilities, but a lower one. That was frightening.

Nah, he couldn’t be that good. Dagger had seen some real shit. He was letting himself get scared over nothing. Nothing. What kind of wuss was afraid of the dark? He could shoot the bugs as fast as they could attack, and Tirdal was a long way away.

He yelped as something stabbed him in the ribs, then recovered. He swallowed and hit the limb aside furiously.

Then he went berserk.

There was no obvious outer change, though he did increase his pace to a rough, rapid stride, moving in a low lope. He slapped branches aside and didn’t realize he was sacrificing stealth for speed. All he knew was that he was catching that damned Darhel, and he was not afraid of the dark. He tripped over a stray root, and it only served to elevate his rage to a higher plane. He was panting, hyperventilating, heedless of his own safety, but all that mattered was catching that damned Darhel.

Ferret kept pushing his pace faster as his legs went blissfully numb. The pins and needles feeling went the entire length now, and he barely felt the brush he rubbed against. It was a good thing that he was stalking, and he’d have to keep it that way, because he was certainly leaving a trail. But at least the pain was gone. It was odd to not feel his feet, but they were working, even if the left one was a puppet’s wooden foot rather than a real one.

The coming dark would be of help to him. Unless those two, Dagger specifically, as Tirdal wasn’t very good, were keeping a good watch behind, he shouldn’t run up on them. But once he did see an IR readout, he should easily be able to follow at distance. Too, it was harder to move stealthily in the dark. Dagger might not leave much, but Tirdal would, and the two together should be easy.

A wave of dizziness hit him, and he squatted down to catch his breath, or tried to. He sprawled flat in the weeds, feeling them scrape past him and smelling the released sap of several types. The ground smelled slightly slimy, and he’d probably slipped on the surface as stems rolled well-greased between that and his boots. Balance shot because of my feet, he thought to himself. He reminded himself to be cautious. He had no tactile feedback from down there.

He wondered if the nausea was due to his damaged feet, but that couldn’t be it this fast. He realized it was a combination of shock, pain, drugs and lack of food and sleep. He’d been awake almost twenty-eight hours, after days of little sleep, and was in rough shape. And he couldn’t stop now. The best thing for him was to bull through and hope they had to rest at some point, soon. In fact, they were sure to, unless he presented an immediate threat. Another reason to keep quiet.

Still, they had the advantage. If they rested, they could take turns on watch. Ferret had only himself. But, by resting, they weren’t moving.

He checked his tracker again. Tirdal’s lead was less. But they had both widened the gap from them to him. So he’d have to do what he could to increase his pace. Sighing, he reached into his kit for more painkillers and a stronger stimulant. He hated to use them; the painkiller reduced his awareness somewhat, and the stim nauseated him. If he were to have a chance of catching up, however, they were necessary.

That done, he opened the last rat to chew on while he marched, tucked it into his belt, and started moving. Step forward with the right foot until weight hit the knee, then shove the left foot forward. As soon as weight was on it, step forward with the right and push with the left. He resumed his rolling, limping gait, and decided the speed was adequate. The pain was less than it had been, and as the fresh analgesic kicked in, he’d move it up faster.

The tracks weren’t hard to follow, even in the dark. Ferret had grown up on a Fringe world, and had hunted since he was five. To him, the terrain was a book to be read. More bent leaves and abused stems told him someone had passed this way. That scratch on a tree and that bare sweep through brush indicated a long weapon: Dagger’s. Those flat areas were due to feet with a different geometry than a human’s: Tirdal’s.

Then there was the mark left through the stems by a larger local form. He studied that at a near-jog as he crossed it. Yes, something had trotted through there quickly, in pursuit of something smaller. That meant a predator. A predator was even worse in his limping condition, and in that he’d prefer not to fire and give away his location. He wasn’t sure he could handle one with a knife, but that appeared to be his best option for secrecy. As to shooting, it was likely a better option for survival. Of course, both depended on a weapon being able to get through those appalling exoskeletons the local life wore.

It was right then that the predator in question trotted past again. It was about rabbit sized, and it was followed by three more just like it. It was probably his limping gait sending rhythmic but uneven vibrations through the ground that attracted them. Whatever it was, Ferret saw the ground cover twitch and sway, saw the wave of motion turn suddenly towards him and charge. He yanked his field knife clear of its sheath and tried to intercept them.

The first one was easy. He had the blade down in time and the stupid creature tried to bite it. The blade of the knife was a high-density polymer, with a ceramic edge molecularly bonded to it. The bug sheared its own jaw off on the almost molecule-fine edge. For just a moment, it was clearly visible in Ferret’s goggles, a wriggling, Japanese beetle shape as long as his foot. Then it fell under a seedling.

The other three tried to attack at once. The first leapt, and Ferret dodged by falling. He hadn’t intended to do that, and it sent fresh spikes of pain through his legs, but he avoided a bite. A whack at the temporarily confused bug didn’t cleave its chitin, but did crush its legs under itself, as it had no time to retract them. It wriggled and twitched in place in the weeds, but wasn’t going to be a problem.

The other two, however, were on him. One was chewing at his right boot. At least, he hoped it was just his right boot. While his foot was insensate, he still needed it to function for this hike. Then the second one started attacking his rucksack, chittering in his ear and scaring him badly.

First, the one on the foot. It was the easier one to reach. Methodically and calmly, he inserted the blade, unsharpened edge down, between his foot and the bug, and hoped to hell it didn’t try to crawl up the blade and munch his arm. It clung to his boot for a moment, then came loose. The tip pinned it against the bark of a tree, resisted for a moment, then skewered it. It thrashed angrily.

Quickly, he pulled the releases on his ruck’s strap, let it drop, and turned to impale the other pest. With soft ground underneath, he wasn’t able to pierce it, but it did stumble off quickly.

Ferret panted for breath, suddenly wider awake than even the drugs had made him, a warm flush of adrenaline coursing through him. He whipped his head around to see if there were any others nearby.

It was clear. He carefully resheathed his knife, took a quick glance at his boot and was reassured that integrity was good, even if the tough surface was badly scored and peeled. Then he reattached the clips on his pack, shouldered it, shrugged it and adjusted it. Of course, just for a minor annoyance, he couldn’t get the straps back to the original position. It rode differently on his shoulders and would take some time to get used to. But he was alive, mostly unhurt save for a skinned knuckle on his already bug-bit hand and a sore hip, and was up and moving again at once.

It was fear that drove Dagger to call Ferret, though he would never have admitted it. Just the sound of a human voice, or, even if Ferret refused to answer, the knowledge that he was there, reduced his fear of this black hell he was moving through. This black hell that turned bright and grainy under enhancement, fronds and branches reaching out like wings or arms to grasp at him, brush at his legs, or worse, his head. His teeth were clattering and his knees shaking, but he pressed on. Damn that Darhel, he had to catch that little freak, or this was all a bad screwup to try to explain. He’d catch a firing squad if they convicted him, and without the box for assets, he had no way to get out of the Republic.

“Ready to give up yet, Ferret?” he asked. Just the act of talking made the fear retreat slightly, as it emphasized his humanity.

There was no reply, so he continued, “You know we’re going to flank you and kill you, you crippled little loser.”

Still nothing.

“But I want to be fair, Ferret. Tell me who to send regards to, and I’ll tell them you died bravely.”

At that, there was a response. “Bravely how, Dagger?” Ferret’s voice was angry. Good. Dagger could almost hear the teeth grinding. “Bravely against you? Or are you going to blame this on the Darhel and kill him, too? Because you sure as hell can’t blame this on the Blobs and be believed.”

Dagger had no immediate reply, and hesitated just long enough. Ferret continued, “That’s it, isn’t it? He’s not really your ally, he’s a convenience.”

Dagger snarled. This wasn’t the way he’d planned it.

But Ferret was still talking. “I wonder if I can convince him of that? Hey, Dagger? Be awfully bad for you if we started hunting you instead, wouldn’t it?”

That he could respond to. “Not at all, Ferret. I don’t mind superimposing a target on your face and watching the splatter. Be good for a laugh. And you don’t think a fucking Darhel is going to give me any trouble, do you? Do you imagine he’s going to believe you? ‘Oh, I haven’t spoken to you yet, but I’m really on your side.’ That will fly.”

“Him? Trouble? No,” Ferret replied. “But I can stalk you better than you can stalk me. And you have to sleep sometime. I don’t really need to talk to Tirdal, anyway. I know where you both are. Later, asshole. The next sound you hear will be your chest exploding.”

Dagger growled again and decided he’d better talk to Tirdal quickly. If he could keep these two afraid of each other, he could play them off.

“Hey, Tirdal,” he called.

“Yes, Dagger? Are we done with insults?”

“For now, Tirdal, for now,” Dagger said, grinning even though no one could see him. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Oh? A gift of some kind? What’s the occasion?” Tirdal was doing his best to sound light and cheerful, almost human. With that deep, slow voice it didn’t work well. Instead, it was ghastly.

“Sort of, Tirdal,” Dagger said, nodding to himself. “Ferret is still alive and is right with me. You recall how well he can track?”

“Interesting, Dagger. You realize, of course, I find that very hard to believe. If you really had an ally, I would have been flanked in short order, or one of you would have secured the box before you ‘fragged’ your entire team.” Tirdal did not sound distressed. That reasonable, logical tone of his was one more reason Dagger was going to see him dead.

Tirdal obviously hadn’t Sensed Ferret, he realized! He thought this was a bluff, but he should know. If he didn’t, then that defined a limit on his Sense. Excellent to know.

“Well, it was a lucky fluke,” Dagger said, grasping for control. He really needed to rehearse his comments before talking to the damned Elf. “But once we realized how much we both hate Darhel, and the value of the box, it became easy. We both get you dead, we each get money. It’s a good deal all around. Except, of course, for you, because you’ll be dead. The fact that you can’t Sense him gives us even more of an advantage, not that we need it. You’re dead.”

“Very well, Dagger,” Tirdal replied. “You have an ally. It’s amazing how much of an advantage you feel you need over a lowly Darhel. It makes me think that you aren’t as formidable as you’d like everyone to believe you think you are.”

That stung a little, once he sorted it out. Tirdal knew how to use the language better than Dagger did. He must have spent years studying to be that sarcastic. But there were a billion credits at stake, and words weren’t going to change things.

“Tirdal, I don’t mind being generous with a billion. That’s why I was offering to cut you in. But you won’t take it, so it just leaves more for me and Ferret. As to being fair, why should I bother? We all know that Ferret’s the best tracker, I’m the best shooter, and you’re nothing. We’re not trying to prove some macho point, we’re simply going to kill you.”

“So you say, Dagger. To borrow a cliché, ‘First, you have to catch me.’ Goodbye again.”

Dagger knew better than to waste time replying. Tirdal wasn’t going to listen. Still, those seeds of doubt had been planted in him. If he kept playing them off each other, they would both be allies to him, while they imagined they were against him. It was even possible Ferret would do in the Darhel for him, if Dagger could get close enough to flank and let Ferret take him from behind. And Dagger could backtrack the discharge from a weapon easily.

Yes, this should turn out okay, after all.

The sooner dawn came or they cleared the woods, the happier Dagger would be. This was not pleasant. He grimaced. “I’m not a fucking coward. It’s just dark.” It didn’t reassure him. Dammit, there was nothing here except a few bugs he could outshoot.

And Ferret. Why was Ferret still alive? He stopped again, back to a tree, then turned in a circle, back still to it, searching through his scope for any activity in infrared. Little bugs, but no predator forms yet. And no sign of Ferret.

Ferret decided he needed to hear from Tirdal. He’d have to be doubly cautious what he said and felt, with that little freak probing at his mind, but he also needed intelligence. Whatever he could get from the Darhel would help. It likely wouldn’t be much; there wasn’t much inflection in that rich, deep voice, and as an alien, Tirdal had to deliberately emphasize his voice. If he chose not to, it was simply a monotone. Ferret would have to discern intent from very few clues. It was a whole new type of tracking.

Taking an extra breath for steadiness, he chose the channel and said, “Tirdal.”

“Ferret,” came the reply. “So you are alive.” Ferret lowered the volume. He had wanted it loud for best hearing of minute details, or any background noise that wasn’t filtered, but the level was interfering with his ability to hear his own environment. In the dark closeness of the trees, his hearing was a prime sense.

“Surprised, Tirdal?” he asked. “You know Dagger’s not really an ally to you. He’s just using you as a convenience to grab all the money for himself.”

Tirdal replied, “As a Darhel, allegedly what you’d call a ‘capitalist,’ I’m amazed at the avarice of humans. Money is a tool one uses to accomplish work. Yet you very often seem to think of it as a status symbol. Just what will you do with half a billion credits, Ferret? Wasn’t potentially thirteen million as a share enough? Especially as it was a fortuitous find rather than an earned development?”

What game was this? “I’m not here for the money, Tirdal. I’m here to see you two assholes dead, and the box in the hands of the Republic’s science bureau.” There was another scuffled weed. He was still on the trail.

“Now, Ferret, that’s just amusing and insulting to my intelligence.”

“How do you figure?” Ferret asked. The alien twerp was disturbing. He exuded a… confidence.

“Ferret, if you’d meant to ally with me, you’d have called while Dagger and I were swapping fire, and offered to help.”

“Waaah?” Ferret replied. “I heard you assholes shooting the wounded. I heard you. Then you came running past with the artifact, while Dagger looted the bodies. How stupid do you think I am?” He couldn’t believe Tirdal was even trying that line. Had Dagger sold him that thoroughly on the idea? Did he have that low an opinion of Ferret? The insult made him furious. Ferret was no political genius, nor very urbane, but he was intelligent and very good at his chosen specialty. He was reassured himself that moment by another scuff in the dirt. Dagger had passed this way.

What the hell was Tirdal playing? Did he think Ferret could be dismissed? If he really thought the two humans were a team, why wasn’t he more scared? Or did he have an ace for dealing with the sniper? That was likely why he was disturbed at Ferret’s existence. Ferret was another threat he hadn’t planned on. Except he knew already from Dagger.

Had Dagger not told him? Was it possible they were both playing their own games with that box? That was an idea. Dagger had fragged the team, Tirdal had taken the moment to swipe the box. Now they were both fighting each other. So Ferret would only have to fight one at a time, because neither was going to lend a hand. That was a good theory, and would explain why they weren’t traveling together. His thoughts were interrupted by Tirdal speaking.

“I don’t think you’re stupid, Ferret. Which is why I’m not going to listen to you try to ally with me at this point. I’ve seen the technique on human vid shows. Dagger plays malicious and evil, you play honorable. I won’t be swayed. Now, do you have anything valid to input? Or shall we resume the hunt?”

That taunting question threw Ferret back into a rage. He couldn’t believe Tirdal, holding the billion credit box, was going to play innocent victim. “Oh, it’s a hunt all right,” Ferret replied. “And you can just fucking die, Darhel.”

“That’s been the plan all along, Ferret. It is unfortunate that it takes two humans to equal one Darhel. Goodbye.”

“You asshole!” Ferret near-shouted into his microphone, barely remembering his noise discipline.

There was no reply.

Tirdal let his Sense and senses reach out into the darkness. Without the undisciplined thoughts of humans shouting at him from mere meters away, he could feel the environment. It was raw and primal, but not unfriendly. Few of the insectoids noticed his presence, save as the passage of a creature. He was too large for most to be concerned with, and did not display the chemical signs of threat. To others, he did not appear as prey, and was thus ignored. Some felt his movement and became alert, seeking a meal, but in all cases it was simple hunger, no hatred or anger. There was only one glowing flame of anger out there, and it was far away. Distant it was, though white-hot in its intensity. Ferret wasn’t discernible yet. Tirdal focused his Sense and sought.

There. Behind Dagger, and very faint. So Ferret was playing catch-up. Nor was he as obsessed as Dagger. He would be hard to track, but was farther away, so less of a threat. It was likely the two of them would meet up shortly. That would increase the threat. What Tirdal would have to watch for would be the two of them spreading out to channel him.

It was possible they weren’t really allies, but from Tirdal’s viewpoint, they were both threats. He’d have to be certain he didn’t get into terrain that would help pin him for one or the other. Both wanted him dead.

There weren’t any other humans. He made sure. It was disturbing that Ferret had snuck past his awareness, as close as he’d been for much of it. It might be that the pain of the neural effect had stunned him, though a mind in pain should have registered. Possibly the collective shriek from four other human minds had drowned him out. Still, it wouldn’t do to rely on his Sense alone. It clearly had limits.

There were no other humans, but there was hunger. He was being followed, flanked, stalked by several larger predators and at least one mammalian flyer. He could feel the approaches, most of which veered off as he left a particularly defined territory or simply moved beyond the range to be interesting. There were some, though, that were steadily closing. Occasionally, one would drop out of the pursuit, only to be replaced by another.

Then there was that one. It was moving closer and the hunger it felt was strong, driving. It was going to attack, he felt sure. That was a crisis, but one he could deal with. Summoning the Jem discipline, he forced the tal to a lower level, anticipating its surge when he killed. He hefted his punch gun and prepared to respond. It would be soon, he felt. The creature was to his left and running, now was agitated and there was an animal eagerness.

Now. The charge came as he passed a thick tree bole. The animal was in mid leap, chittering very softly, and in a trajectory to seize Tirdal by the head. That was also a trajectory that put it in perfect position for a punch gun shot, though there was no way such a primitive form could anticipate what was about to happen.

Tirdal turned to meet the rush, raised his weapon and shot. The shot would have been instructive to a human observer. It was smooth, effortless, and caught the animal right in the underside of its head as Tirdal dropped underneath its path. It was not the shot of a clumsy creature unable to kill.

Then Tirdal got slapped by his Sense.

The insect in question was the local evolutionary equivalent of a leopard. It was a large, competent solo hunter with good instincts and high intelligence. It had consciousness and self-awareness, and it reacted to the shot. As Tirdal’s shot had been perfectly placed, its mind screamed in agony at having most of its face burned off. Then it landed on that face and tumbled so as to break its neck.

DEATH! Tirdal felt it, staggered, dropped. Feedback through his Sense let him feel the creature’s swift but painful end. Stabbing electric icicles drove into his brain from the violent, emotional outburst, and tal squirted into his bloodstream. It met the pain, washed it aside as a flood does debris, and roared toward his brain and self. He didn’t even feel the damaged edges of his chest plate grind against nerves.

He was on all fours, shaking, quivering, moaning as delicious tremors rolled over him and heat flushed out from the base of his skull. He’d left himself exposed to the creature’s emotions, and now was receiving the rewards. It was sweet, and no longer cloying but thick and syrupy. But it moved with such speed, he was overwhelmed and couldn’t respond.

Lintatai. He could feel it. He’d thought he’d felt it while sucking meat from crablike claws, but that was a shadow of this. It suffused his entire being, rippling down his spine and out to his toes and fingertips. It rolled in waves through his brain until he could see and hear it, as powerful as a tropical storm over the ocean.

Then it stopped. It didn’t retreat, but it grew no more powerful, as some hidden part of his determination slammed down doors on his Sense and halted the influx. His iron discipline and training yanked him to an eddy in the wash, where he could maintain his Self just long enough to think. He rode the crest, slipped behind it and floundered for only a moment. Then he was in control. He was still awash in a sea of powerful sensations, but he was alert and aware.

He’d thought he was gritting his teeth, but had sliced into his lower lip when he bit down. Wet earth was abrading his cheek and in his nostrils. Tendrils of weeds curled over him, twitching in the breeze of his tortured breathing. All these were real, present and he clutched at them for strength. The cool air. The darkness. He’d voided himself as he lost control, but even as unpleasant as that was, it was a real sensation. He thought to reach out, but his self-control took over. No Sense. None at all. The risk of attack was less dangerous than that of any more tal.

It took long minutes of slow, measured breathing to reach an acceptable level. He opened the front of his suit to let heat vent to the atmosphere. The coolness of evaporating sweat helped, as it was something else real and external. His strength and balance returned, but he remained prone, head on one outstretched arm that was cramping from its circulation-killing grip on the punch gun. He’d wait a while longer before rising.

The lesson here was that he had to rein in his Sense when fighting. It could be an intelligence asset until hostilities began, but then it must be locked away. Some things should not be felt, and battle was one of them. Battle must be a cerebral matter, lest it subvert the mind. So he’d fight as a human did. That was how it was done.

A smile, all teeth, spread across his face. Another valuable lesson had been learned. And it was one he could use at once. Dagger thought he enjoyed killing? Thought he was dangerous?

Dagger had no idea.