A short Lara story by Tim Fletcher. Everything is copyright whoever owns the relevant copyright. That makes sense.
This story is dedicated to Philipp Swanson, who deserves it, and Blind Third Eye, the real Ultimate Hunter
* * *
SHAK
A structure, large, ungainly. Flora surrounds it. Little fauna within the defensive perimeter. There is little heat without the building. I approach.
SHAK
A platform, with a protective rail. A photon-permeable defensive screen, similar to that which all the pyode amedha use. Through the screen I see inside. A room, warm, with a primitive heat source on the right side. To the left is my prey, a huddled patch of life and fire.
SHAK
I look down on it. It is tiny, smaller than my own two-cycle larva which rests even now on the homeworld. The skull of this tarei’hsan is small, but of a refined shape and perfect for display. It is curled beneath a warmth-saving covering, porous to my vision, and moves slowly and softly. I sometimes wonder what they do whilst they rest. Do they dream? Are they capable of it? The creature stirs. It is a breeder, I believe, from the mammae which uncomfortably rest. It stirs.
SHAK
* * *
Lara Croft sat bolt upright. The air felt wrong. There was someone in here. Her gaze swept the dark walls of the bedroom, vision not blurring. The embers of the fire glowed softly, not providing much illumination. The doors, to the hall and the gun cupboard, were shut. The balcony... the bay window was wide open. The night was cool but not windy, and there was no discernible draught. Someone had come in through the window.
Reaching under the pillow, she drew out the Glock 18 she kept there just in case. With the weight of the automatic handgun resting in her palm, she flipped the blanket back with one hand and slowly crept off the bed, tucking one leg under the other. There were no hiding places in her room, she had made sure of that, so the intruder had to be in the bathroom.
Gripping the gun with both hands she rounded the corner to the sink and aimed. There was no-one there. No-one in the bathroom, the bath, or the shower unit.
The bathroom was empty.
She stepped back into the bedroom, raising the pistol to point at the ceiling, scanning the room again. There was nothing there. Apart from her and the meagre furniture, the room was empty. The gun cupboard was locked tight. A quick check verified that the key remained in her short robe, undisturbed on the chair before the dressing table. She padded across to the other door. The bolt was still in place. After the Fiama Nera incident a year or two ago, she had refined the already secure security arrangements, mainly with the addition of some less technical elements, heavy locks and so forth.
So there was no one in the room. But there must have been. She had felt something, a presence that caused her temples to tingle. It must have gone. She walked quietly back to the window and closed it.
The latch clunked, and she was back in isolation. Despite the lack of wind, the slight noises that emanated from the air outside caused an unmistakable ambience only detectable by its absence. Maybe that was what she had felt. Maybe she had left the window unclasped and it had swung open.
There was a sound, to her left. A soft clattering, chittering noise, like plastic drawn across wooden slats. She froze, and turned her head. She saw nothing, but suddenly the air came alive, bearing down on her. A great weight impacted against her compact frame, and she was knocked to the right, gun scattering away.
Struggling to keep her balance, she watched as the window she had just closed shattered violently, as if struck or impacted against. She flinched and ducked backwards, though the glass exploded outwards. She felt, rather than saw, a huge shape move through the window onto the balcony, and then it was gone. Rescuing her Glock, she followed through the smashed frame, but there was nothing.
* * *
SHAK
I could have remained still, unseen and undetected in the corner of the sleeping chamber for many hours, but I chose not to. Now the tarei’hsan knows I am here, and the hunt will be all the more exciting for it. I crouch now on the pillars the pyode’a keeps in its protectorate. These structures are reminiscent of the great kehrite of the homeworld, the halls of training and fitness and blood. I see here a climbing line, somewhat short to be traversed using the hands, and a sequence of low blocks to leap between. Perhaps this tarei’hsan fancies itself as a Yautya larva.
SHAK
I see the amedha conversing with what must be its mate in a chamber on the ground. Through the screens I see the small pyode’a with an even smaller one, this one hunched and bent like a mutant or an elder. From the room they occupy, a gap in the screens, comes the smell of amedha. One of these animals’ most distinguishing features is their ability to preserve fresh flesh, something seldom found amongst the inferior species. The kainde amedha do so by keeping their food alive, but the pyode’a apply minerals distilled from their sea masses, or conceal it in areas of little warmth. I hear them speaking, though interpreting their grunting has never been an area I specialise in. Still, I remember their sounds.
‘Umshun pupsairs!’
‘Oer, aam?’
‘Eetay ambe oer.’
Their words and phrases make no sense to me. They matter little.
SHAK
The hunt is to be concluded tonight. This pyode’a is known and respected amongst its bestail kin, and for that reason it shall have the pleasure of falling by my blades. The gkinmara spy boxes which twist and turn on the perimeter of the dwelling are less alive and less fortunate. Though they are but machines, still they should like to see the face of their destroyer. Such is not their fate.
SHAK
* * *
BOOM!
A sound, like crackling thunder and lightning, and an explosion and sizzling metal. Winston stumbled backwards, tray wavering. Lara’s head snapped in the direction of the noise, the corner of the house.
‘W-what was that?’ asked Winston ponderously.
‘It sounded like one of the cameras exploding, and whatever did it was nothing I’ve ever heard before.’
‘Then if you will excuse me, ma’am, I shall retreat and allow you to deal with the situation.’
‘Yes, go!’
Winston pottered rapidly away as she considered. She had pulled on a pair of trousers and a t-shirt before rousing Winston and relaying her tale of whatever had smashed the window. The butler had been preparing some emergency tea when they heard the sound.
Winston disappeared into the vault as she headed for the front room, where the security systems were coordinated. A survey showed that camera 2 was not responding, attributed to an electrical failure. Someone or something had taken out one of her cameras, and presumably that same thing had been in her room.
Speculation on what that something may be seemed less than constructive. She unlocked the cupboards, salvaged a variety of firearms, pulled a jacket on over the t-shirt to protect against the night air, and left the room, locking it behind her.
Trespassing on her soil, remaining unannounced, entering her bedroom and destroying her property was an excellent way to get oneself shot.
Repeatedly.
* * *
SHAK
The pyode’a has armed itself. Excellent. The small pellet-firing weapons that they use to put each other in shock are less than hazardous, but serve to make the hunt all the more exciting. And that is, after all, why we do it.
SHAK
The swinging kinetic portal mounted in the front of the dwelling opens, and my prey emerges, clutching its weapon in a hardly efficient manner. I think I will make its life a little more interesting before I take it.
SHAK
* * *
THOOM!
The white fire screamed downwards and into the pond. Water hissed and sizzled and boiled. Lara threw herself instinctively flat, thumping into the ground with some discomfort. The blast had come from atop the ivy-covered wall to the left. Peering up through the in-need-of-a-cut grass, she ran her eyes along the horizontal edge, looking for the crouched form of the shooter. She saw nothing, though, and had no target to return fire.
She had no idea what the weapon was, some kind of batch energy delivery system. The few energy weapons she had seen effectively used were of the directed beam variety. This must be a plasma thrower or some such thing. The idea was preposterous, but the only explanation that immediately sprang to mind.
Her eyes detected movement before her brain picked out the source. A few feet away from her, a tiny red dot, like the point of a laser, wavered on the grass. It moved towards her, and she saw that it originated from the ivied wall, a slight red line discernible in the faint late night mist rising from the lawn. There seemed to be three beams, in a tight triangular cluster, and the sight crept up to her face. It disappeared, but she could feel a sudden gentle heat on the top of her head. They were definitely lasers, and lasers were for-
She broke into a sideways roll, spasming her body to the left. Next to her, the ground erupted in a shower of burnt grass and dislodged, scorched earth.
* * *
SHAK
It had dodged. I had hoped it would. I gave the little tarei’hsan enough of a warning. We are Yautya. We hunt that which is smart enough not to freeze in the glare of our sights. The animal is looking for me now, seeking its tormentor. Eventually it may penetrate my shiftsuit. It will do it little good. I will make this more interesting.
SHAK
* * *
Lara saw it. There, on the wall, between her and the low grey clouds, was a shimmering outline, like a layered heat haze. It was apparently formless, but she thought she could make out the shape of a head. Now she felt obliged to speculate in its nature. What the hell was it? Some kind of spectre or wraith? Not with an energy weapon. Some advanced camouflage, then, but she had heard of nothing approaching this level of sophistication, and she heard most things.
Still, it was nearly invisible, well armed, and a-
FOOM!
She narrowly avoided the thunderous impact of the plasma ball and scrambled to her feet. A damn good shot. She fumbled with the Mac-10s at her sides, raised them, and squeezed off a couple of rounds as she headed for the house. She had no chance of hitting, she knew, but maybe the shots would distract it long enough to get inside, and to cover. She jogged sideways, and then hurled herself into a clumsy flip as the red triple-sight scanned past her leg. With white fire burning downwards, she stumbled through the front door, and slammed it behind her.
* * *
SHAK
It has fled. Good. The hunt should be prolonged. To kill one’s prey in a shootout in the dark where they have no chance of seeing, let alone hitting you, grants little pleasure, little excitement. This is an animal, to be treated as such, but I am prolonging the fear, not the life. I turn towards the nearest of the defence screens, run, and leap...
SHAK
* * *
With a terrible crash, the right-hand window of the main hall burst apart. Shards and splinters rained down around Lara, cowering in the doorway, tinkling and scattering on the hard flooring. With this racket came a dull thud, as of something heavy and semi-soft landing. She heard a rustling sound, and the click of metal on metal.
She leant forward slightly, poking her head out from under the doorway, and peered out of the alcove, upwards to the smashed window.
She ducked back, wincing in spite of herself as the twelve-inch metal spike struck the floor, straight downwards, and sank into it. What was this? Plasma weaponry, followed by unfletched quarrels? This was a hit, her as the target, the Invisible Knight from the Round Table of Mars as the assassin. Pulling her pack rapidly round, she fished in it and produced a small hand grenade. This would be the trick throw of the century. Whoever it was that was firing at her, had to have his sight trained on the spot she had just occupied.
Pulling the pin, she leant out, lobbed the grenade in a backwards arc towards the window and pulled backwards, even as the three red dots flashed into view, and another bolt - they were more like small spears - drilled into the tiled floor. That was reinforced ceramic, and the metal just drove it without so much as cracking the surface.
Three seconds later the grenade went off, above and behind her, in the window cavity. There was no cry of pain or fright, however, just a series of thumps from further into the hall. Looking out, she could see the shimmering outline ascending the stairs rapidly, in long bounds. It was shaped like a man, but far, far too big. At least seven, maybe eight feet tall. It moved across to the landing, and she would swear it was looking down at her. The three red dots lanced out, and she felt their gentle touch on her forehead. There was nowhere to dodge to this time. The blast from that energy weapon could probably fill the doorframe.
This was bad.
* * *
SHAK
Explosives! Cunning, but pointless. We gave up the use of explosive charges many, many years ago. An explosive is a device of mass destruction, and of little use for the precise and discerning hunter. The timers they use on their weapons are so predictable! I was easily able to - what is this? I find myself finding my opponent’s actions worthy of comment, worthy of making out how I avoided and negated them? Perhaps this tarei’hsan is worthy enough to see at least my form. Then I will show it, and let it know that it faces a Yautya, and that there is no greater, or more beautiful, species in the galaxy!
SHAK
* * *
It appeared in plain view. Not instantly, the masking, cloaking effect rippled across its body for scant seconds, then it ended. Lara could see her tormentor, her hunter.
It was yellow.
That came as something of a surprise. Yellow was not generally considered an intimidating colour. Hitmen wore black, sometimes grey, sometimes blue, but this was no hitman.
It was also apparently naked. How droll, said the slightly insane part of her hidden somewhere deep down. No, it wasn’t naked. Bits and pieces of clothing were spread around its body, covering shoulders, groin, wrists, and calves. The rest of the bare skin seemed to be coated with some sort of fine netting, thought she could not be sure at this distance. From one shoulder a narrow tube sprang, swivelling and panning even now like a demented camera. It its left hand the creature held a long rifle-like weapon, with what looked like a magazine of the bolts she had been fired at with.
Her gaze was drawn to its face, if that was a face. It was grey, and pockmarked, and possessed sunken black eyes. A long, flat nose, no mouth, surrounded and framed, bizarrely, with abundant black dreadlocks.
She was spellbound. She knew she ought to move, but part of her had decided it was pointless and the rest of her was so stunned by its appearance. It was less than attractive, but somehow retained a kind of ferocious nobility, perhaps in part due to the stony grey face.
With a clatter the spear gun felt to the ground, and then the creature, well, struck a pose. Legs and arms apart, it leant forward and generated a fearsome screeching ululation. Her hands flew to her ears to protect her from the din, which rapidly ceased.
That had to have been either a challenge or a war cry. Apparently it wanted a fight.
A year ago, maybe two, Lara’s response would have undoubtedly been, ‘Well, it’s sure going to get one!’ Now, though having been nearly burnt and skewered, she had no real wish to continue battling. Maybe she could talk to it.
* * *
SHAK
‘Oovavoo?’
What do these words mean? Their animal mutterings have never been clear to me. Some of my fellow hunters take the time to learn and understand the pyode’a’s speech. I say that if the technicians can determine the worthiest amongst them, then a Blooded need not sink to their level.
‘At hoo hante?’
It certainly seems to be inquiring something of me. It is gesturing with its little pellet-weapon. Is it threatening me? Cajoling me? The behaviour of these things is wonderful to behold.
‘Oovavoo?’
I grow tired. This creature wishes to talk rather than fight. Perhaps it can be convinced otherwise.
SHAK
* * *
Lara ducked away as the spear whistled past her ear, and shot clear through the painted metal front door, leaving a millimetres-wide hole to mark its passage. Apparently the yellow thing did not want to talk, or else couldn’t understand her words. She had seen it cock its head to one side slightly just before it raised its gun and she dodged.
That didn’t help tell her what it was, though. She scampered across the floor of the hall towards the ballroom as two more spears cut through the air, the second ripping a chunk out of her boot sole and causing her to stumble. She hit the tiled floor rolling, and headed through to the impromptu gym she had set up amidst the more traditional suits of armour and arched windows.
That thing moved quickly, very quickly, and she had to get out of its line of sight. She got to her feet and charged up the first ramp, holstering her Mac-10s as she barrelled over the edge and took cover behind the box. Breathing heavily, she hastily and quietly swapped the clips for fresh ones from her backpack.
She heard the thump as the creature landed on the floor back in the hall, it had probably vaulted the rail. There was no sound of movement, but a series of mechanical clicks and hisses told her it was up to something. She heard it unsheath something, and then a sthishing noise, like a blade cutting the air.
Sneaking a look around the corner of the box she saw that from somewhere it had produced a pole-arm of some kind, at least five and a half feet long, and was experimentally taking swings with it. The blade of the weapons was serrated into four very large and presumably very sharp individual points. It was looking away from her, into the hall, and swinging from side to side.
Suddenly it span on its feet, a suprisingly balletic manoeuvre for its mass, twirling the blade above its head, and swept it into the wall, left to right. With a song like a circular saw, it passed apparently effortlessly through the reinforced metal door to her vault, and out again. The creature started producing a hoarse clicking sound which she interpreted as laughter. It seemed to think she was down there for some reason.
Then she remembered that Winston was hiding there.
‘Hey!’ she shouted, waving around the corner, ‘I’m over here!’
The creature’s head snapped up, away from the carved door which it was pressing against with its huge, yellow fingers. It raised the pole-arm and headed in her direction.
* * *
SHAK
It is protecting its mate, I surmise. The weak male has taken shelter in the more protected area of the dwelling, leaving the female to defend alone. This is not what the technicians told me to expect. Perhaps the male is old, or infirm, or nursing larva. Still, it matters little. The female has the reputation, and the female is the one who will meet death at my blades.
She is cowering now in a smaller version of the kehrite outside. A maze of boxes, ramps, bars and ropes. Perhaps she thinks she can evade me amongst the pillars. Perhaps she does not realise that I can perceive the heat of her life through the wooden structures perfectly.
SHAK
* * *
Lara ducked back as it jogged towards her position. She heard its heavy feet thump onto the ramp, metres away from her, and tensed. She had seen no sign of its spear gun, but it probably still had the plasma weapon.
She felt on the wooden box at her back that the thing had reached the top of the box, and stopped. She imagined it scanning the room for her, its majestic grey head swinging back and forth. Peering upwards, she saw the briefest glimpse of black dreadlock sweep over.
With her legs tucked under her, she was in a perfect position to run. She saw the grey visage come into view overhead, and sprang forward. The pole-arm slashed the air behind her as she threw herself over the next box, rolling forward and spinning.
She heard the creature roar, not as loudly as the racket it had produced earlier, and thump its way across to the second box. She scuttled sideways along behind the box as it leapt bodily up onto the top.
The dark shape loomed above her, the pole-arm struck downwards, and her feet scraped on the floor as she headed for the next box. Covering the ground in moments, she slid behind the box and tried to work out what she was doing. Running from it was seriously wearing her out, and not terribly constructive. Pretty soon that blade would connect, and she knew perfectly well what something sharp enough to carve through three-inch metal would do to her body.
She readied the Mac-10s. She had to stay still long enough to get off a good burst into that thing’s flesh the next time it went for her. Apparently it was quite fond of striking down from the boxes. That would mean it would be coming right down about now...
* * *
SHAK
She thinks she can outwit me? I have viewed her scuttling rout with some amusement, but surely she cannot believe I would stoop to tarei’hsan levels of predictability. The diversity of the hunt is of course what gives it its challenge. If every hunt consisted simply of pot-shooting hael’buk in a canyon, it would present little challenge, excitement or glory.
She is waiting in ambush behind the box, hoping probably to make an attack with her pellet guns. Perhaps at close range she could penetrate my skin, though it is far superior to her soft pink hide. The soft pink hide which will look so attractive once fashioned into a piece of furniture. The kainde amedha are useful and versatile, but their tough armoured carapace is useless for producing comfortable seats.
She thinks I will be attacking from above. Maybe I can surprise her.
SHAK
Ha! Watch as she runs, her cover destroyed by my shoulder cannon. Surely she does not think she can evade me for much longer. She has passed into the next chamber. It is colder in there, and there is a store of liquid, perhaps for refreshment. I can no longer see her. The pillars are not life-permeable.
Then we play a game of mayst and zabin, hunter and hunted. As before.
SHAK
* * *
Lara shivered as she stood with her back to one of the tiled brick pillars. She must have left the heating off in the pool room.
She could hear the thing behind her, cautiously entering the room. It sounded like it was tapping the floor with its pole-arm. She had no idea whether it could blow apart a pillar like it had blown apart the box, but she had to hope it couldn’t. It was nearer her now, and making some kind of gentle snuffling sound. Was it smelling for her? The flat, grey nose didn’t look like it was capable of such things. Still, she had to assume it knew where she was. It had done previously. That would mean she could be in range for an attack any moment now.
But where would it strike? It could stretch around the corner, but would it hit high, middle or low?
She dropped to the ground, rolled, and raised both guns on stiffly outstretched arms as the pole-arm smashed into the pillar where she had been standing, about chest height. She was now below it, but had very little time to consider this close-up of its appearance.
Squeezing the triggers, she braced her arms against the frightening reverberation of the machine pistols. Rounds poured upwards into the things face and chest, and Lara gritted her teeth. It stumbled backwards, the first sign of weakness she had seen in it, and she sat up, not ceasing firing until the clips ran dry.
Dropping the Mac-10s, and without really thinking, she pulled a Glock 22 from her backpack and chambered it with a loud clack. The creature had fallen backwards against the wall, dropping its pole-arm, and seemed to be bleeding from all over its chest. Tiny fluorescent marks showed where her bullets had eaten into it, though there was no sign of a mark on its face.
It was still alive, though, and seemed to be ponderously getting itself together. She fired at it repeatedly with the 22, little bursts of greeny-yellow fluid popping from its chest as the slugs entered.
Two bullets hit its face. The first spanged off at an angle, as if it had hit contoured metal, but the second cracked the grey surface. A fracture, very slight, spread up from the cheek towards the forehead. So it wasn’t a face, it was the thing’s mask. She fired more bursts into the placid grey shape, widening the crack she had caused. The reports of the gun echoed loudly around the alcoves of the pool room.
She noticed that the camera-like object on its shoulder had just swivelled towards her. It made a very slight whirr, and she realised what it was. She threw her body sideways as the plasma ball shot up at an angle, missing her elbow and making a very large, very noisy hole in the glass roof. Broken shards rained down into the pool as the creature got to its feet, chest a polka-dot pattern of bleeding wounds, and backed away towards the ballroom.
* * *
SHA-kakakak
The tarei’hsan has wounded me! How dare she? I am a Yautja, we are the greatest and proudest of this galaxy’s species. For billions of cycles we have stood above that which evolves on other planets, hunting them as out prey. And this little pyode’a breeder thinks it can harm me and not suffer for it? It has damaged my mask, and filled my chest with its little pellets.
SH-sh-ka-sh
In order to remove the mask that obscures my vision, I must first keep the pyode’a at bay. Closing my eyes in anticipation, I draw forward a flash pellet and hurl it around the corner, to where the little female follows. That should keep it distracted.
SHA-hmmmm
The shoulder cannon is easily removed. The gas filters come away easily from the mask’s outside. The data feed cable snaps correctly as intended. These are all manoeuvres I have made a hundred times in a hundred situations on a hundred worlds. Still, there is always the danger that something has been damaged beyond capacity for removal. Then the tool becomes a challenge in itself, albeit an infuriating rather than enjoyable one.
But no, the various connections break as designed, and I lift the mask away from my face. Without it, the heat becomes more blurred, less distinct. I can sense the life still, but not see it clearly. This is the curse placed upon us by the First Warrior, that we should not be able to hunt to our full capabilities without the assistance of our technologies.
Still, though, I am superior to the tarei’hsan. I am Yautja, Blooded Warrior, and with my bare hands I can destroy kainde amedha and live to tell the tale.
The pyode’a will die. By spear or wrist blade, by my fangs or by my hands. The pyode’a will die. But not in this room. New territory.
Hummmm
* * *
Lara’s vision swam, and blurred, and finally cleared. The thing had thrown some kind of flash bomb at her, and only a swift duck and cover had prevented her from potential permanent blindness.
The thing had retreated around the corner, perhaps to nurse its injuries, leaving its pole-arm behind. She knelt down to inspect the long weapon. The staff part was apparently collapsible, telescopic in fashion, and the blade looked like it folded in on itself, like a convoluted penknife. If everything it carried shrank, who knew what kind of arsenal it could still be holding.
Her bullets seemed to be having little effect on the thing. Its system could be amazingly resilient to shock, and the organs protected in some way. She was pretty sure the loss of a few limbs would inconvenience it a little more, though, and she picked up the pole-arm. It was incredibly light, and she tried a couple of swings, cleaving the air. It was superbly built and balanced, and if sharp enough to cut through what she had seen it cut through, ideal.
She heard the thumping of its feet, though instead of attacking again they were moving away quickly, back towards the main hall. It could be heading for Winston again! She gave chase.
* * *
Hummmm
This creature has proven itself worthy of death. Maybe I should ambush it, or maybe attack in a fair duel. I must not underestimate it again, lest it damages more of my equipment. The sting of the pellets in my chest reminds me of that. When the hunt is over I must remove them lest they travel and cause more serious damage.
Hummmm
* * *
Lara heard its thumping footsteps moving upstairs. She had taken off her jacket, realising she was sweating. Someone who is bigger, faster, heavier and better armed than you bursting into your house and nearly killing you will do that to a girl. Even now, the unpleasant damp patches were spreading across her t-shirt. No time to worry about that.
A quick check confirmed that Winston was still hiding down in the vault. The creature had not disturbed him, instead heading for the first floor. She had no idea why. There was little of portable value up there, and she was down here.
Pole-arm in hand, she made her way up after it. She heard it entering the music room, and followed the banister around to the right.
Stepping up beside the open door to the room, she made ready to enter.
* * *
Hummmm
Ambush. Strike.
Hummmm
* * *
Lara hit the ground, cursing herself for her incompetence. She knew how quiet the thing could be. It had stood in plain view, albeit invisible, in her room earlier that night, and she had not noticed it. Now it stood over her prostrate body, long blades projecting from a gauntlet of some kind pressing down on either side of her slim neck, pinning her to the ground.
She got her first good look at its face under the mask.
It was hideous. The orange-speckled yellow skin was bad enough, but the broad, ribbed forehead, the tiny, sunken eyes, the flanging projections that edged on the dreadlocks and the mouth were indescribably horrible.
The mouth was particularly unpleasant. There seemed to be at least two masticulatory systems involved. An inner set of teeth were set amidst bright pink flesh, wickedly sharp but very small. Out from these were the fangs, or tusks. There were four of them, pointing in on each other, secured by fleshy flaps around the rest of the mouth.
The creature splayed the flaps out, leering up to her, and she felt its breath wash over her face, an unpleasant mixture of stale meat and damp fur. The tiny eyes gleamed, apparently pleased that it had captured her, and that crackling, laughing sound emerged from its throat, even worse up close than it had been at a distance.
* * *
Hummmm
Watch now as the tarei’hsan breeder writhes beneath my capturing blades. Watch as she stares in awe at my beauteous visage, and smells the sweet odour of my h’dui’se musk. Perhaps she cannot believe a thing as awesome as I can truly exist! This would not come as a surprise to me. Even amongst a people as majestic as ours, I am considered very desirable in appearance. This pyode’a has probably never glimpsed such wonders amongst her own kind.
I reach out and feel for the skull of the animal. It is small, and yet finely formed. The cheeks are high and regal (for something so base) and the cranial cavity perfectly rounded.
I have fought enough and suffered enough to kill this thing now and call it a hunt. And yet my heart craves combat. Can I return now, battered and wounded, with my prize, and be content with the night’s deeds?
Hummmm
* * *
Lara lay in amazement as the blades lifted up from her neck, and the creature moved away from her. She watched as it just stood there, looking back down.
Warily she stood. The creature did not move, but its beady eyes matched hers. She knelt down, watching it all the time, and felt around for the pole-arm she had dropped when the ambush struck her. What was wrong with this thing? Did it just want to fight for the sake of it? Surely it had had plenty of opportunities to kill her by now if it had simply wanted her dead.
Her fingers came across the shaft of the pole-arm, lying askew beside her. She drew it upwards, taking it in both hands, and moved into a combat stance.
By way of return, one of the ugly thing’s hands moved behind its back, and emerged with a short pipe, about ten or so inches long. Holding it horizontally in front of itself, the creature made a slight jerking motion, and the ends of the pipe expanded outwards. Another collapsible weapon, she realised, this one must be a spear or something. Apparently a duel was in order.
She readied her pole-arm as the spear grew to its full length of six feet. The thing gripped it at each end, and produced the same ululating screech it had made in the hall, much louder now the mask was out of the way. She was expecting it, or something like it, now, though, and she steeled herself against the aural assault.
Gripping the staff firmly, she made ready to parry as the creature advanced on her.
* * *
Hummmm
The first strike will be mine, as will the first blood and the first kill. The tarei’hsan may think I am duelling it for some semblance of fairness. I am duelling it for the enjoyment of the duel.
CLANG
The first blow is struck, parried by the breeder but at much cost to her. I see the pain in the contortion of her face. My strength is too much for her.
CLANG
CLANG
Hummmm
* * *
Lara winced for a third time as the spear slammed downwards onto the pole-arm. What on earth was the thing doing? It had not even attempted to thrust, and the spear didn’t look like it was capable of causing damage side-on. Still, with the force it was putting into each strike she wouldn’t be willing to bet money it couldn’t crack a bone or two.
CLANG
Her arms cried out that they couldn’t take any more of this punishment. Gritting her teeth and doing her best to ignore her protesting nerves, she swung the light weapon around in a half-hearted strike at the thing’s legs.
CLANG
It easily brought the spear down into the blade’s path, cackling and chittering as it did so. A quick upswing forced her to block with the centre of the staff, a manoeuvre that sent her stumbling backwards.
CLANG
CLANG
CLANG
The creature was on her in moments, raining another two blows onto her. Feebly she pushed the pole-arm into the way, just barely batting aside a strike that would have made contact with her head.
CLANG
Another elephantine blow jarred her arms in their sockets, causing her to blink in pain. Suddenly she realised that soon she would back against the grand piano, and then there would be nowhere to run.
CLANG
Though her arms were moving rapidly to the point of jellification, her legs were far less exhausted. She just hoped she had remembered to leave the lid down.
Holding the pole-arm on a horizontal plane to get it out of the way, she leapt backwards, flipping her legs over her head, and found purchase on the polished wooden piano top. It was going to need a new polish after her boots had trudged all over it.
* * *
Hummmm
CLANG
She has taken refuge on a higher spot, hoping to evade me, or perhaps gain advantage in height. Now she just crests the top of my skull, and we are perhaps more evenly matched.
She strikes at me, bringing my own blade down towards my head.
CLANG
I parry easily, sweeping her blow aside, and ready myself for a deep strike.
Hummmm
* * *
With a hideous screech, the spear carved down through the lid of the piano and the strings beneath, setting those it did not cut vibrating madly.
Lara hopped backwards as her perch suddenly became unstable. With a vicious kick from one bare yellow foot, the creature snapped one of the front legs, and the piano crashed downwards.
That was a Beckstein 1858, priceless, beautiful tone. Firewood now. She was sure the creature would revel in it had it known what it had done. She suspected otherwise.
For the next few seconds it seemed content to reduce the piano to splinters. She readied herself to make a move.
There. It looked away at a scattering dark brown plank. She sprinted around the piano, waving the pole-arm as a distraction, and scooted towards the door.
Howling, the creature span on its feet, bringing the spear to bear, and gave chase.
She pelted out, and over the banister, onto the stairs. The creature was right behind her, launching its netted body onto the wood behind her, feet probably leaving deep cracks in the steps. At least she had more room to manoeuvre here.
* * *
Hummmm
CLANG
I force her inexorably down the stairway. Whatever she has planned, it cannot stand in the face of my onslaught.
CLANG
CLANG
She is fighting a skilled retreat, though where she hopes to retreat to I cannot imagine.
CLANG
CLANG
She is tiring, not even attempting to strike back now. This is nearly over.
Wait! What is she doing? She has fled!
Hummmm
* * *
The door of the security office swung shut behind her, and Lara dropped the weapon from her aching arms. She knew she had mere moments until either the spear or something worse came through the door behind her.
Quickly she cast about for something more effective to use against the thing. Grenades and rockets would be as deadly to her as they were to it at this distance - perhaps more. She had put plenty of small-calibre bullets into it earlier, and these apparently proved nothing but minor irritations. It was far too strong and dextrous to fight with any close combat weapon.
Then her eyes came across the perfect item, lying on the desk.
She picked it up, and span just as the tip of the spear came crashing through the door.
* * *
Hummmm
My spear makes short work of the door. Kiffel, the metal of warrior’s weapons, is more than a match for anything the pyode’a can construct or alloy. Here is the tarei’hsan, raising its pellet launcher in a final, desperate act of defiance. There is nowhere now for it to run to. This tiny chamber is barely big enough for it.
BANG
PAIN!! White... I feel my spear dropping from my grip, and my feet stumbling backwards.
BANG
PAIN!! Burning... My arm falls slackly by my side.
BANG
PAIN!! Fire... I feel the oozing damp as one of my organs releases its fluids into the bloodstream. Much of it emerges onto my already battered chest.
BANG
PAIN!!
HUMMMM
* * *
Lara followed the creature out of the office as it stumbled backwards and collapsed onto its back, writhing. Gripping the Weatherby Mark V rifle resolutely, she put two more brutal slugs into its chest. Showers of fluorescent greenish-yellow gunk sprayed out from the gaping wounds, and as it struggled to slide across the floor it left messy glowing smears behind it.
Discarding the rifle, she reached for the thing’s discarded spear, hefting it in both hands.
Pathetic clicks and clacks emerged from its throat, and it brought its thick, ugly hands to its chest, feebly scratching at the wounds.
She moved warily up to it. Even at the point of death, she suspected it could do her harm. She raised the spear directly above its head. The eyes looked straight up into hers, and at that moment she felt touched by an intelligence, an intelligence that could construct plasma weaponry and invisibility suits, but chose to use them to prey on others.
‘You never did tell me who you are,’ she remarked quietly.
Her only response was a weak clicking, and a bestial grunt.
She brought the spear down.
* * *
HUMMMM
I lie now, cracked and broken, body bleeding and dying, on the ground before the tarei’hsan that has bested me. The knowledge that I had opportunity to win and did not take it will haunt me in the next life, but there is no shame in such. I have died at the hands of an enemy, alone, after a perfectly executed hunt. There is no more honourable way to die.
My arms are not sufficient to activate the destructive device in my computer unit. I am confident that my huntmates will recover my remains, to be taken to the Hall of Heroes to rest beneath my mei’katik-de, the statue in my honour.
I am Mahande, Yautja, Blooded Warrior. I will be remembered. I go now to rest my trophies before the feet of the Black Warrior.
In my final moments of awareness, I feel the spear penetrate my forehead. The only thing tougher than our bone is our metal.
Congratulations, pyode amedha, whatever your people call you. You have won.
* * *
Lara released the spear, which was now firmly embedded in the tiled floor. That same floor was scored and pitted with burns, short spears, cracks and other marks.
She fell backwards, body exhausted from the harrowing combat. All that remained was to find out what the hell this thing was. A demon? An alien? A genetically engineered weapon?
There would be time to find out in the morning. Every muscle in her body ached, every bone bruised and sore, and her head screamed. The main hall was not the best place to sleep off a fight, but as the adrenaline seeped out of her system, she did not feel like she was capable of moving elsewhere.
With strength only to lower her head gently to the floor rather than letting it thump down, she closed her eyes.
* * *
She awoke to a roaring, screaming sound, like a jet engine up close. Still exhausted, Lara forced her eyes open and looked. Through the smashed upper window a blinding white light streamed. The sound was coming from outside. She pushed herself to her knees, and crawled feebly towards the front door.
It was ajar, and she shoved through it onto the porch. Without the strength to stand, she flopped onto her side and looked upward. The source of the light was moving slowly upwards, as the sound was receding, and she could not tell what it was.
Suddenly it streaked up into the night sky, disappearing from view like a meteorite in reverse. The sound faded before the sight did, and she was left lying on her front doorstep, blinking in the sudden darkness.
Turning back towards the house, she found that the main hall floor was completely clear. It was still pocked and marked and wounded, but there was no sign of the yellow body that had been there before. The spears that had projected from the floor had also been removed, leaving tiny boreholes in the surface. The large spear and the pole-arm were gone too. No bloodstains coloured the tiles.
She slumped to the floor, limbs protesting at even this slight movement.
‘Well,’ she said aloud, but weakly and barely audible, as her eyes closed again, ‘It seems I won’t be finding out what you are after all.’
fin