[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

timeframe on the first pickup. Dagger had at least a week to track down Tirdal and the box and kill him.
Then there were the eight days after that . . .
Meeting the first pickup was not a requirement. The pod would change positions twice before
leaving the planet for all time. The question was whether he thought he could live in competition with the
sniper.
Darhel can manage without rest for a considerable time. Their muscles can build up fatigue toxins
the way some Earth animals can develop an oxygen debt. So Tirdal could easily go up to three days
without sleep, even injured. He could push to a week without extreme side effects. Beyond that it got
tricky. It would be best to end this quickly. And if he could figure out Dagger's rest periods, he could
use those to advantage.
On the negative side, Tirdal had a number of handicaps. He was not competent in the woods. He
was injured. But the injury would heal, quickly. Quicker than Dagger could imagine. The woods skills
though . . . those were a problem. Then there was the minor matter of tal, lintatai and having to kill.
Dagger had already shown how easily humans could kill. It was a considerably tougher task for a
Darhel. Then there was the metabolic issue. Already he was hungry and he only had a protocarb
converter to depend on. He could convert just about anything to food but foraging would still take some
time. And it would leave marks, because it took a lot of random plant life to yield enough fat and protein,
especially when one didn't recognize the plant forms or take the time to dig for roots. Besides the signs
left by foraging, it gave the sniper more time to find him. He'd need more food to stay awake, which
meant more signs.
It was as likely as not that the contest would be decided in a day or two. But that was planning on
the basis of losing. Plan to win with fallbacks.
So, if he did the expected, ran for the pickup point where the pod was waiting, he could assume he
would be intercepted. Although he might survive a couple of ambushes, he would probably succumb
eventually.
If he ran for unknown territory he might be able to turn the tables. Dagger would be at a
disadvantage, never knowing where Tirdal would show up.
Decision made, Tirdal turned to the north. He'd have to cross this river at once and move away
from the extraction point, drawing Dagger with him, to end the scenario before the pod defaulted to the
north.
He wouldn't bother with the chameleon effect of his suit for now, he decided. It used power that he
should save for sensors and the proton discharge in case of more hornet rounds. That power use was
detectable and he was leaving a trail Dagger could follow anyway. The local distortion would not be
much help without good concealment first.
He waded out into the stream, which was a hundred meters wide at this point. The current was
slow but insistent, pulling at him and urging him downstream. He adjusted his pace and angle, careful of
the mass above his shoulders which affected his balance, and pushed on. The depth rose to his waist,
slowing his rate to near nothing. Then it was at his chest, the current relentless in its urge. His neck.
Taking a deep breath, he strode forward and under.
The water was reasonably clear, sediment from upstream having settled just beyond the rapids,
sediment stirred by his feet disappearing quickly. Occasional shells, eellike local fish and bits of debris
swept by. He plodded along, feeling the surface lap at his hands. The temperature was cold by human
standards, refreshing by his; Darhel was a cool world. The water was only a couple of meters deep, but
the pressure and current squeezed his injured chest. That was going to be an ongoing problem on this
stalk.
Soon, his hands were under, which was good for concealment, bad for his growing need for
oxygen. He could last a bit further, though, and the bed started rising, rocks giving way to a smooth,
sandy bank. He rose nearly to the top of his head, hopped up and exchanged lungfuls of air, his
chestplate not liking that, either. He was swept several meters downstream before his feet regained
purchase. Once they did, he resumed walking. The bed rose once again, then suddenly dropped away,
leaving him tumbling. Deep channel. But was it near the center or offset to one side?
He caught solid surface again, twisted twice in the current and stood upon it. He felt with his Sense
and his senses for bearing, and got them. The ground rose rapidly in one direction, and that would be the
bank. It was a good thing; he needed air again and had too much mass to get above the surface by
swimming. In fact, he needed air so badly the pressure in his lungs hurt more than the spreading bruise
and strain of his chest. He forced his feet forward, shoving them into the mucky clay here and drawing
them back out, desperate to reach the surface soon.
Then he was above it, the water swirling around his neck as he panted for breath. His muscles
ached from the aftereffects of tal, the exertion and the oxygen starvation, but he was up and out,
sprawled among weeds and able to rest.
Except he couldn't rest. Dagger wouldn't be far behind, and might see this clumsy crushing of
greenery for what it was. He got his knees and elbows under him, pushed up while taking deep draughts [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]