The Tejano Conflict (8 page)

—He was faster this time; he turned, dropped back to all fours before she could claw him again. He charged—

—She spun and ran, the bear right behind her. She cut left, then right, gained another two meters as he roared again—

—She zigged, zagged, jinked back and forth, and gained more ground on him. He realized what she was doing and stopped trying to stay with her every move, but kept going in the same general direction—

—He was more canny than she had figured.

—She circled to her right, forcing him to change direction. The rain came down harder; the footing became more slippery. Lightning flashed, and thunder boomed almost immediately behind it—

—She spun 180 and screamed her own wordless hunting cry. It must have surprised him because he slowed. She charged right at him. That gave him pause, but he dug in to meet the challenge, galloping toward her—

—Three meters away, she leaped at him, but high, much higher than he was prepared to deal with. He tried to come up to bat her down, but he was a half second slow, and she came down on his back. She dug her feet's claws into him as she ran along his spine and leaped off his hindquarters—

—Lightning. Thunder. The bear screamed at her and turned—

– – – – – –

“Ah wonder how Kay's doing up there in the rainy north woods?”

“Probably having a great time,” Jo said.

“Huntin' a big ole brown bear with nothing but her claws? Ain't you worried she might get hurt or killed?”

“We are talking about a trained Vastalimi fighter,” Jo said. “I'm not worried.”

In truth, she was, a little. Kay was her friend, and Alaskan brown bears were the biggest and nastiest wild animals still running loose on Earth. Something to take into consideration. David beat Goliath, but that was usually a sucker bet.

Unless of course David had been a Vastalimi in disguise . . .

“What are we talking about?” That from Gramps, who ambled into the mess hall and arrived at where Jo and Gunny sat.

“Bears,” Gunny said. “Ah understand their gallbladders will cure impotence. Maybe Kay will bring that back for you.”

“You got it wrong, Chocolatte. It's
my
gallbladder that cures impotence. I let the drug companies drain it every few months—that's what they use to make all the Cialagra they sell to treat erectile dysfunction, didn't you know? Watered down a bunch, of course.”

Both Gunny and Jo laughed at that one.

“Ah'll give you that, old man. You got
gall
in fuckin' spades!”

– – – – – –

—Kay ran up the tree, jumped to a second one, then a third, confusing the bear. She was behind it now, and before it could turn to track her, she jumped again, onto its back—

—The bear tried to shake her off, but she dropped to her belly, extended her arms, and dug her claws into his neck. She ripped upward, shredding muscle and blood vessels—

—The rainy air went ripe with the metallic stink of blood—

—He dropped and rolled, a smart move, and she barely got off in time to avoid being crushed. She hit the wet ground in a shoulder roll, made it up before he regained his feet, and flew at him again—

—He got a paw up and swung it. It was a glancing blow, and only the tip of one claw found her flesh, over the ribs on her left side, but the force of the strike was enough to knock her three meters through the air like a batted ball, opening her fur and skin in a gash that bled but not too much.

She hit, rolled up, climbed the nearest tree. He came after her, and he climbed the tree, too. They weren't supposed to be able to do that well, adult brown bears this large, climb, but apparently, nobody told him he couldn't—

—She was faster, and as soon as she could, she leaped to a nearby tree. Almost missed and fell, it was farther than she wanted, but—

—The bear scrambled down, but she was on the ground ahead of him, and under him in time to claw his left leg. This time, she got the tendon—

—The bear roared and she leaped back as he got to the earth. He tried to charge, realized his left leg wasn't going to support him, and pulled up a second, then tried for her on three legs, the injured one raised slightly—

—His neck wound was bleeding freely, more so on the right side. She had gotten a big blood vessel, and it was gouting freely—

—She dodged, and he tried to claw, but the injury to his hind leg threw him off and he almost fell—

He stopped. Blood poured from the neck wound, soaking his fur. He gathered himself for another run, but only made it a few meters before he stopped chasing her.

He was running out of oxygen and the delivery method for getting more was damaged.

His breathing grew more labored; the rain had stopped, but the sound of his blood dripping onto the wet ground joined that of the water dripping from the fir needles.

He was almost done.

He looked at her, almost as if puzzled. He had been the master of his world, and this strange, small, and alien creature had come and beaten him.

After a few minutes, the bear collapsed, fell onto his side. His breathing grew more ragged. His final exhalation came, and he lay still.

With her joy at beating a killer so much bigger and stronger, Kay also felt a sense of sadness. The creature had been condemned; he would have died whether she had been here or not. She had given him a chance, and she had won, but he had been fierce and formidable.

“If there is an Other Side for you, hunt well when you arrive there,” she said.

“Where do you think you are going?”

Wink looked at Jo. “Nowhere in particular. Just, you know, gonna do a little jogging, to stay in shape.”

“Really? Since when?”

She didn't buy it, nor did he expect her to; a smart fem was a joy to be around, but sometimes also a pain. Still . . .

“Hey, is it a crime that I don't want to let myself get fat?”

“Four minutes of full-range myostim and watching your diet covers that.”

“Yeah, but it's boring.”

“Four minutes?”

“I have an active mind. I need to keep it stimulated.”

“What you
need
to do is get rid of your adrenaline addiction and keep yourself alive, so we don't have to get a new medic.”

“I'm only going to loop the base, not like I'm skying across country into the scouting zone. Any word from Kay?”

“She finished her hunt. The ranger posted an image of her with the bear. Look at your inflow.”

He touched a control on his belt com's unit. The projection was a bit dim in the sunlight, but enough to see Kay standing next to a dead creature that dwarfed her.

“Holy shit. That thing is huge! Must be ten times her weight.” He looked a bit closer. “She's got an injury, left side, on the ribs. It's been glued shut, but it dug a furrow there.”

“Changing the subject, Wink.”

“Kay is the one you need to be talking to about this. I didn't go hunting a monster with nothing but my knife.”

“I wouldn't put it past you.”

“Look, Jo, I'm just going to take a short run around the camp, not leaving the area.”

“If you did, you wouldn't get far.”

“What does that mean?”

“You're a smart man, Wink. Think about it.”

He did. “Formentara.”

“Yep.”

“Our implant locators are not supposed to be triggered except in an emergency.”

“Your leaving the base would be considered that.”

“Yeah, well, if I don't leave the base—”

“It stays inert. But you know how clever Formentara is. Zhe has yours rigged with a proximity trip. Get outside the specified range? We get a tattle.”

“Motherfucker.”

“Just looking after our investment here.”

“Does Rags know about this? This isn't in our contracts.”

“His idea.”

“I don't believe you.”

“Well. He nodded his okay when I told him about it.”

He shook his head. “I wasn't planning to stray.”

“I believe you. But if something caught your attention on your run you wanted to investigate?”

“Can't fault a man for natural curiosity.”

“Sure I can. Have a nice run.”

“You know what? I don't feel like it anymore.”

“I'm sorry.”

“No, you aren't. I think I'll go and eat something. I'll myostim to work it off.”

He wasn't really mad.

She knew it, too.

– – – – – –

Wink leaned against the wall of the little conference room and watched Gunny finish her coffee. “Doesn't it sound like fun?”

“Not really, no,” Gunny said.

Wink said, “Come on, it's your chance to see local color, relax a little.”

“Rags said you could?”

“Yes. Well, if somebody went with me.”

“He doesn't trust you alone.” Not a question.

“I need to get away, I'm getting cabin fever here.”

“And you are asking
me
because . . . ?”

“Hey, you do this all the time.”

“That's work. What makes you think Ah'd do it for fun? And why me? Jo turned you down?”

“I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of asking. She would enjoy being my babysitter too fucking much.”

“Right. And Kay would draw a crowd, and neither Gramps nor Rags would go with you on a bet, so Ah'm it?”

“You wound me, Gunny.”

“You say that a lot, and yet Ah never see any blood.”

“Come on. I'll owe you one. And it'll be fun, really.”

She thought about it. “Okay. If you promise to behave.”

“Absolutely!”

– – – – – –

As pubs went, Gunny had seen worse, but this one was not going to make anybody's list of great expressions of Terran architecture. It was a plain, prefab block that had weathered under years of Tejas sun and rain, edges smoothed, color faded, a crunched corner that looked as if somebody had slammed into it driving a cart at speed. Some bits of fresh graffiti here and there. The windows were small, high, cloudy, and pitted plastic, with glowing signs that advertised beer, ale, and liquors.

A country place, and picked because it was close. She'd been in places like it all over the galaxy. Local pub, mostly local people, and you could get into trouble or not, depending on your attitude.

A large, muscular, sleepy-looking fellow stood by the door, nodding at people coming and going.

No sign forbidding weapons she could see.

“Welcome to the Dew Drop Inn,” Gunny said.

Wink said, “My kind of place. Shall we?”

“Ah don't know why Ah let you talk me into this.”

“Sure you do. You were as bored as I was. How many times can you let Rags outshoot you before you get terminally depressed?”

“Fuck you.”

“That would work for me, but I know your heart wouldn't be in it. How about we just get a beer and observe the locals in their native habitat? The war will kick off soon, then we'll have stuff to do.”

Gunny shrugged. Getting away from a war zone for a cold beer? Lot worse ways to relax. And she had spent a lot of time in such establishments, that being part of her sub-rosa work for CFI all along. Need somebody to check out the local watering hole? Gunny is your gal . . .

The inside was no improvement on the outside. There was a long, black, scarred everplast bar that ran almost the entire length of the room, liquor bottles shelved behind that, in front of an unbreakable plastic mirror. Looked as if more than a few people had tested that unbreakable part; the mirror was dinged and scratched, and there were what surely were bullet holes here and there.

Gave the ambience all by itself, that mirror.

Of course, there was the smell, a pungent blend of cooked food, stale beer, dopesmoke, bodywash, sweat, perfume, and pheromones, as ventilators tried to, but couldn't quite, exhaust the atmosphere created by this many people doing things in this tight a space.

Gunny knew how it would be here: An hour after shift end on a fifth night, this place would be bouncing, stuffed to the doors, like a grenade with a the timer started. Not a matter of “if,” but “when” before somebody got pissed off and started a fight . . .

The people inside were diverse, but there were a lot of mostly young men in faux-cowboy clothes—denim jeans held up with wide belts and big shiny buckles, tight shirts in various bright colors. They wore pointy-toed boots, and more than a few had wide-brimmed hats, either on their heads or hung on pegs nearby.

The younger fems were likewise dressed.

Among the young were older people, some of them looking as if they'd been outfitted for a Western period vid, some more conservatively.

It was early and not full yet, but maybe sixty people there. No aliens.

It was noisy, loud talk, laughter, glasses and bottles clinking. Music was playing in the background, some off-key singer lamenting the loss of his girlfriend, who had, apparently, left the planet with the singer's best old buddy . . .

Waiters and waitresses moved through the crowd, delivering or retrieving drinkware, and what looked to be greasy sandwiches and fried vegetables in plastic baskets.

“Just like Ma's home cooking,” Gunny observed.

“It has a certain rough charm.”

There were a couple of score tables with attached seats, securely bolted in place, and what looked like a slope to the floor that ran to a big, circular drain in the center of the room. She nodded at the drain, which looked as if it had a built-in disposal unit.

“Must make cleanup easier, spilled booze,” Wink said.

“And maybe food and blood,” she said. She had seen its like a dozen times around the galaxy. Great minds and all . . .

“That, too.”

Gunny and Wink were in civilian dress, guns and blades tucked discreetly away, and they made their way to a two-person table toward the rear exit.

They sat. A couple of minutes later, a waiter appeared. “How do you do, folks, what can I get you?”

In the local accent, it came out:
Howdy, fokes, whutcannagitchu?

“What's the house brew on tap?” Wink asked.

“Lone Star.”

“We'll have two of those.”

The waiter left.

“Lone Star?” she said.

“How bad could it be?”

The waiter came back a few minutes later and put two plastic steins on the table. “Five noodle,” he said.

Wink handed him a ten coin. “Keep it.”

“Thanks.” He hurried off.

“Aren't you the generous soul.”

“Hey, man is getting a nice tip, maybe he won't spit in our beer because we aren't locals.”

Gunny sipped the brew. It was cold. Past that? “Well, this answers the question how bad could it be,” she said.

“You've had worse.”

“Not lately.”

They sipped at their beers, listened to the music, watched the locals move and interact.

“Look at the size of the hat on that one.”

“That's a
sombrero
.”

“What's that mean?”

“‘Shade,' Ah think.”

“I can see why.”

A couple of fights started to crank up, but there were a trio of big bouncers who appeared quickly to quell them. It was still early, not enough really drunk or stoned patrons to get really raucous. Yet . . .

A big, florid man dressed in his cowboy weeds and a big gray hat came over to the table and grinned down drunkenly at Gunny.

“Hey, there, little darlin', let me buy you a drink?

Gunny smiled. “Ah have one, thank you.”

“Well, then, why don't you bring it over to my table and set a spell.”

Gunny looked at Wink. He shrugged. “Sounds kind of like your people, Gunny.”

“Thanks, but Ah'm comfortable right here.”

“I'd offer you my seat,” Wink said, “but I'm not sure there's room here for that buckle. Of course, I guess the waiter could use it as a tray or something.”

Gunny stared at him. “Ah knew this was a mistake.”

The barroom cowboy's brain was pretty fogged by whatever he had been drinking or smoking, but something in Wink's tone must have seeped through.

“Say what there, pardner?”

“Oh, sorry, I was just remarking on what a fine-looking belt buckle you have.”

The cowboy grinned. “Yeah, it is, isn't it? Ah won first place on the mechbull at Salty's last year.”

“What did the guy who came in second get? Two buckles?”

“No, he didn't get—are you fuckin' with me, son?”

“Well, no, you're not really my type. Not hers, either.”

The cowboy looked at Gunny. “That right, darlin'? You'd rather be with this micro-dick than a real man?”

“Got your number, doesn't he?” Gunny said. She smiled at Wink. “Micro-dick. M.D.”

“Why don't you just run on back to punch your cows or whatever, ‘pardner.' My friend and I are trying to enjoy our beer. Though that's a lost cause with this snake pee.”

“You insultin' Lone Star?! You outland asshole—!”

He drew back his fist for a punch—

Wink grinned and came up. He got in one good punch before the bouncers arrived, but that was enough to set the cowboy back on his heels. When he recovered enough to charge back in, Gunny stuck her foot out and tripped him, so he sprawled into the first bouncer and sent them both to the floor.

The second and third bouncers were not amused, and apparently, neither were the cowboy's friends; several of them came out of their seats and headed for Gunny and Wink.

“Time to go, Doctor Fool.”

“So soon? I'm just getting warmed up.”

“You aren't that good bare-handed, and if we pull hardware, we'll get cooked; half the people in here are carrying. Out, now!”

Wink headed for the door in a hurry, Gunny right behind him. The bouncers cut off pursuit.

“Got to go, folks,” Wink said. “Maybe we can stay longer next time.”

“Ain't gonna be no next time, Wink, you lyin' asshole.”

“Thanks for your support,” he said. “You know I feel better.”

She grinned. That was true . . .

– – – – – –

The days passed, and as they often did just before the action began, the time moved quicker as it approached.

Of a moment, it was only seventy-two hours out, and Rags called a staff meeting.

The stink of the ferrofoam, that hot-gun-lube odor, had faded some, but it was still obvious to Jo. Something you got used to when you lived and worked in such structures a big part of your life. Part of the military experience, the sights, sounds, smells. They faded and became the background.

Rags said, “Okay, let's have it.”

Jo started. “We have completed our ranges, updated our maps, and interfaced with General Wood's staff. What we know, they know. Our gear is clean and ready, our troops are getting enough practice to stay sharp but not too tired. Come the fire, we are ready to cook.”

He nodded. “Gramps?”

“Well, there is a new development, just in. I'm not sure what it means on the face of it, but my sense is that it means something we need to explore.”

They all looked at him.

“What do you know about the Bax?”

Jo shrugged. “Probably what most people know. An intelligent species from an E2 world off a G-class, out the Orion Arm. Achieved N-spaceflight nearly a thousand years before we did, colonized a couple of stellar systems. Not particularly warlike, they do a lot of trade around the galaxy. Don't know any personally, but I've seen a couple here and there. I think they look like upright red wolves with more muscle and less hair. Why?”