A resistance warship flies into battle against the Conglomerate, a mecha-company conquering planets for minerals and slave labor. When the ship crashes above the plains, the five people on board battle for survival across their world, pursued by th...
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Shivering in the cold muck of the swamplands, the four of them huddle together as the tracking beasts enter the reeds.
The Recruit's eyes are round with terror, more white than blue. He has a hand firmly clamped over his mouth as if to hold back his fear. He and the Double wedge deep in one warren, the Gunner and the Mechanic in another, large saya'bu roots covering them in airy caves. The Double takes the Recruit's hand and squeezes. Her sharp eyes are scanning the gloom with a squinted concentration. The Recruit can feel how tightly coiled her muscles are through their entwined fingers.
The Gunner's pistol blends in with the twigs and vines but the Recruit can see it clearly, the wan starlight glinting on the barrel with malevolence. When the tracking hounds started baying, they knew running would only bait the mongrels. This is their only chance to lure the beasts close enough to take them down one at a time The Gunner estimated four hunting packs of two hounds each. The four of them have settled into anxious tension, guns ready, the low pulses of ion charges a steady buzz that seems to blend with the buzz of evening insects. They have to time this properly or the hunting packs will shred them apart; their uneasy alliance is out of necessity alone.
They move on a silent signal from the Gunner, the Double on her tail, the four of them doing their best not to splash and disturb the swamp's foulness. The Recruit wants to run, wants to flee in abject terror, only the Double's hand on his arm keeping him close to her. Running will only incite the chase but he cannot help the animalistic urge to tear away in an attempt to survive while the predators rip into the less fortunate of the pack with savage fury.
The baying of hounds sound like a dirge to the Recruit as they dive deep into the swamp, running into the saya'bu trees.
The Double looks at the Gunner, a considering gleam in her eyes. The Gunner catches her gaze and asks, "You have a plan?"
The Double pulls the bottom corner of her lip between her teeth, brows furrowing. The Recruit can almost see her calculating possibilities. Still stunned by who she is, he thinks she must be very intelligent, indeed if she could impersonate the Senator. The Prince's betrothed is a shrewd tactician and clearly the Double has spent long hours at her mistress's side.
"Remember go'tel?" the Double asks the Gunner. The Gunner shows surprise for the first time since the fall.
"The Ji'ambii hunting technique?" The Gunner asks. "Taught to children as a guerilla tactic?"
The Double nods. The Recruit sees the Mechanic is as confused as he is, both of them being So'uan while the Gunner and Double are both Ji'ambii with their paler skin. She pushes them deeper into the trees, the gnarled wood a sandy scratch on their exposed skin, the roots thick and winding above their heads, the deepest parts under the thin layer of water.
"What are you planning?" the Mechanic grinds out, clearly perturbed at being excluded from the language of traditions between the two Ji'ambii women.
"Go'tel is a tactic where deception is used to lure out predators or attackers," the Gunner explains, adjusting her rifle, eyes alert for flickers of movement. Torch light wavers behind them and they hunch lower, careful to muffle splashing footsteps as much as possible. "The defenders hide and emerge in random patterns, working in pairs to draw the attention of the attackers and dispatch them when they are distracted. It was used once to hunt the lev'eli of the Ji'ambii peaks in the north."
