When the Devil Dances

He glanced over at Nichols’ still body and shook his head. The sniper didn’t have to worry about hypothermia. The Galactic Hiberzine medication used a combination of drugs and nannites to slow human internal functions to close to zero and the nannites prevented, to the greatest degree, anything but gross mechanical damage to the body. So as long as they made sure some blood stayed in his system, he was “good,” under virtually any conditions, for about three months. When administered the anti-drug, or after the nannites ran out of energy, the patient woke up with no memory of the time in between; to them it was as if no time had passed.

On the other hand, he wasn’t light.

Mueller jerked his chin at the hills to the west. “We’ll move out to a new hide,” he whispered over chattering teeth. “Wait for nightfall then move out. Try not to make any tracks getting out of the water.”

“Who gets the first carry?” she asked.

Mueller grimaced and looked at the river to be crossed. The water was rushing over hundreds of smooth, rounded, slimy rocks.

“The hell with carrying,” the NCO said, grabbing the unconscious sniper by one wrist. “I’m gonna drag his ass.”

* * *

A big hayfield on Lon Lyons Road had nearly nailed him as he was faced with the choice of crossing it, and probably getting spotted, or going around it and taking an extra ten minutes. He finally took the time and was glad when he spotted the Posleen patrol coming to the edge and looking at the open area askance. The God Kings had developed a healthy respect for human snipers and the open area probably looked like a good way to go to whatever gods the Posleen worshipped.

The patrol had taken long enough, waiting for another God King to join them, that he made it all the way across the road and into the heavy woods on the far side. In scrubby undergrowth he had no fear of the Posleen keeping up or even coming close. As he trotted through the woods, following deer trails when he could and breaking new trail when he couldn’t, he had wondered which way he should go. He could turn to the south, towards Amy’s Creek, and continue to “menace” Clarkesville, or he could continue more or less due west towards Unicoi Gap. After a moment’s thought he decided on west; why throw away a perfectly good baseline for the Posleen to follow?

This position though, just to the east of 255 Alternate, was getting untenable so he slid down the hillside and started moving again. Crossing 255 would be a bear, but the map showed woods on both sides and most of the stuff around here was young and, therefore, thick white pine. It should be possible to move completely undetected on either side.

So it was with this happy thought in mind that he trotted completely out into the open.

The area on both sides of the road, that was shown as forest, had been cleared long before. Where he stood looked to have been the back area of some sort of small manufacturing facility. The buildings were gone, but there was too much unscavenged metal on the ground for it to have been anything else. On the far side of the road was a still-paved road and an intact farm. The paved road curved around behind the facility, which looked to have been a horse training facility, and the sudden incongruity, given what was baying at his back, caused a momentary snort of half hysterical humor to slip out.

He glanced quickly at the map the AID had brought up and shrugged. He and the Posleen had been playing a constant game up until this point. He would cut through the woods between these mountain roads, firing them up with artillery and sniper fire whenever he spotted them. A few of the, apparently, junior God Kings would push along on his backtrail while the majority of this brigade force swung around from one direction, or both, on the roads he had to cross. Assuming that the same situation was going on here, trying to bolt in either direction was just as likely to run him into the Posleen.

After only a moment’s pause, he made the only decision he could and started jogging towards the road.

* * *

Cholosta’an looked up from his instruments at a warbling cry from one of his scouts. There, silhouetted on the distant ridgeline, was a figure that could only be the human they had been hunting for so long.

He swung his railgun towards the silhouette; the automatic tracking system, as usual, ignored the human, but before he could target the scout the figure had trotted across the road and out of sight. He reached down to loft his tenar, but Orostan raised a claw.

“Softly, Kessentai,” the oolt’ondai said. The older Kessentai looked at the three dimensional map on his screen and grunted. “I think we may have him trapped.” He began tapping at keys and sending commands to the nearer and farther Posleen forces, sending them out in fans to the west off of the road. For one thing he had noted that this opened them out and made them less vulnerable to artillery fire.