Tooth and Claw - Doranna Durgin [78]
Akarr remembered them well from kaphoora training they stalked in pairs, day or night. They lurked on the edges of the Legacy, the barren areas east of the Eccedama ridgeline. There weren’t many of them. No one had ever returned with a cartiga trophy, and the trainees were frankly advised against trying it their first time out. And second.
They were bigger than sholjaggs. Faster.
Akarr glanced back over his shoulder at the ridge the shuttle had managed to clear before going down. The Eccedama.
Cartiga trophy. It might well make up for all the frustration he’d endured.
“They travel in pairs,” Zefan said, and at the surprised response of all the Tsorans, added, “Something we’ve only just discovered. It’s difficult to track them when we work only with visuals.”
“Then we’ll all have to keep a watch for them,” Riker said, looking surprisingly bolstered by the injection he’d received. Darkly, Akarr wondered how long it would last. “But we’d better do it on the move. We don’t have any time to waste.”
Worf looked at the sun—their only time device, in the absence of tricorders and chronometers—and shook his head. “We have less than that. We must pick up the pace.”
Which they did, without complaint. Akarr took his turn at Ketan’s side, supporting the weight of the guard’s wounded leg; Worf led the way, while Riker held back to pick up the drag position, one hand always on the trank gun he now carried. Ketan’s gun, appropriated and loaded with viable tranks.
It wasn’t long before Akarr got his first good look at a cartiga. A startlingly close look, with the animal not
there and suddenly there, coming from nowhere to bound along aside the group for a few strides, then fade back and crouch against the rock, its randomly patterned coat—sand and taupe variations with edges of brown-allowing it to almost literally disappear from sight when Akarr blinked and lost his visual hold on it.
“Damn,” Riker said under his breath, probably not expecting Akarr’s sharp Tsoran ears to pick it up. They locked gazes and he knew he’d been heard, though he didn’t seem to care, didn’t seem to feel it had decreased whatever humans were wont to call daleura. Instead he took the connection as an excuse to say, “Take it down, if you can. Maybe we can get far enough away before the trank wears off to discourage it from following.” Then he gave a strange smile—showing his teeth as the humans did, but in an asymmetrical way, and with something extra in his eye. Something… acknowledging. “Besides,” he said, “something from a cartiga would make one helluva impression on the folks back home, don’t you think?”
Akarr had no idea how to reply. How was he supposed to interpret this expression within the ever present structure of daleura? It was in no way formal, but it seemed to hold some respect, regardless. Then Ketan gave a shout and pointed, nearly losing his balance despite the arm he had flung over Akarr’s shoulder. Akarr clutched at him, turning at the same time, trying to follow Ketan’s gesture Two of them, one on either side. Making a strafing run and veering off again.
“They’re checking us out,” Zefan said. “They might see a ranger in a scooter pod occasionally, but they’ve probably never seen such a large party on foot. We generally put down the kaphoora parties just on the other side of the ridge.”
“And when they’re through checking us out?” Riker asked, still squinting at the last spot he’d seen the cartigas and literally walking backward in the process as he kept pace.
“They’ll quit playing with us and do their best to eat us,” said Shefen.
Worf said, “It won’t be good enough.” He, too, held a trank gun at the ready. They all did, aside from Rakal and Ketan. Even Gavare, though his aim looked less than steady.
“There!” Riker said, using the two-handed aim of his trank gun to point, following the target smoothly as the creature came at them.
“Here, also,” Worf said without raising his voice, focused in the opposite direction.