Michael Z. Williamson - The Humans Call it Duty.pdf - Michael Z. Williamson - margozap

THE HUMANS CALL IT DUTY

Michael Z. Williamson

Cap slipped through the undergrowth. He was stealthy, for there were things that

would kill him if they found him, men and animals both. He surprised rabbits and

bouncers and other prey as he appeared like a ghost through the leaves, and they

scattered before him, but he was not hunting now.

The sound of Guns had alerted him from his patrol. They came from

somewhere near his friend, and he hurried to investigate. Guns were an indication of

hunting, and David was alone, with many enemies in the dark woods. He increased

his pace, mouth wide to reduce the rasp of his breath, and squeezed between two

boles, then under the dead, rotten log he’d passed on the way out. His patrol had

only been half done, and he hoped David would understand.

He drew up short. The scents in his nose sorted themselves. That one was

Gun smell, and not from David or another friend. That was the smell from David’s

Gun. That was the smell of David, and the smell of blood. Cap dropped flat on the

forest floor and eased his way under a brushbush. He gazed deeply into the dappled

murk, and widened his ears and nose. The Enemy was not nearby.

He moved quickly, striding forward, dreading what he would find. There was

a dip in the ground, leaves hastily tossed to cover it. A few scrapes revealed a hand,

then an arm. The sweet-sour smell told him already, but he kept digging until he saw

the face, then more. It was David, dead. Cold flowed through him as he stared at the

body, ragged holes blown through it by Guns. All David’s harness and gear was

missing. The thing he called a Comm was gone, and Cap knew that was bad. If an

enemy had the Comm, he had to get it back or destroy it. He didn’t know why, but

that had been one of the things drilled into him from an early age. A Duty, it was

called.

He whimpered in pain, for David had been his friend his entire life. Somehow,

he had to do what must be done, and return to the fenced Home where David and he

lived. He wasn’t sure what happened after that, but he knew what he’d been taught,

and knew he had to do it. First, he reburied David’s body, sad and wishing other

humans were here. They knew what to say for the dead, and Cap couldn’t say it for

them.

Standing and peering around, he spotted the route taken by the Enemy. He

would come to that soon enough, but first, he had to do what David called a

Datadump. That tree there should work, and he trotted toward it. He scrambled aloft

until the branches would barely take his weight, swaying in the late evening breeze.

He pressed the broad pad on the shoulder of his harness, and sat patiently. It was a

human thing, and he didn’t know what it was exactly, only that he was to climb a tall

tree and press the pad every day at sunset. That, too, was a Duty. It beeped when it

had done what it was supposed to, and he eased hack down the limbs and trunk,

flowing to the ground like oil.

Now to the hunt.

* * * *

The path the Enemy left marked them as amateurs. David and his friends left much

less sign of their passing, although he could still follow them easily enough. There

were some friends, those who David called Black Ops, who were almost as adept as

he, and could kill silently and quickly. He wished for their company now. They were

hunters as he, even if human, and would understand his feelings. But those fellow

hunters were not here, and he must tread carefully. It was his Duty to his friend to

continue doing what he was trained to, and to recover the Comm. After that, it

would be a pleasure to kill those who had killed David. That was his Duty to himself.

There they were. He dropped into the weeds and became invisible, watching

them patiently. There was no hurry, for they could not get away from his keen

hunter’s skill. He sat and listened, grasping what few words he could, and waiting

for the right moment.

“—odd to find one rebel out like this, along our patrol route,” said one.

“They’re all weird, if you ask me. They don’t want law, don’t want schools,

and don’t want support. Why anyone these days would be afraid of the government

is beyond me,” said another. He felt like a leader, and Cap guessed him to be the

Sergeant. There were eight of them, so this was what David called a Squad, and

Sergeant was the Squad Leader. They were Enemies. He was sure, because the

clothing was wrong, they smelled wrong, and David’s people had Squads of twenty.

“It is their planet. Was,” said another. He carried a large Gun, the kind for

support fire. He was another primary target. “I guess they were happy, but a strange

bunch of characters,” he agreed.

“Well, we’ve got a prize, and a confirmed kill, so that should make Huff

happy.” He was turning the Comm around in his hands. He made a gesture and

handed it to another, who stuffed it into his harness. Cap made note of that ones

look and smell as Sergeant continued, “He wanted to prove that initiating lethal force

was a good idea, and this should help. We’ll sweep another few klicks tonight, then

pick up again tomorrow. Jansen, take point,” Sergeant said.

“Sure thing, Phil,” said the first one.

The Squad rose to their feet and trudged away. They might imagine they were

stealthy, compared to city people, but Cap easily heard them move out, three

person-lengths apart, Jansen first, then Gunner, then Sergeant, then the rest. Cap

appeared out of hiding, and followed them, ten person-lengths back. He stayed to

the side, under the growth, and avoided the direct path they were taking. The Squad

had Guns, and he did not, but he had all the weapons he needed, if he could get

close enough.

It was only a short time until one said, “I’ll catch up. Pee break.”

“Shoulda gone before we left, geek,” Sergeant said.

“Sorry. I’ll only be a few seconds.”

Cap watched as the Enemy stood to the side and relieved himself. He jogged

sideways along their path, hidden by leafy undergrowth, and waited until the last man

passed by his chosen target. He crouched, braced, and as the man fumbled with his

pants, threw himself forward. His victim heard him, and his head snapped up in

terror. He was wearing the Goggles people wore to let them see in the dark, but it

was too late. Cap swept over him before he could scream, unsheathed, cut, and

landed rolling. The body gurgled, dropped, twitched and was still.

One.

Cap slipped quickly away, through more brushbushes, and carefully climbed a

tree. He wanted to be high enough to see, but low enough to use the limbs to escape

if he had to. He peered through the woods, eyes seeing by the moonlight, and waited

for the Enemy to respond.

They weren’t a very good Enemy, he thought. They hadn’t noticed yet. That

was good, he supposed, although a part of him was insulted at the poor competition.

He dropped lightly back to the ground and moved back to the kill. Sniffing and

listening carefully, he made sure no one was nearby, then hoisted the body up and

dragged it carefully off. He buried it under a deadfall, where the ants and flies would

take care of it, and erased any sign of his passing. There was no time to rest, but

he’d taken a few bites before burying the body. He could go on.

* * * *

The Enemy had finally figured out that one of theirs was missing. In pairs, they

stumbled noisily through the brush, whispering his name, “Misha!” They weren’t

talking into their magic Comms, yet, that could reach people through the air. They

might soon call for others, however, and that made Cap consider things more

urgently. From his perch high in a graybark tree, he kept watch over the Enemy’s

movements. That pair was closer, and separated from the others by a slight ridge.

He eased back down and concealed himself under a tangler, where he was unlikely to

be seen. They could see heat, but they would not see him. Even faced with Goggles

he could be invisible.

They were heading off to the east. Cap followed along behind at a safe

distance. Could he take two? Perhaps he should wait. But there was little time, and

the Comm had to be found. It had to. He edged closer.

One paused, pulled off his ... no, her, he smelled . . . Helmet, and drank from

a Bottle, leaning against a tree. There was risk from the other, not far away, but Cap

took the chance and jumped.

A bite, twist and roll, and her neck was broken. That injury not even people

could often fix, and not out here. He heard a yell and the cough of a Gun firing, and

heaved himself up and away, bounding into the heavy darkness, the growth a

whisper alongside him as he slipped his feet surely into gaps. No noise from the

hunter. That was the way.

“Phil! Guys!” the other yelled. “It’s an animal! It got Lisa!”

Two.

Cap shot away under the weeds, found a tree and raced aloft. He could barely

see through the tangle of leaves, and was worried about their Goggles. He was hot

now, and they had seen him. Did they know what he was?

They were distressed. He knew it from the increasing loudness, the shakes in

the voices, the reek of fear from them and their indecision. He would win this yet. He

didn’t know all of what he heard, but he knew the harness was recording it, and he

caught some words he did know.

“—call for evac!” said one.

“We can’t!” said Sergeant. “The rebels know we are out here, that’s why we

walked all this way. We are supposed to find those roving missile teams.”

“I know why we’re here, goddammit! But that thing killed Lisa and Misha!”

one argued.

Sergeant replied, “You’re going to call in and abort because of an animal?

Any idea how that will sound? And evac is for the wounded.”

“It’s still out there!”

“So now we know. We shoot it when it comes back, add it to the count,”

Sergeant said.

“I don’t think—”

“I don’t care what you think!” Sergeant interrupted. “We’ll bivouac here, take

a look in daylight if we can, and continue from there. Shoot anything that isn’t

human. Var, you and Jaime take first watch.”

“S-sure, Phil,” “Uh-huh,” the two replied, not sounding happy. In a short

while, the other four tucked cloaks around themselves and leaned against trees. Var

and Jaime walked around the clearing, eyeing each other and the blackness. Cap

dropped to the ground and crouched. He meant to kill Jaime if he could, then drag

him off.

Jaime had the Comm.

It was halfway until dawn before the chance came. Cap didn’t sleep, simply

watched and waited, though the day had been draining and disturbing. Patience was

a tool of the hunter. The Enemies tossed restlessly before slipping into disturbed

slumber. At the darkest, coolest time of night, Var muttered something to Jaime, then

sat against a tree, took off his Goggles and rubbed his eyes. That made him almost

blind. Cap moved without hesitation.

He leaped over a log, dropped into a slight dip, and exploded out of it. Here is

where it was dangerous, if Var was looking. He wasn’t.

Jaime was just turning, not from suspicion, but from fear of the woods. Cap

caught him on the back of the neck and bit, hard. A swiping pawful of claws tore his

throat out and quieted him to a wet, breathy sound, and he dragged the body up the

slope and into the dip.

A shout, a cough of a Gun, and a Bullet cracked past his ear, like a rotten

bluemaple branch snapping. Cap knew what Bullets were, and flinched. He ran as

fast as he could, hampered by the limp weight of his kill, and felt a sting in his tail.

There were other shouts and shots, but none came close, and he ran until his legs

and lungs were on fire. He crawled under a featherfern and pulled the corpse in with

him, then opened his mouth wide to quiet his heaving breaths and listened for

pursuit.

Three.

The Enemy was shouting now, scared. They hadn’t followed him because

they were consumed with their own fear, their fear of him. Cap knew what pleasure

was, and that was pleasure. He took a look at his tail, and found some short length

had been shot away by the stray Bullet.

It stung badly, and throbbed. He would accept it. He had the Comm, and had

done what his friends wanted.

Michael Z. Williamson - The Humans Call it Duty.pdf

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