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creature has an injured leg. Surely it cannot run very fast."
"Truly, that is so." The medic felt a little more optimistic. "It might not even
try to chase me."
"You should not be in much danger." The Lepar was stolidly remorseless.
"How will I its attention attract?"
Itepu considered. "Throw something at it. With luck that will make it mad."
"With luck?" The Hivistahm were not as skilled in the art as the S'van, but they
could still muster sarcasm when the occasion demanded it. "That an offensive
action would be." His stomach roiled at the very thought. "I do not know if I
can ..."
"Then throw nearby. If you are not actually trying to hit it, there is no
offense in the action.''
"Truly," he had to admit. He flipped his eyeshades back into place. "First we
have a hole to choose and camouflage."
The Lepar's wide mouth clapped together twice. "I will take care of that. I am
good at manual labor."
And I will watch, Fifth-of-Medicine thought. I am good at that.
By late that afternoon Itepu had demonstrated surprising skill in masking the
trap they'd chosen. It was steep-sided and deep enough to keep even a tall
Ashregan from climbing out.
That the easy part was, he reminded himself.
He'd had most of the day to ponder what they planned to try and had almost
convinced himself they could bring it off. After all, it wasn't as if he was
going to have to fight. Just attract the creature's attention, and run. Except
for Humans and Massood, the Hivistahm were about the best runners in the Weave,
especially over a short distance.
They approached the creature's resting place quietly. Itepu murmured something
intended to be reassuring in his own language, then sank out of sight back into
the forest, leaving Fifth-of-Medicine on his own. He hoped the Lepar located a
particularly large rock.
Am I actually this doing? he asked himself silently as he advanced. I,
Fifth-of-Medicine, sophisticated technician and member of respected circles,
stalking a soldier of the Purpose? He was awash in fear and revulsion.
The Ashregan had an injured leg, he kept reminding himself.
He'd adjusted his translator to handle the creature's own language, having
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determined that throwing words could be as provocative as throwing stones. It
would not work perfectly, but it should function well enough for him to make
himself understood. Not that he intended to engage the enemy in an extended
conversation.
What he had not counted on was its imposing size as he drew close. It was the
biggest Ashregan he'd ever seen. Truly the Amplitur had bred notable Human
characteristics into it. His task suddenly seemed more daunting, his companion
Itepu much farther away.
They had invested too much effort and he had come too far for him to back away
now, he told himself nervously. Nor could he envision himself confessing his
inadequacies to a Lepar. Not that he feared being accused of cowardice.
Cowardice was a primitive concept invalid among civilized peoples. Fortunately
he found himself possessed by a kind of paralysis of determination.
The tranquilizers helped.
It was almost as if someone else were picking the small round stone out of the
muck, as though another being was straightening and throwing it in the
Ashregan's direction, supporting its unimpressive trajectory with inane insults
in an alien tongue.
The creature reacted with shocking speed and unnaturally fast reflexes, rising
and whirling in one motion, Though its proportions were mutant, the face that
confronted Fifth-of-Medicine was wide-eyed and wholly Ashregan.
Feeling numbly foolish, he continued to stand where he'd risen, exposed and
vulnerable, staring back at the enemy. To break the paralysis he jumped up and
down several times and twitched obscenely, though it was unlikely the Ashregan
was knowledgeable enough to interpret the gestures.
The stone, the words, the gestures or a combination thereof had an effect,
however. Like some great primeval forest spirit, the mutant Ashregan crouched
momentarily.
When it rose anew a horrified Fifth-of-Medicine saw the long spear which the
creature had until now kept concealed in the underbrush.
The weapon was even taller than its maker, as thick around as the medic's wrist,
straight and lethal-looking. Its tip of sharpened stone looked quite capable of
slicing through iridescent green scales, flesh, and organs.
With an inarticulate cry, Fifth-of-Medicine put all carefully considered plans
aside as he turned and ran.
Chapter Five
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