Better to meet death head-on.

Challenge.

She wouldn't make it to the other side of the clearing. This guy would be too good a shot. She had to rely on something she knew well- The warrior's ego.

Standing in the open, seemingly unarmed, she doubted the Predator would kill her.

Not without allowing her a fight.

Unless, of course, things had changed, which didn't seem likely.

She was just in the act of turning when she heard an explosion.

Her instinct slammed her down onto the ground immediately, but her peripheral vision caught the action.

The top of the Hunter's body simply blew apart in a gale of fire and blood.

Shards of armor and limbs and skull and bone went every which way, as if a ripe metal pumpkin had just exploded.

The remainder of the body teetered, fell.

Machiko hit the dirt, rolled. The taste of rich loam and blood was in her mouth, but she hardly noticed.

A familiar whoos.h.i.+ng . . .

A dark form swooped down toward her . . . .

She raised her pistol but then lowered it.

The grav copter lowered itself, drew even with her. The door flapped open.

She didn't need an invitation.

She jumped, catching hold of the ladder and quickly pulling herself up and over the lip of the door. In a flash she was into the pa.s.senger seat, the door closed behind her.

Attila pulled the vehicle up and over the tops of the trees, heading backfor Evanstonville.

"Are you all right?" he asked, hands steady on the controls.

"Yes . . . yes." She shook her head and shot a look back at the biological wreckage. "How-?"

"I hadn't realized it before, Machiko, but this copter seems to be very well armed. That little exhibition, for example, was the result of a first-rate rocket launcher."

She took a deep breath. They'd already jumped a goodly distance. Some of the adrenaline was seeping out of her, replaced by surprise.

"Attila, I didn't know you could fly a copter."

"An unexplored area of my programming. When I detected the fracas in the woods, I a.s.sumed you would return, most likely pursued. I thought it would be best to reach a firing point at which I would be able to deal with a maximum of pursuers."

"Good choice. I thought you'd left me."

The self-satisfied look on Attila's face melted. "Machiko. I would never do such a thing."

"No. No, of course not. I'm sorry. Thanks. Good move. Now let's get back to home base."

"To confront Livermore Evanston on this matter?"

"No. We've got to give the situation some thought first." She remembered then to buckle her harness. "The Hunters are doing their bug thing-but why here?"

Chapter 12.

It seems obvious to me," said Attila the Hun, lying on the bed in a relaxed state.

Machiko Noguchi stopped her pacing. She looked at her android warily. Since that little flying stunt a couple hours before, she was seeing him in an entirely different light.

She knew he'd had a "life" before she'd bought him. She didn't know about the programs that still existed inside him. What other residues of past talents, past memories, existed? Attila insisted that he had no memory of being able to do what he did-at the time his sensors detected trouble, something had just kicked in, and he'd had access.

This was something they would have to explore.

For now, though, there were other matters to attend to.

"I'm glad. Would you care to enlighten me?" she said, hands on hips.

"You'll have to pardon me, but I'm merely operating on what you tell me about the Hunters--your tales of your experiences with them."

"Yes, yes, go on."

"Well, it strikes me that they've got a fairly simple game plan. They liketo find likely opponents, likely places to perform their rituals of honor.

And, frankly, think about it Blior is perfect. If their lives are the feral art they consider them, then for Predators this must be a masterpiece planet."

"A what?" Machiko asked.

"Masterpiece planet. It sounds as if Ryus.h.i.+ was being used as a training ground for young Hunters."

She nodded. "Blooding."

"That was their apprentice work, then. Whatever the word has come to mean since then, a 'masterpiece' used to be the article a craftsperson made to earn his or her master status. Blior is the place Hunters may earn 'master' status, in effect."

She nodded. "Yes, well, that's pretty obvious. But go on for a moment. Any other thoughts?"

"Yes. The reason it's a masterpiece planet is that there's nothing the Predators like to Hunt better than other hunters .... It's the ultimate challenge, right?"

"That's right. Unlike our race, they won't Hunt 'innocent' things-except possibly food."

"A n.o.ble breed." Sardonic twist of phrasing. "Anyway, somehow they discovered the operations on Blior, and they saw what a perfect place to Hunt it would be."

"But why bring on the bugs as well?"

"A little twist, a little spice. Who can say? Perhaps this was a world where they'd already Hunted bugs before, and they were just returning."

She shook her head. "No, I don't think so. If there were bugs on this planet before, there would have been a spillage. That's one of the problems when the Preds play with the things-they get loose and start breeding."

"Sloppy sorts."

"Let's just say that their sense of honor is a bit tunnel-visioned."

"So they're here-and they know now that we know they're here."

"I think that's what the lawyer was so excited about. And unless my guess is wrong, Evanston's got a suspicion as well."

"More than a suspicion. I mean, he has physical evidence!"

"Yes."

"He somehow seems to know you're a.s.sociated with them."

"I don't think he knows as much as he strongly suspects."

"It stands to reason . . . after what happened ...."

She let out a breath, shook her head. "The pieces still just aren't there-"

"Seems pretty pat to me," said Attila. "He's got problems with anomalous intelligent creatures as well as the bugs-and he's just trying to get thisproject off the ground. Can you imagine the bad publicity if word gets back to civilization? Why, this business venture would be a total bust! Who would want to go hunting on a world where the hunters are the victims? I dare say that Evanston is a rich man, but no matter how rich he is, I'm sure that he couldn't afford a failure on this magnitude." Attila nodded. "A man like Livermore Evanston takes time to go get you to help, you know it's got to be this magnitude of importance."

"That does work . . . logically . . . but there's another level."

"Something intuitive?"

"Yes . . . that T-rex . . ."

"Not a curious resurrection .... Ideal, if you think of it .... What with the taste for hunting as it is, I would think that resurrected dinosaurs would be perfect for hunting."

"Yes, of course. I'm talking, though, about the level of sophistication a biolab needs to create the size and scope of a tyrannosaurus rex!"

"You're saying that it could create a lot more .... Well, isn't that the idea? To create fantastical and wonderful creatures for rich people to shoot?"

"You're not getting the point. What else can it create? Why is Evanston being so secretive? Why won't he let us look at the inside of that big biolab factory?"

"He hasn't refused-just his underlings."

"Well, then, I guess that's the next bit on our agenda, isn't it? We're going to have to ask."

"And if he won't let us see what's inside?"

She smiled. "Then we'll have to find out on our own, won't we? And we'll know that something intriguing is there."

"Of course. I'll take you through the factory tomorrow morning, if you like," said Livermore Evanston, absently tapping ash from his cigar. "There are more serious matters that have to be dealt with immediately, though." The large man leaned over his intercom, hit a b.u.t.ton. "Would you send in Brookings and Zorski, please?"

Machiko had to work hard to maintain a blank expression. This wasn't exactly what she'd expected. Attila was going to give her a great big "I told you so" when she let go of this bit of news.

Evanston was sitting in a comfortable ergonomic chair, in a comfortable smoking jacket. His perch in his office building gave him a panoramic view of most of the beautiful, growing expanse of this fabulous settlement that would soon be one of the more wondrous cities in the universe.

Evanston did not look his usual happy and confident self.

The teak-paneled door opened. A man and a woman entered. One Machiko recognized: the man who had come up to them and talked to Evanston on their arrival. The woman, though, was a different matter entirely. She looked like the kind of corporate sharpshooter that Machiko was supposed to have been. A Company woman from sleek black hair to perfectly manicured fingers. Introductions were made and remade.

Abner Brookings. Lawyer. Meet . . .

Chelsea Zorski. Head of operations. Meet . . .

h.e.l.lo, Machiko. I hope you can help us.

Good to meet you. I did some of the background work to dig you up. You can just call me Chet.

"Sit down. Have a drink. Tea or coffee or harder stuff, I don't care. It's time not just to think-tank this situation . . . it's time to take action."

They all looked like drinking people. However, they all pa.s.sed over the ample supply of liquor squatting atop a corner cabinet like a model of a city of multicolored skysc.r.a.pers.

Instead they all went for coffee.

Black.

When it was steaming and aromatic before them, as Machiko took the first few acrid sips, she studied this woman Chet Zorski.

First and foremost, she was a corporate shark. Machiko could smell that as she walked in. It was in her perfume and shampoo, her very breath. The s.h.i.+ne of her eyes, the flash of her perfect teeth. The tailored hang of her clothing. These people could have been made in biolab factories, for all she knew; they had the perfection of pre-modeling about them.

Zorski had a cleft chin, a square jaw, a nose as perfectly angular as could possibly be desired. Bright blue eyes. Wide cheekbones. A shock of black hair.

Bland stuff in general, but the congruence gave her a sharp and feral look, and the flas.h.i.+ng of teeth made her look bright and hungry beneath the smoothness.

"We hope you're well situated," said Evanston.

"Yes."

"You've met your people," said Zorski. "Had a little dustup with one, I hear."

"Good for morale."

"Absolutely. So . . . what do you think of them?"

"Motley, but they'll do."