"Or he can cover up."

"So the question remains."

She thought about the issue for a moment.

Decided.

"They must be watching. They know we're here." She looked ahead. "That clearing there. That will do." "And if it doesn't?"

"Then we'll get back in the car and raise such a ruckus, they'll find us."

"I'm glad you know what we're doing. I certainly don't. But I'll be glad to back you up."

"All I can say is that I'm just glad you're still around, Attila-in whatever form."

His mouth managed to form a smile. "Thanks."

She put on the backpack she'd found in the car, and then she tucked Attila under her arm and set off.

"Looks like it's going to be a nice day," said. Attila.

"Yes," she said.

She marched.

It took ten minutes to get to the clearing. She strode across it, toward the trees that ridged the other side.

"What now?" said Attila.

"Watch. Listen."

She set him on a nearby rock with a good vantage point.

She placed herself into a stance.

She raised her hands to her mouth.

She made the Call.

A high ululation carried over the trees, punctuated by a gruff, low-pitched snarl.

She let it unwind for a full ten seconds, then allowed its echo to settle into the leaves.

"You learned that from the Hunters?" said Attila.

"Yes. Now, be quiet. This is going to be very delicate."

"If it happens at all."

"Yes."

She waited some minutes, listening.

There was no direct answer. However, her honed instincts detected something in the distance.

Something coming.

She felt her adrenaline rising. She felt the old machinery clicking into place. Machiko Noguchi let loose again the ka'rik'na, the summoning, and the mesh'in'ga, the battle-dream-time, folded over her. She was able to access areas of her mind that had been retreating from her human state.

Yes. They were coming.

The question was, would she have time to explain what had happened? Would these creatures remember her betrayal? If so, then she had just one slim chance, and she inwardly prepared herself to take advantage of that chance.

One moment the glade in which they stood was empty save for them.

The next, a warrior materialized, shutting off his invisibility device.

She did not recognize him. She spoke immediately, using a few simple phrases she remembered from the abrupt, barking language of the yautja.

"I am one with you. I come to fight with you. I am a Blooded One."

She had made sure before that her locks were well pulled away from the singed marking on her forehead, the marking that Broken Tusk had given her, the marking of bug acid mixed with yautja blood. This had saved her before and would give them pause now.

The warrior was dressed in armor and helmet and stood in a battle-crouch.

He advanced slightly, to have a look.

Grunted with surprise.

Called back to companions as yet not visible.

Seeing she was not armed, he stood up and addressed her.

"Prepare to die."

She had warned Attila to expect this, and when it happened, to keep quiet, no matter what. Even though he wouldn't understand the word, he would doubtless distinguish the doom in the intonation.

However, this was to be expected. It was a kind of rough greeting as well as a challenge. A test, if you will, and easy enough to pa.s.s.

"Should I die, it will be in battle. I have many trophies. My honor will last while my bones last."

The Predator grunted.

He approached her.

He was a regular-sized creature, which is to say much taller, much bigger than she. Although with one swipe of the blades on his wrist he could cut her down at any time, she stood stock-still. One hint of fear, one tremble, could be her undoing. She stood, chin out thrust in a stance of honor as he walked around her.

With a sudden clang the blade erupted.

The creature jabbed.

The alien steel stopped just inches from her eyes.

He said something quickly, only s.n.a.t.c.hes of which she understood.

". . . death . . . dismemberment . . . skull . . . wall . . . treachery . .

." It didn't sound good.

She said three words.

Honor.

Courage.

Danger to the megapack (or words to that effect).

The blades lowered.

"Danger?"

"Hard Meat. Soft Meat take Hard Meat." She tapped her cranium, indicating her brain. "Dangerous warrior now."

The creature shook his dreadlocks with a great moaning growl.

"We must stop," said Machiko.

The Hunter stepped back.

"Trick," he snarled.

However, if he really believed this was a trick, then her guts would be hanging from the trees now, and her white, s.h.i.+ning skull would be inside the guy's net bag.

"No," she said: An easy word, even in yautja parlay.

The Hunter growled up some word from the back of his throat, spat it out.

He backed up, bristling. From a belt he drew a knife. He raised it to the skies, and a call ripped through the air.

Machiko, however, was not afraid.

Machiko knew the meaning of the gesture, if not the precise meaning of the word.

It was a summons.

The bushes ridging the glade rustled as though some sudden selective wind had pa.s.sed through them.

Like some sort of photographic special effects in a 3-D movie, spectral figures began to take shape, walking from the bushes, fading into reality.

Ten of them.

From a blur to solid, fierce reality.

The pack They stood, some holding spears, others holding burners. The fact that they had more than just spears and knives meant that they were now involved in more than just a Hunt.

They stood as a unit, staring at Machiko, their eyes burning into her soul.

She stared back, defiantly, proudly. It was as though she could feel thesign on her brow pulsing, its burning flame a signal to them.

This one is Worthy.

She is a Hunter.

She has been Blooded.

She stood her ground and called a greeting of comrades.

"I need your help in a great battle," she said. "I have come to tell you of something you should know."

Suddenly, though, another wavering, and another smaller spectral figure emerged from the bushes.

Took form.

Became.

"We know," said the new arrival. "You are Traitor."

Machiko's heart froze.

Lar'nix'va The Hunter she had come to call Shorty.

Chapter 20.

Shorty.

Lar'nix'va.

No question about it, even though he wore his armor and a helmet, she recognized the diminutive form.

He was no longer the youth he had been; he had grown in muscle if not in height. There was a Napoleonic swagger to his step, and arrogance to his stance.

Not only was it Shorty, but from all signs he seemed to be the Leader of this group.