Hunter’s Run

‘Noun,’ the alien said. ‘Verb form. Identifier. Semantic placeholder. Sense of identity.’

Ramon stared at the alien, fighting to keep surprise from his face. It had spoken in Spanish (Ramon also spoke some English and Portuguese and French, as well as, of course, Portuglish, the bastard lingua franca of the colony), and quite clearly, though its voice was disturbingly rusty and metallic, as though a machine had spoken. How in hell had it learned a human language? ‘What the fuck are you saying?’ Ramon said. ‘By holy Jesus, what do you want?’

‘Idiomatic vulgarity. Religious fear,’ the alien said, and then, with something that sounded like disappointment, ‘Unflowing.’ The great beast shifted in its web of wires and cables, its swollen abdomen rippling as if with a life of its own. Ramon felt his gorge rise. ‘What do you want from me?’

‘You are man,’ the beast intoned.

‘Yes, I’m a fucking man. What did you think I was?’

‘You lack tatecreude. You are a flawed thing. Your nature is dangerous and tends to aubre.’

Ramon spat on the ground. The arrogance of its harsh, unused voice and the steady gaze of those orange, unblinking eyes made Ramon angry. In times of stress – when he had lost his first van in a drunken bet, when Lianna had finally left him, when Elena threatened to throw him out – Ramon’s rage had never deserted him. Now it returned, flushing him with heat and certainty. ‘What are you, you creatures?’ he said. ‘Where do you come from? From this planet? Somewhere else? What do you think you’re doing, attacking me, keeping me here against my will? And what about my van, eh? Who’s going to get me a new van?’

Suddenly, the absurdity of the situation struck him. Here he was in an alien hive, locked away in the middle of a mountain, surrounded by demons. And he was bitching about his van! He had to fight down the urge to laugh, fearing that once he started he would be unable to stop.

The alien was staring at him wordlessly. ‘If you want to talk, talk sense,’ Ramon rasped. Anger gave him a sense of power and control that he knew was at odds with the truth. Any small thing that kept his mind his own, however, was precious. ‘You don’t like what I am, you can show me the way out of this shithole.’

The great pale alien seemed to take a moment to consider Ramon’s words. Its snout lifted as if it was tasting the air. ‘Those are sounds, not words,’ the alien said after a long pause. ‘Discordances outside proper flow. You must not speak in meaningless sounds, or you will be corrected.’

Ramon shivered and looked away; his rage had ebbed as quickly as it had flared, and now he felt tired, chilled by the alien’s imperturbability. ‘What do you want from me?’ he asked wearily.

‘We do not “want” anything,’ the alien said. ‘Again, you speak outside the way of reality. You have a function: therefore, you exist. You will exercise that function because it is your purpose to do so, your tatecreude. No “wanting” is involved: all is inevitable flow. You are man. You will flow in the pathways in which a man would flow. As he is of you, our path to him will be carved clean. You will fulfill your function.’

The creature’s voice seemed to be growing clearer as it spoke, as if every word brought it a greater understanding of Ramon’s language. He wondered how long he’d have to talk to the thing before it took on a Mexican accent and started cussing. ‘And if I do not function as you wish?’ Ramon asked.

The alien paused, as though briefly puzzled. ‘You live,’ it said finally. ‘Therefore, you exercise your function. Nonfunctioning, you could not exist. To exist and yet not exist – you would be a contradiction, aubre, a disruption in the flow. Aubre cannot be tolerated. To restore balanced flow, it would be necessary to deny the illusion that you exist.’

That at least was clear enough, Ramon thought, feeling gooseflesh sweep across his skin. He chose his words carefully when he spoke again. ‘And what function am I to fulfill?’

The cold orange eyes fixed on him again. ‘Take care,’ the alien warned. ‘That we must interpret your tatecreude for you is a sign that you incline toward aubre. But we will grant you a dispensation, as you are not a proper creature. Listen: a man has escaped from us. Three days ago he fled from us, and we have not been able to find him. By this act, he has shown himself to be aubre, and so proved that he does not exist. The illusion of his existence must therefore be negated. The man must not be allowed to reach a human settlement, to tell other humans about us. Should he do so, that would interfere with our own tatecreude. Such interference is gaesu, prime contradiction. Therefore you will find him, negate him, in order to restore balanced flow.’

‘How am I supposed to find him if you could not?’

‘You are man. You are the same. You will find him.’

‘He could be anywhere by now!’ Ramon protested.

‘Where you would go and where he would go – they are the same. You will go where he has gone, and you will find him.’

Ramon considered that.

‘So you mean there’s a man out there who found you and got away, and now you want me to help you catch him before he can get back to civilization? You want me to hunt for you? Is that what you’re saying?’

The thing in the cables considered this.

‘Yes,’ it said.

‘And why the fuck would I do that?’

The deep, awesome booming sound rose from the depths of the planet below. Ramon was reminded again where he was, and to what sort of creature he was speaking. A sense of vertigo washed through him. The great alien didn’t seem to notice his distress.

‘You are imbued with purpose,’ it said, almost patiently. ‘Your heart beats. You exchange gasses. You do so for a purpose. To be and yet be without purpose is contradictory. Your language is flawed in that it can express illusory states. Your purpose is to aid in locating the man. If you are without purpose, the illusion of your existence must be rectified.’

Well, Ramon thought, that was clear enough. Hunt or die. The answer was simple. He would lie. He had no intention of playing Judas goat for these demons, but likewise he would never be able to break away from them as long as he was ass-deep in their mountain. If he could make his way to the open air, there was at least hope. A chilling thought struck him.

‘How long did you keep me here?’ he asked. ‘Is it still summer out there, because tracking some mad fucker in winter isn’t going to work.’

The beast was silent. Ramon grew impatient. If the time he had spent in darkness had been long enough for the seasons to change, escape from the aliens would be suicide. The weather would kill him as effectively as a knife in the ribs.

‘How long was I in that fucking vat?’

‘Three days,’ the thing said without hesitation.

Ramon felt a stab of fear, sharper for being unexpected.

‘The man you want tracked down. That’s how long he’s been running? All the time I’ve been here?’

The alien paused for a long moment, before its deep, hoarse voice answered.

‘Yes.’

This far to the north, there was no way it could be coincidence; Ramon had been followed. Some poor fucker from the constabulary had come north after him, searching for the European’s killer, and instead had walked into this scene from Hell. Ramon couldn’t help imagining it – a Diegotown cop, or maybe one of the governor’s own security agents, making his stealthy way toward Ramon’s camp only to find scorched ground, twisted plastic, and these monsters flying from the great metal wall he had uncovered. Had the bastard had time to call for help? No satellites reached this far north, but the police had radio they could bounce off the atmosphere. Had the aliens destroyed the policeman’s van as they had Ramon’s?

Ramon had been poor all his life, and, like most poor people, the instinct to be afraid of the police had been burned into his soul. The thought that they had been so close to him as to fall into the same alien snare brought the coppery taste of panic to Ramon’s mouth. And yet, his logical mind told him that the constabulary was his best hope now. Usually the last thing he’d want to see were the police, but there were situations dire enough, like this one, when even somebody like him, who had frequently run afoul of the law, would be damn glad to see the cops coming over the hill. If word could get as far as Fiddler’s Jump, aid would come. The military forces of the colony. Ramon had to hope that the man who had been set to follow him was as good at fleeing as he’d been at shadowing him.

And if the cavalry came, and Ramon was freed, what then? He had killed the European. Would the governor still be hot to have Ramon hanged for it? Or would his part in discovering the alien nest win him amnesty? He was trapped between the Devil and the deep blue sea.

‘Alright,’ Ramon said. ‘You want the guy found, I’ll find him for you. He’s no friend of mine.’ He rubbed his chin shrewdly. It wouldn’t do to give in too easily, though. Even things as strange as these might recognize that as subterfuge. ‘If I do this thing for you,’ he asked slyly, ‘what do I get out of it?’

The alien stared at him for several long moments, long enough that Ramon began to fear that he had overplayed his hand. ‘You are an improper and contradictory creature. Aubre may manifest in you. We will insure against such manifestations by accompanying you.’

‘You? All of you?’

‘We. Not-we. Your language is flawed, it admits contradiction where none exists. We will separate part of the whole. Maneck will sacrifice himself to maintain the flow. Maneck is we, and not-we. Maneck will accompany you and watch over you. Through him, your tatecreude will be protected.’

Well, the thought that the aliens would send him out alone into the bush, trusting him to keep to the task they had assigned, was one that had always been too good to be true. But the fact that there would be only a single guard was a blessing. Two or three of the things would have been difficult to evade. More than that, impossible. Only one, however …

The alien who had led him here moved silently to Ramon’s side. It was eerie – nothing so big should be so quiet.

‘Maneck, eh?’ Ramon said to the thing. ‘Your name’s Maneck? I’m Ramon Espejo.’

While Ramon was still wondering if he should attempt to shake hands with it, Maneck abruptly reached out and took him by the shoulders, lifted him like a doll, and held him immobile in the air. Ramon fought instinctively – nights at the bar and in the street coming back to his arms and legs in a rage. He might as well have punched the ocean. Maneck didn’t budge.

Up from the pit rose a pale white snake.

Ramon watched in horrified fascination. It was obviously a cable of some sort – two bare wires protruded from the visible end – but its movements were so supple and lifelike that he could not help but think of it as a pale and sinister cobra. It reared almost to eye-level, swayed slowly from side to side, and aimed its blind pallid head at Ramon. The head quivered slightly, as though the snake was testing the air in search of its prey. Then it stretched out toward him.

Again Ramon tried desperately to break free, but Maneck wrenched him effortlessly back into position. As the cable-snake came closer, he saw that it was pulsating rhythmically, and that the two naked wires in its head were vibrating like a serpent’s flickering tongue. His flesh crawled and he felt his testicles retract. He felt his nakedness vividly now – he was unprotected, helpless, all of the soft vulnerable parts of his body exposed to the hostile air.