Perhaps, she claimed, he'd in fact been a valiant warrior in some anti-litter campaign and had been taken captive by the s...o...b..sh enemy, his brain hastily and poorly scrubbed of memory. Ident.i.ty he'd never felt in short supply of; memory was an entirely different affair.

Not that Attila was ever in short supply of things to do. While Machiko was doing her forty-hours-plus of bureaucratic nonsense per week for the corp, he would read, paint, master musical instruments, and compose music, becoming a well-rounded-indeed, a renaissance-robot. However, when Machiko was around, his focus of attention was entirely upon her, as if he were some sort of faithful Labrador retriever. At first ever-single and self-sufficient Machiko found this annoying. However, she rapidly got used to it and now actually enjoyed it. Attila was along on this trip as much for company as anything else. She enjoyed the surprising aspects of her personality that she displayed around him. It was like discovering a new Machiko inside her, a funny and clever Machiko, though more vulnerable, more hurt than she'd ever admit to anyone else.

"Maybe that's what I'm afraid of," said Attila.

"Okay, okay. This kind of mopey att.i.tude is not the sort of thing I'm in the mood for. Maybe I should just take the dry sleep that Evanston offered."

Attila shook his head adamantly. "Not and stay in any kind of trim or tone."

"Ha ha! There's the drill instructor I know-that's why I need you. Had I gone alone, chum, you can bet I'd be snoozing in one of those chambers right now, with a nice little sleep aid for company"

Attila seemed to take that well.

They continued walking along the hallway, chatting lightly as was their wont. The corridors of the s.h.i.+p had nothing of the metal-and-gla.s.s sterility usually a.s.sociated with Long Drag boats. In fact, they were more like an odd penthouse, what with the colorful and tasteful wall patterns and artwork, along with the occasional piece of antique furniture. Livermore Evanston tended to prefer rococo, baroque, and Victorian decorations, and the princ.i.p.al rooms had a strangely cluttered look for a stars.h.i.+p. But, then, it was all very homey, especially the fireplace in the dining hall, and it was the private s.p.a.ce yacht of a rich man. Machiko thought it fascinating.

Attila's mouth made a slight tic, a sure sign he was consulting his internal chronometer. "All right, that's fine for the exercise."

"Anything special you'd like next?" said Machiko.

"Yes, as a matter of fact . . ."

"Be my guest. Your choice."

"Actually, if you don't care to accompany me, you need not," said Attila.

"You're too kind. No, actually, I'm enjoying seeing what you get up to when I'm not around. Go ahead shoot. What did you have in mind?" said Machiko.

"Hmm. Well, maybe we should go over some exercises . . . can't be too careful about preparation."

"Nonsense. I'm up to here with exercises, anyway. Let's have fun. Your kind of fun."

Attila brightened considerably. "Yesterday I did have a peek into the library and thought it most interesting."

"Oh."

Attila nodded his head emphatically. "Not boring old microfiche or computer screens. Real volumes. Some with leather binding and marvelous ill.u.s.trations.

Exquisite."

"So you'd like to pore over some antiquities."

"I'm sure you'd be bored." "Not at all. Let's go."

Attila looked positively ecstatic. "I'm sure there are rewards. I thought I saw a volume of haiku that would interest you. You are aware of the poetry of your ancestors."

"Oh, yes. I think I wrote one or two in my romantic youth. Certainly, TH.

That all sounds quite grand."

The library was on the second level. They took the antigrav pneumatic tube box to get there, one of the few items on board the craft with streamlined modern design. The first thing that Evanston had done was to give them a tour of the boat, including a brief glance at the library and art room. He'd given them access to these throughout the trip; at their destination Machiko placed her palm on a light strip. It read her DNA pattern. A door whisked open, revealing a room full of shelved books. The place had a wonderful, comfortable old booky smell.

Attila immediately gravitated to the poetry section, poring over a vellum volume with great awe and reverence.

Machiko discovered a whole section devoted to cla.s.sic comic books. Now, that interested her. She was looking over a collection of ancient Superman stories when Attila looked up suddenly from his reading and said, "Machiko."

Softly.

"Yes."

"Shhhh. We're alone, right?"

"I didn't see anyone in the corridor, and unless they've got visibility dampers on, there's no one in here."

"Good. I believe that this library has an annex."

"No, it doesn't. Evanston showed us just one room."

"I'll bet he has more books. I bet the truly interesting ones are in the annex."

Machiko got a little annoyed. "What anex?"

"Shhh. I detect no observation equipment in this room, but I've noticed that voices do tend to carry through the corridors in this environment." He got up and walked over to a shelf of books. "My sensors picked up a control box here, behind these books." He carefully took the books down and placed them on a table. Sure enough, there was some kind of electronic switch on the wall-nothing like on the outside, either.

"Hmm. Curious. Purely mechanical. No identification required."

"I really don't think you should fool with that." Normally, Machiko would be just as curious as Attila. However, she didn't want to go ruining a good thing by getting caught snooping around where she didn't belong.

"Come on. If it was all that important, it would have an ident.i.ty access seal. My spatial and a.n.a.lytical sensors detect a room next door, along with more paper and leather." His eyes seemed to glow with enthusiasm. "That must have some true antiquarian prizes."

He began to touch the controls. Machiko got up. She could order him to stop, she supposed, but somehow it didn't seem worth it. Attila seemed interested and intent, and it was good to see him so fascinated with something.

Besides, she was getting a little curious herself.

Suddenly a complete panel of the library shelving opened, revealing a door.

Attila looked totally delighted. "Just like in the movies. A secret room."

He turned another switch, and a soft yellow lambency spread through the new room.

Machiko stepped forward to have a look.

Sure enough, there were books lined on more shelves.

Attila stepped forward, examining spines.

Machiko had noticed something else besides books.

"Fascinating," said Attila. "How very curious . . . our benefactor seems to be a war buff. He's got extensive biographies of generals from Julius Caesar through Napoleon, Rommel, and even Lickenshaun from just a few decades ago.

He's got all the books of John Keegan from Face of Battle to A History of Warfare. He's got all of von Clausewitz's writings. Of course, the Art of War.

Many first editions. My goodness, he's even got things by Maenchen-Helfen, the most meticulous collator of Hunnish data concerning my namesake. Perhaps he's some sort of war-gamer. He's got that sedentary look about him."

Machiko walked to the other end of the small room. There was a gla.s.s case there, like those used in museums. Set inside the case were several items.

A glove.

A broken javelin.

Half a b.l.o.o.d.y mask.

And a knife.

"An interesting collection," said Attila. "And extensive. If he just wanted the data, it would all be stored in-"

"Til," said Machiko in a sharp, hushed tone.

"My goodness. A first edition of-"

"Til!"

"Coming, coming."

The android moved to her side. She pointed down at the display. He blinked at her. So.

"Til. The pack I was telling you about?"

"Yes. The yautja. The Predators."

"This glove . . . these weapons . . . theirs."

"What. The pack's?" "Not necessarily. I mean, these are part of their general war culture."

"I thought their whole culture was war."

"War. Hunting-all to gain honor, prove themselves.

"Yes. I've heard all your stories." He looked down through the gla.s.s case again, clearly mulling over this new turn of events.

"You know what this means, don't you?"

"There are a number of possibilities. The one I favor is that you're being taken for a ride. I knew that Livermore Evanston was no good the moment I met him."

"These only mean that Evanston's got some relics of the yautja. Nothing more. Although it could mean that he knows something about them . . . ."

"Care to list the possible speculations?"

"One step at a time . . . right now . . ."

There was a sound of voices. Distant voices, fortunately.

Machiko and Attila looked at one another for a split second and then immediately hopped back out of the room. With remarkable speed and agility Attila punched the necessary b.u.t.tons and closed the door behind them.

They rea.s.sumed their places in their chairs, perusing books. A crew member walked past, gazed in for a moment, nodded good day, and then left.

"Shall we go back in and take another look?" Attila asked after the footsteps had echoed away.

"Maybe later. We've got a few more days' pa.s.sage." Machiko nodded thoughtfully. "I need to think about this."

They went back to their respective reading.

Chapter 7.

The hunt was on!

Abner Brookings, Esquire, lawyer to the bright and the powerful, and gun-fancier extraordinaire, strode through the yanga trees, a beautiful antique rifle cradled in his arms like a well-oiled baby. The sun of this world, a purplish, splotchy affair, was just topping a magnificent frieze of mountains in the distance, and the colors the rays made through the swirling mists against the leaves and vines and flowers and trees were spectacular.

Brookings took a deep breath, tasting the sweet and sour life of this world, and again he felt the charge that the hunt always brought: Total Hereness.

How often, in the docket of some musty judge's quarters, or even in rich corporate boardrooms, did his mind wander. Thereness, he called the state, and he decided that human beings lived most of their lives in that quarter-conscious state.

Some people woke themselves up through Zen meditation. For some, music rang their chimes. Others-well, the list was endless, from grav-skiing to poga-licking.

For Abner Brookings, though, it was the hunt.

For him it was the Prospect as well as the Act of killing something.

Today, though, the sensation was particularly acute, for the something was the sort of beastie who could just as likely turn around and kill him.

"Watcha think, Ab?" said the woman walking abreast of him. "Pretty good day. Think we're going to bag that zangoid?" Petra Piezki grinned and s.h.i.+fted her hold on her large and heavy twelve-gauge shotgun. She was short and stocky with big shoulders, and she liked heavy artillery. Piezki was a lawyer in the same firm as Brookings, a little younger, and not quite the snappy dresser that the dapper A.B. was. In fact, she looked a little like Jungle Jill in her silly khakis. She was dark and gruffly friendly in her Russki sort of way, and a good gal to have a vodka martini with after nailing poor suckers in legal coffins. They'd gone hunting before, but never on this kind of extravagant planet, never for this kind of big game. Brookings could see his own excitement mirrored in the flushed cheeks and the stance of his partner.

"I think we'd better bag that zangoid, or we're going to have to buy drinks for the whole bar tonight."

Petra grinned. "We did boast last night, didn't we?"

"Like the drunk legal eagles we are."

"Well, it's not as though we haven't had any experience in this kind of sport."

"Ducks and squirrels, some deer, one mountain lion."

Petra looked taken aback. "Not! They were alien, fearsome creatures!"