.x.
Our traveling pace this time was almost leisurely compared to earlier. Scar's strides were slow enough that I could keep up by walking briskly, which I was grateful for because my head was spinning slightly and my balance was slightly off. I wondered if the blue healing gel affected the predators the same way it did me. My curiosity was sated when I stumbled noisily into the wall. Scar pivoted and made a very nasty noise before stalking back to where I stood. Cringing slightly before his obvious ire, I managed to stand my ground as he towered over me. He lifted one fist and rapped me hard on the top of my head. I blinked, and with a threatening growl he turned and began again to walk.
Scar apparently wasn't inebriated.
I made a concentrated effort after that to move with some semblance of stealth and found that if I stared at my feet I could manage all right. The buzz from the strange medicine wore off after a while, leaving my shoulder and leg numb and the rest of me aching horribly. When Scar came to a stop in yet another small, circular chamber, I was glad. With his back to me he worked for several minutes with the small computer device attached to his forearm. Making a satisfied grumble, he turned to me and pointed at the floor.
My confused gaze followed his finger to the corner he was indicating and then traveled back to him. Unconcerned with whether I understood him or not, he dropped into a crouch and began to remove, one by one, his motley assortment of gruesome trophies from where they hung at his belt. I crossed over to the point he'd indicated and sank down to sit cross-legged, back to the wall, with the shotgun laid across my knees. Taking a small sip from my canteen, I watched as my companion laid his prizes out in front of him, grumbling quietly to himself. There were several fingers, some long, unidentifiable bones that seemed to have been only recently divested of the skin that had covered them, many teeth tied together in a bunch, and what appeared to be the tail end of one of the alien spiderlings.
Still observing Scar, I drew out a nutrition bar, unwrapped it, and took a bite. The predator was now picking up each individual trophy, turning it this way and that, examining it closely. I paused in the midst of my chewing, suddenly realizing that his behavior reminded me of that of a teenage boy with his first car. He was taking pride in his acquisitions, admiring them for what they stood for. Several things came together in my mind as I swallowed dryly. These hunters, these predators, had come here as a rite of passage, and by killing one of the aliens and marking themselves appropriately, Sebastian had assumed, they'd attained a higher status. It was just like some of the rituals honored by ancient Native American tribes, a trial which would be the transition from child to man. Were these predators, I wondered a little incredulously, the equivalent age of a sixteen year old human teenager?
I watched as the object of my ponderings ran a finger almost lovingly down the length of a thin bone that still had strands of gore attached to it and abruptly I wasn't hungry anymore. I looked wistfully at the remainder of my protein bar. If this was what the adolescents of the predator race were like, I sure as hell didn't want to encounter the adults. I folded the protein bar back up in its wrapper before returning it to my pocket and taking out one of the syringes I had left. My body, aside from my numbed injuries, was still hurting like hell and if I could dull the pain then I would decrease the probability of me falling behind. I didn't use it immediately, though, being somewhat concerned whether or not it would react with the gel on my wounds, so I set it on the floor beside me. My gaze moved back to my companion. Scar was still fondling his grisly possessions, and I decided to take a certain risk. I leaned my head back, and closed my eyes.
I opened them again the moment Scar's rumbling stopped. He had reattached all his trophies to his belt and was looking in my direction. I held up both hands hastily to show I was awake in order to avoid having something thrown at my head, but he simply withdrew from where it rode at his back his spear. It was in its compact form but I could see that the tooth still dangled from the head. Celtic must have returned it upon their reunion, apparently having felt that I was unworthy of such a weapon. Scar padded heavily over to where I sat and crouched before me, holding out the spear. I only debated for a minute before shaking my head. He tilted his head and rumbled inquisitively.
"I have this," I said, patting the shotgun. His rumble turned into a noise I could only describe as skeptical. He withdrew the spear after a moment, and began untwining the length of wire with the tooth attached from around the haft. When it was free he tied the two ends together and dangled it in front of me. I took it and slipped it around my neck. The tooth fell to lie just below my collarbone. "Thanks," I said, fingering it. Scar's attention had fallen upon the syringe lying beside me. He picked it up carefully between his fingers before bringing it to eye level to examine. He growled curiously, turning it over and tilting it so the amber fluid ran back and forth.
"I need that," I said, reaching up and plucking it from his grasp. I was still hesitant about using it, but the pain would only get worse and when it did I feared I may be effectively crippled. Under his scrutiny I removed the cap and prepped the needle before rolling up my sleeve to expose a vein. My arm was a mass of angry welts, both from alien acidic blood and claws. I clenched my jaw together very hard so that I wouldn't make a sound when the needle broke my skin. Why is it that needles always hurt more when you have an audience? When the last of the liquid was gone, I capped the needle again and shoved it back in my pocket. Scar gripped my wrist and raised my arm, probing with his free fingers at the small bead of blood the needle had left behind. It hurt and I snatched my arm back, saying peevishly, "Piss off."
His laughter spilled forth from behind his mask as he stood and attached the spear to his back in one fluid motion. The pyramid shifted itself then, and as a new entrance was opened he beckoned for me to follow him. This was what we'd been waiting for.
Thus our trek began again. Our pace was the same as it had been before our brief pause in the small chamber, slower even, for I was able to walk abreast with Scar. The shotgun was again riding against my uninjured shoulder. I'd switched the safety on earlier so I didn't by accident shoot myself—or Scar—inadvertently. Occasionally, with a hand on my arm, Scar would pull me to a halt and do something on his computer device before beginning to walk again. So uneventful was our sojourn that when we entered a large hall only to find Celtic face to face with a large alien, I was jerked unpleasantly back into the reality of my situation.
The two combatants weren't moving. The alien's head looked strange to me. Upon further inspection I realized the odd grid pattern that encompassed it was in actuality the injury made by a net like the one Celtic had used on Max. The alien screeched, tail whipping from side to side. In response Celtic roared, wrist blades extending. I raised my shotgun, only to have Scar push it back down. He cast me a quick glance, shaking his head, and pulled me with him to stand back, outside the chamber but near enough to see inside. It was then I understood—this battle belonged to Celtic and Celtic alone. So I watched with the utmost trepidation as the two titans hurtled towards each other.
And then the deadly dance began.
.x.