Hunter

[Aardvark]

We were all hunters, really. But he was Hunter. His name by birth, his name by profession. Hunter. We didn't know anything about him, save that he was one of the best. On this planet, where only the best survive, those who are referred to as "The Best" are truly phenomenal people. But after working with him just the once, it could safely be said that Hunter was indeed the best.

 

900 years of recorded history show that throughout mankind's time on this planet, he has faced one hardship after another. The Bishops preach that we came from the stars and are stranded until we can reach out and touch our otherworld brethren, but nobody really believes that. Most people have more important things to deal with. Survival being the prime one.

 

Out beyond the limits, in the wilds, lived the creatures of nightmares. With almost constant cloudcover, the planet was bathed in shadows. Through technology, we'd adapted, but we barely survived. Out there, creatures thrived. Even after centuries, most of them were not fully understood. Which is where hunters came in.

 

As the transport sped over the rocky terrain, we shared smalltalk about the mission, the objective and life in general. All except Hunter. He spent his time checking his array of weapons, polishing two large daggers or adjusting his left arm, a biomechanical replacement commonly seen in our line of work. Unlike the crude replacements normally seen, his was finely crafted to almost resemble a normal limb. None talked about him, but we knew we'd need him on this one. For the target was big.

 

Simply called Dragons, these impossibly large reptile-like creatures inhabited the distant mountains, a volcanic area, where intense air pressure, weather extremes and thermal updraughts allowed these awesome creatures to take wing and fly across the vast ranges. Their numbers were estimated to be small, but they were vicious, aggressive and, it was believed, highly intelligent. But outside the range, they were incapable of flight. Although aerodynamic, their bulk prevented it. How they'd evolved was one more mystery we would help solve. For we were after the biggest. The boldest. One reputed to have a hatred of humans so intense that it would leave it's mountainous home to attack remote resource expeditions. Even with their incredible regenerative abilities, this one still retained scars that would set it apart from all others.

 

Every time we mentioned it in conversation, Hunter seemed to wince and cradle his fake arm. We didn't mention it too often after we noticed this.

 

The Ascent was the name given to the easiest path into the Range for vehicles. Spiked treads on the transport gave it grip on the treacherous terrain, but the seismic activity in this area could cause a rift to open at any time. Expeditions had been lost in the past due to a random upheaval of the crust.

 

The radar was still silent. All biomonitors showed nothing. Things looked quiet. Which was what we wanted. Unlike the Dragons of legend told by the Bishops, these Dragons didn't sleep on piles of gold. They were constantly on the move, constantly cycling the burning, noxious air of their homes through their bodies, subsisting on the massive amounts of nitrous oxides and hydrocarbons released from the crust or brought down from the clouds. This was another reason they never left the Range. The only way to catch one of these beasts was to trap it. Normal hunters wouldn't know the first thing about trapping a Dragon. Which was why we needed Hunter

 

His exploits were talked about as if he was a myth himself. Rarely seen, he spent almost all his time away from other humans, out in the Range. Learning about his prey. Studying their patterns. Plotting and scheming against each and every one. We'd caught him by chance as he returned from one of these long, self-imposed exiles. He'd approached us, which surprised us. We'd been chosen by the legendary Hunter. The job? To hunt a Dragon. The reward? Fame, glory and the Dragon's carcass. How long?

 

"Three years, so far." was his answer to that one.

 

We set up camp on an outcrop, below a plateau Hunter said was a common deposit site for the Dragon he wanted. A nice way of saying we were going to catch him defecating. But Dragon feces were little more than fine mists of a harmless powder, the excess unabsorbed carbon, most other waste products being gaseous in nature.

 

The plan was a simple one. All we had to do was anger the Dragon. Lure him down. Their hides were reputedly thick enough to weather the most powerful of man's artillery. Today, we would learn how to bring one down. Our weapons were all compressed air-propelled projectile weapons. Low power concussion rifles, designed to make little noise. Sound echoing through the valleys and corridors o The Range always brought undue attention. The projectiles did send a shockwave through the body of the Dragon, causing pain. In theory, enough could kill one. In practice, theories fell apart like claw-sliced bodies.

 

We waited for three days, sleeping in shifts, firing off sonic flares every hour. High in the maelstrom encasing this planet, these devices would attract only the keenest of ears nearby, anyone out too far would be unable to pinpoint the source of the noise. Normally, these were used to distract Dragons, who usually had short attention spans when it came to harmless things they can't digest. But those few who knew the sound of a flare seemed to hate it to the point of blind rage.

 

The flares we used had quadruple the payload of a standard sonic flare.

 

After three days, the radar showed something closing in. Something big. Before the ancient machine had alerted us, we all felt sure today was the day. The wind was blowing back the way we came, out of the mountains. Dragons flew with the wind, tasting their way around the Range. When the Biometer sounded, we knew He was here. Signature was a match. Hunter seemed to know this all along, though. He just grinned and cocked his rifle, waiting for it to come into view.

 

Dropping down from the clouds with an almighty roar, the beast was upon us. It had smelled the trap. Then the radar... there was no time to think. We all scrambled for better cover as the creature slammed into the ground, it's flexible body allowing it to bounce back into the air, with the glow of tracer fire following it's ascent. Distortion rockets were fired at the beast, their aim to confuse by seemingly altering the air currents, but they were ignored. This trick had been tried before, it seemed.

 

A second time it fell toward us, this time crushing one of the Rocketers. As it rose, a grapnel graced across it's wing and hooked in a bony joint. The creature seemed not to notice, until it pulled Hunter from the ground. As it twisted and jolted, trying to dislodge the foreign object and stay aloft simultaneously, Hunter climbed the rope in moments, his augmented strength aiding his natural dexterity here. Instructions from here were simple. No more rockets, but keep up the fire. He had a personal shield that would easily protect him from our arsenal.

 

Hanging from the creature's wing, Hunter drew one of his daggers, plunging it deep into the side of the beast. The creature ignored it, still working to dislodge the grapnel, which had fallen from the joint, only to dig into the fleshy membrane of the wing. Hanging from the dagger, Hunter plunged the second one in a little higher, then withdrew the first and stabbing once more beyond the other, using this method to traverse the underside of the monster. We could only guess at what was keeping his weapons from dislodging from the belly of that beast.

 

The occasional flash of gold showed that the occasional round was still hitting his body, but our fire must have been countering for his knives, as the creature still hadn't noticed him. Until he reached it's throat. The shriek of the beast almost deafened us. It dove toward the ground. Hunter barely had time to reach it's back before it slammed into the plateau, kicking up a black cloud of carbon waste. As it rose into the air once more, we could see Hunter hanging on, inching his way up the beast's neck. We would've cheered at this, but had all been warned against such noises.

 

The creature was in panic now. Hunter was at it's head. Hugging close to the creature behind what looked like ears, Hunter could survive the creature sliding upside down on the ground. The creature knew this. But tried it anyway. Hunter survived, another member of our party was not so fortunate, struck by the Dragon's wing and tossed off the side of the plateau. His vitals died a second later. We wouldn't be retrieving his corpse, merely adding a marker at his final resting place and incinerating his corpse.

 

In the air once more, the Dragon tried a different tactic. Out of range of our weapons, it took an updraught up the side of a mountain to gain height. The toxins at that level could be higher than the tolerance levels of Hunter's filtermask.

 

Skimming close to the ground, riding the draught, the creature froze. It's wings went limp and it hit the ground, sliding up the mountain. Through monoculars, we could just make out Hunter pulling a dagger from the back of the creature's skull. In silence, we de-camped and took the transport over to the carcass. Hunter was sitting patiently next to the thing, polishing his two daggers. Every now and then, he squeezed the grips, causing anchor spikes to flick outward. His gaze was locked on the direction the Radar had reported seeing this creature. The primitive device couldn't penetrate the cloudcover, which this one had used to sneak up on us. The conclusions we'd all guessed upon was a second dragon out beyond the range of the bioscanner.

 

Hunter declined the offer to return with us, instead choosing to take a one man Quad we'd brought with us to venture deeper into the Range. He also declined our offers to stay with him, stating that he was after new prey. He wouldn't need us for another three years. Maybe more.

 

None of us ever saw Hunter again. But over the years, more Dragon corpses were brought in. Research showed several ways these beasts could be harvested, as they stored valuable minerals in their bones, along with several new methods of bringing them down. But all of these seemed to involve concussion rounds to weak points on the creatures. A fine idea, in theory

 

--

 

Fourteen years later, a marker beacon was activated deep in the Range. It was activated anonymously, which puzzled many. Some had gone in search of it, but none of those ever returned, as it was beyond the limits of human exploration. When curiosity got the best of us, we decided to take out a mobile scanning unit. In our hearts, we all knew who it belonged to, but it wasn't until the unit finally read the signature on the marker that we knew for sure it belonged to Hunter.

 

At that point, we decided as one, it was time to return to The Range.