Koban: The Mark of Koban (75 page)

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Thad watched Carson check his weapons, confirming they slid
easily in and out of their lubricated holsters, and that he had them properly
tied to his lower thighs. Thad walked over to offer him something, whispering
in his ear. Carson briefly looked surprised, then smiled and palmed the small
object.

Dillon was in conversation with Mirikami, and now came over
to speak to his boy. “Son, I know you’ve seen the tapes of Krall training
exercises where they stiffen and extend their left hands in a sort of salute.
Don’t be fooled if he draws his right gun at the same time. What he should do
is lower his left arm and enter a crouch and make his move.”

“Dad, I’ve watched those old recordings many times, and we
TGs all noticed that most Krall are very slightly faster with their left hands.
Just as people are predominately right handed, the Krall must once have been
predominately left handed.”

“You really saw a speed difference? I never noticed.”

Carson smiled. “That’s why we chose Koban nervous systems
for TGs, remember?”

“Don’t be cocky, wise guy. Of course, I remember. I helped
isolate the genes.

“Then trust in your work. I do. We all do.”

“OK. Uncle Mirikami says he loves you, and that you don’t
need luck, you have speed, and to remember that tuck and roll move he asked you
to learn.”

“I will, and I love him too. I wish I could have talked to
Mom, but without the satellites, we’d have to use atmospheric bounce, which
would show them where we sent our signal. Dad, I’d better start my walk. Like
Uncle Thad said, they are highly unlikely to take a pot shot at me as I cross.”

There were multiple guns covering him from behind, and the
Krall in front, so he was feeling a bit exposed. He leaned down momentarily to
draw out his eighteen-inch hunting knife from his calf sheath. He slipped
something out of his pocket, put it back, and smoothly sheathed his knife
without breaking stride.

When he reached the Clanship, he remained in clear sight of
both sides, but stayed close to the cover of a landing jack in the event he saw
signs of treachery on the part of the Krall. He was actually relieved when he
saw a warrior walking from around the nose of the shuttle. He could also see
the K’Tal pilot in the cockpit, watching him. He was excited, but not anxious.
This was life or death, but he didn’t feel like a lifetime of preparation was
coming to a head.

He observed the details of the Krall walking towards him. It
was the first one he’d seen in the flesh of course, and its massive body build
looked obviously powerful. Its smooth gait on bowed legs was as incongruous as
it had always looked on Tri-Vid holo tapes. He noted that his left arm swing as
it walked never strayed too far from the left holster, but the right had moved
at least an inch farther each way. By preference, this warrior was a lefty.

He saw two knives, one at its left hip, at least twenty
inches long and probably double edged from its width. A nine-inch slim blade
was in a sheath on the chest belt, below the third pistol and left pull holster
(another left-handed clue). He noted neither holster had tie downs. Because the
Krall had such long arms, the hands naturally were well lower than the hip
level pistols. Unless it raised its hands, it would need more time to pull its
weapons. It had never optimized its draw, probably because that wasn’t required
against the humans it had fought. This would translate into multiple
thousandths of a second more before it could grasp the pistol butts to clear
the holsters. He was analytically watching every detail. The hundred-foot walk
gave him a great deal of time to study his opponent.

It was slight, but there was a minor lean in its gait. That
suggested it was favoring its right leg by placing less weight there. Because
it wore the standard black uniform with limbs exposed, he noted that the
experienced warrior had pronounced ruddy skin coloration everywhere but the
right leg, which was grayer from mid-thigh down. It had a tattoo that was over
two thirds full of status dots, and reflected many kills. The extensive combat
experience and gray right leg told Carson that it was a regenerated limb. The
right leg was possibly not as strong or flexible as the left leg. A digit on
the right hand was also a lighter color. These combined flags suggested the
right side was the weaker side for this warrior. He wasn’t consciously planning
how he might take advantage, but any information could become useful.

It stepped under the Clanship, and stayed close to one of
the landing jacks. Mutual distrust was to be expected. Carson was loose and
watching the Krall, expecting the stiffening and salute, but prepared if he
took a shortcut. It didn’t appear to the boy that it was particularly tense,
and likely had confronted quite a number of armed humans, aside from the
helpless civilians it no doubt had slaughtered. He decided to see if it knew
Standard, and wanted to talk.

“My name is Carson. Who do I have the pleasure of killing
today?”

“Stilkap will kill here human. I will kill more after you.”

“Did you kill the woman that came out to speak to you?”

“I remove a part with my knife, but it lives. It was weak
and went to sleep for now. ”

“I don’t like her, but I will remove some parts from you if
I don’t have to kill you first.”

“You are a human that speak like brave warrior. Most beg for
life, or try shoot me fast. I will shoot pieces from you.”

“Your Standard is not too bad. Let me say some words in low
Krall I have practiced, and you say how badly I speak.”

“Say your words.”

“
For a big warrior you have a small brain. Do you like
the taste of rhinolo turds? If you ever mated, did the other hatchlings eat all
of your cubs?”
Those were all of the insults he had practiced with Ethan,
and the last was by far the most offensive for a warrior.

Rather than answer him, a pissed off Stilkap straightened
his legs, which Carson mimicked by standing straighter, and he raised his own
left arm as the warrior’s left hand talons briefly extended. Then, exactly as
Carson anticipated, the Krall was letting its arm appear to drop naturally
while it really was drawing in closer to its body and lowering at an increasing
rate. It was about to draw on him.

His right hand had never strayed from a position in front of
his pistol. His hand whipped back and rocked the pistol out of the holster just
as the Krall saw his movement and increased its own hand speed. When the weapon
tip cleared the holster, Carson’s barrel was leveled at his opponent from hip
height, who was just now contacting his own gun butt, with the obvious
intention of lifting it vertically out of the holster to fire. That was a less
efficient and slower process.

In that split second, Carson decided not to go for a kill
shot now, and chose to prolong the duel for the added distraction it would
provide. He shifted his aim and fired.

Stilkap realized he was beaten to the draw by the smaller
human. It had moved faster than he’d ever seen any Krall move, let alone a
human. However, it had made a serious mistake by not taking aim at his head for
the instant kill. Stilkap could take killing shots to the body and still take
this human with him.

The recognition that it was not a body shot startled him, as
the bullet missed him completely, and shattered his pistol, stinging his left
hand that had just grasped the butt. His instant response was to draw his right
pistol as he moved his left hand simultaneously for the cross-chest pistol
draw. The human’s poor aim would cost him his life now, for dead certain.

Except, the human’s left gun was also now clear of its
holster. While Stilkap had focused on the expected kill shot from his right
hand weapon, the human had nearly simultaneously drawn his left gun. A second shot,
which Stilkap couldn’t possibly consider a lucky happenstance this time,
shattered his right pistol before he even touched the gun butt. His left hand
was just reaching the butt of the chest belt’s holster when the human’s right
gun fired again, aimed at his center of mass, but not straight into his chest. The
human had held the gun down low, pointed upward at an awkward wrist angle, and yet
still hit his third pistol. It was a stunning hammer blow on his chest. Had the
slug hit the more fragile body of the pistol, it would have shattered the gun
and passed into his chest, between the two hearts. That would be painful debilitating
wound and slow him, causing damage to one or more lung lobes, but it would not
be a fatal hit. However, the slug struck the lightweight, tough, single giant
molecule of the gun butt material at a glancing angle, and deflected up and off
to his own right. The slug smashed the clip inside the pistol butt and the
trigger mechanism, rendering the third gun unusable.

That was when he realized that the human was no longer
seventy-five feet away, and was almost on him, running extremely fast and closing
the gap quickly. In an instant, Stilkap knew that he’d never had a real chance
to kill him by drawing his pistol. This human was too fast for him, and too
accurate. He needed to enter this fight with his weapons drawn, and trade
shots. He could have let his Krall physique absorb damage that the human could
not survive. Trading wounds could still be a winning strategy for a Krall, but it
wasn’t one Stilkap would live to employ.

This human could put bullets into his brain at will. He
obviously wanted to be up close and personal when he did that. Something the
warrior in him could appreciate, having done that more times than he could
count to other opponents. He hated this human with more passion than he knew he
was capable of experiencing. Stilkap had obviously never lost a fight, or else
he would already be dead. This opponent made the gunfight look too easy, it was
humiliating. At least he was dying at the hands of a worthy enemy, and not from
some random lucky shot on a battlefield, or a damned human artillery shell.
Like the one that took his right leg and finger as it shredded his armor, over
a year ago on Poldark.

Stilkap considered all of this in less than a second, and
despite knowing he was beaten, was incapable of surrendering to his fate. He
reached for both his knives at the same time, hoping he might be able to
inflict a wound on his opponent if he foolishly came too close. The smart thing
would have been for the human to kill him from a safe distance, but this
incredibly fast animal did not appear to choose safe easy ways, when he selectively
demolished three guns rather than kill his enemy.

It was impossible for Stilkap to avoid widening his eyes
with hope, when the insane human did the least likely thing he expected. He looked
past the warrior, then in a flash holstered both weapons, and reached for a
knife strapped to his right leg. A blade was the most favored weapon for close
quarters fighting for any Krall, and Stilkap was a master of this bloody and
pleasurable killing method, where he could see his enemy’s fear, panic, and
agony in intimate detail.

This would be the last brazen mistake made by this human
vermin. Bullets were equalizers in some sense, because a weak enemy could score
a lucky kill shot from a safe distance. A knife demanded placing yourself close
to and at risk from your opponent. The human was incredibly fast, and Stilkap
anticipated receiving wounds, but those he inflicted in return would soon disable
his foe. He had dismantled too many humans in boredom and idle moments to forget
which cuts severed tendons, or opened rapid bleed-out points their puny biology
could not close down. He’d have this meat animal crawling on its gutted stomach,
unable to use its arms and legs to flee from his killer. This would be a better
ending than he had even hoped for when he first came out to pulp his challenger
with explosive rounds.

Pulling both knives, Stilkap’s roar of satisfaction was
clear to his clan mates, who knew of his unusual skill with a knife. They had
watched in disbelief the methodical destruction of his three guns. A feat they
had never seen another Krall accomplish, at any speed, and done by a human!
That phase of the fight was over, abandoned by the human that could have won.

That initial success clearly had led it to foolish overconfidence.
Despite the hand speed displayed, no human would be able to match the power of
an experienced warrior’s knife thrusts and slashes. The initial wounds
inflicted would gradually slow and tire the smaller weaker human, and the
mastery of a Krall in the heat of glorious combat would lead to its utter
domination. At this form of combat, no Krall in memory had lost to any but
another Krall.

Carson knew his father and Uncle Thad would be tearing their
hair out right now, because he had not taken a kill shot when he had the
opportunity. However, from his vantage point, his glances at the other warriors
revealed what his people couldn’t see. Not all of the four warriors behind the
shuttle were as focused on this challenge match as those under the dome were.
Krall confidence in each other’s ability, compared to a human, was so high that
this did not qualify as high drama. One black suited warrior was watching the
area around the shuttle as much as he was what was about to transpire. Another blue
suited warrior, presumably the leader, was sometimes watching the gathered
trucks under the dome overhang, probably watching for a sniper, sometimes
glancing his way, and taking frequent quick looks at the low ground cover
behind the shuttle.

A more dramatic and gripping fight to the death was needed
to truly enthrall all of them. He hoped he could pull it off, but if not, the
distraction still should draw all eyes to him. If the knife fight lasted long
enough, his secret weapon might draw bulging eyed disbelief from his watchers.

Carson made sure to keep his feet close to the ground as he
sped towards the Krall, he didn’t want to be caught in midair by some feint or
thrust he’d find difficult or impossible to avoid. The Krall had a longer heavy
knife much like his own, double edged with a hand guard, perhaps two inches
longer than his own blade. The smaller blade looked more delicate, like a filet
or skinning knife, thin shafted with no appreciable hand guard, a knife carried
for torture or pleasure, depending which end you were on when used.