Read Online Hunter's Run by George R. R. Martin - Free Book Online Page B

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