Bruce Bethke - Maverick

Of course, I suppose it could be worse. Though at the moment it ’ s hard to imagine how.

Between getting the wind knocked out of him and giving his sore leg a bad twist, he’d managed to take himself out of the fight for a few minutes. By the time he’d crawled out of the stingworts and gotten back up on all four legs, the battle was over. Old LifeCrier was up on a rock giving a victory benediction (though Maverick had to admit that the old kin did look a bit pale and shaky), the younglings were doing an extremely sloppy job of skinning and dressing the downed carcasses, and WhiteTail was busy braiding a bunch of those silly little amulets, like the one LifeCrier wore, and handing them out to the kin who’d managed to stay in the thick of the fight.

His gaze locked on WhiteTail again, and he allowed himself a wry smile. Okay, Mavvy old boy, so much for coming into PackHome like a conquering hero. Guess it ’ s time to try Plan B: Fall in love with the leader ’ s daughter. He groomed his fur a little bit, straightened up his shoulders, and started rehearsing his opening line. Then he gave WhiteTail one last appraising look, and grimaced. All the same, her legs are spindly. Oh, the things I do for my meals. Pasting a cheerful smile on his face, he started his tail going in a slow, friendly wag and sauntered over.

The rest of the younglings had wandered off, dragging the detachable parts of the last WalkingStone with them. WhiteTail was squatting beside the now headless torso, carefully stripping out the thin, tough veins that were threaded throughout its chest cavity. She seemed to be picking them out on the basis of color; the impression was reinforced when she measured out three equal lengths of yellow, green, and black vein and quickly braided them into a necklace.

With deliberate casualness, Maverick sat down and watched her work, an interested expression on his face. When she failed to notice him after a minute or so, he discreetly cleared his throat and wagged his tail a bit more vigorously.

She looked up; their eyes met for an instant. No sparks flew. She went back to her work.

So much for love at first sniff. Mavvy old boy, you ’ re going to have to talk to her. After a few moments of silence, he cleared his throat again and spoke up. “Praise SilverSides. ”

“Praise SilverSides,” she answered, without looking up or slowing her work.

Okay, Mavvy, let ’ s turn on the charm. “Say, WhiteTail, can you believe that fight? We took four WalkingStones down and didn’t even get singed. I tell you, SilverSides must be watching over us for sure. ”

WhiteTail paused in her work long enough to fix Maverick with a strange look. “Do I know you?”

The question caught Maverick by surprise. “Well, no. I mean, er-”

WhiteTail’s ears went up, and she leaned in closer to sniff at Maverick. “Still, there’s something familiar about you. ” She sniffed again, and then her eyes narrowed just a hair. “Oh, I remember now. You were in the front row at the meeting, weren’t you?”

Okay, lad, there ’ s your opening! Maverick leaned back a bit, puffed his chest slightly, and gave her an easy smile. “As a matter of fact, I was. Fascinating sermon, simply fascinating. Your father is-”

“You were the one who kept jumping in early on the cheering, weren’t you?”

Oops. Maverick’s ears went flat. “Er, actually-”

WhiteTail set her knife aside, sat up alertly, and looked closely at Maverick. “Yes, I remember now. Did you know that I was watching you almost the entire time?”

Maverick’s ears popped up straight. “You were?”

WhiteTail turned back to the carcass, but not before shooting one last look of disgust at Maverick. “Did you really think that you were the first one to try to improve your status by loudly faking belief!”

“Fake? Look here, girl, I-” The argument died in his throat.

Face it, Mavvy old boy, she ’ s a very clever one, and she ’ s got you by the ears. You may as well try the truth. Maverick plopped down on his belly, crossed his forepaws, and laid his chin on his paws. “Okay, I admit it. Every pack I’ve ever met has their own kind of strangeness, and I thought this SilverSides business was just one more weird local custom. I’ve been on my own for over a year, and I’m getting really tired of being an outcast. Can you blame me for trying too hard to fit in?”

WhiteTail set her knife aside again and favored Maverick with a less enigmatic smile. “You get two points for honesty, stranger. Most fakers just protest louder when they’re caught. You’re the first one I’ve met who’s shown even a vestige of integrity.

“In return for that, I’ll give you a little confession of my own. I don’t believe, either. ” WhiteTail’s eyes narrowed, and she watched him closely, studying his reaction.

Well, Mavvy, this honest bit seems to be getting us somewhere. Let ’ s go with it. Maverick sat up, cocked his head sideways, raised one ear, and gave WhiteTail a bewildered look. “You don’t? But at the meeting you said-1 mean… ”

WhiteTail’s expression hardened. “Understand one thing, stranger. LifeCrier isn’t just the leader of PackHome, he’s my father, and I’ll do whatever it takes to protect him. That includes tricking him into leading a hunt when the pack is hungry. ” With a swiftness that surprised Maverick, WhiteTail suddenly snatched up her stone knife and set its point against his breastbone. “Or cutting your heart out and feeding it to the sharpfangs if you try your pious-believer act on him. Do I make myself clear?”

Gingerly, Maverick pushed the point aside. “Absolutely. ”

“Good. ” She dropped her guard and turned her attention back to the carcass. “Now either get lost or make yourself useful. Do you know anything about WalkingStone anatomy?”

Maverick followed her gaze down into the jumbled pale blue mess that was the inside of the WalkingStone’s chest cavity. Judging by color, there were at least six different kinds of veins, but the cavity was strangely bloodless and there was nothing that he could clearly identify as a heart. For that matter, he wasn’t even sure that he could tell the difference between organ and muscle. A lot of the cavity was filled with the oily blue gravel he’d been picking out of his teeth since the fight.

“No,” he finally admitted.

“Good. Here’s your chance to learn. Help me roll this thing over, will you?” With a grunt of exertion, WhiteTail started pushing at the corpse. Maverick helped her. Despite being legless and headless, the corpse was surprisingly heavy, but together they managed to get it flipped.

“Now, stranger-” She looked up sharply. “Say, what is your name, anyway?”

He hesitated a moment. Well, boy, just how far do we want to push this honesty business? “Maverick,” he said at last.

“Maverick? That’s an outcast name. Don’t you have a pack name?”

He looked away, and his tail started twitching in tight, nervous jerks. “Not any more. ”

WhiteTail gave him another appraising look and then shrugged. “Pay attention; I don’t like to repeat myself. ” She picked up her knife and turned to the corpse.

“Now,” WhiteTail began in a cool, formal voice, “the problem with hunting for WalkingStones is that there doesn’t seem to be anything inside them that we can eat. ” She dug her knife in between where the shoulder blades should have been-if the thing had had bones-and opened the carcass down the back. By this time it was no longer surprising to find that the WalkingStone had no spine.