Byron lay across the body of his closest friend and hatch mate, Heron, as the sounds of the dangerous enemy slowly moved away down the corridor outside the damaged room they had found themselves in. Byron's four arms had begun to cramp, but his four sturdy legs held him steady as he stretched his fingers slowly to regain some circulation. He was worried.
Heron groaned and moved his head, his naturally cheery blue face turned a more grey colour as he drew very shallow ragged breaths. Byron carefully brushed aside some of Heron's limp hair fronds and pressed a finger into Heron's cheek and pulled it away quickly. The skin returned to its former position wearily.
"You don't look so good," whispered Byron sadly, "Even your skin is limp."
Heron barely responded with a low groan and slightly moved his head.
The corridor outside seemed quiet as the action moved further away. Byron tapped his communicator but all he received for his efforts was the standard "Out of Range" message. The Hunt Master had told them it would be a few hours before the orbiting ship would be back in position, but Byron kept checking hoping time had gone faster.
"Byron," Heron muttered groggily and Byron returned his attention to his wounded companion. The gash in Heron's side looked pretty nasty even after Byron had used all the medical strips and lotions contained in his HTI special "Medico-Kitt". They had told him the first aid kit was not really required, but Byron suspected this was one of many things about which the employees of Hunting Tours Incorporated had been less than forthcoming.
"They lied," said Heron.
"Yep," agreed Byron, "They lied."
The two friends were silent for a moment as they contemplated their situation. Here they were on an alien planet which they had discovered a year or so ago as respected members of the Imperial Exploration Service or IES. Life had seemed much more straight forward then. It had been a busy year once their discovery of a newly inhabited world became public and was sold off to Hunting Tours Incorporated - or HTI as they always cheerfully abbreviated their name.
Heron and Byron had been real close friends since they were hatched in the same batch. Nelson used to be close too but he had gone a little strange since the discovery. Byron hadn't seen Nelson since they returned to the IES and reported their discovery.
Around the same time Heron went all righteous and wanted to make right what was wrong and somehow they had ended up joining this hunt. Byron wasn't sure how it happened but Heron always knew what to do. He always came up with the good ideas and Byron was happy to be at his side. It had been fun.
Two hours earlier they had gathered their weapons, collected their gear, been given some inadequate instructions and were beamed down with four others into a darkened room somewhere on the planet Dirt. That was the name of the planet they had discovered. Dirt. Byron thought it was a weird name for a planet that was mostly water but the translator was adamant that the locals called their planet Dirt. They were similarly unimaginative in naming their sun and moon so the translator was probably right.
Within moments of reappearing on the planet's surface, the group had somehow split into two parties. Byron and Heron had moved down one corridor and when they turned around the rest of the party had gone down another corridor and around a corner.
"Heron, the others went that way," Byron had said, pointing down the corridor.
"Don't worry about them," Heron had said, "We're probably safer away from those glory hunters."
Byron figured Heron was right in his analysis of their hunting companions. The others had all been so eager to get down and 'Bag some Dirtlings' for their trophy collection and were much more focussed on what they planned on doing rather than examine all the equipment they had purchased and understanding how it all worked.
Considering his own equipment as he sheltered his wounded friend, Byron noted that most of what he had brought down that had started off so shiny and new and full of promise was now empty, broken, lost or discarded in the space of a few hectic hours of hunting - or more accurately - running in all directions. Remembering a comment during his briefing before they were beamed down, Byron patted Heron's pockets and found the pill canister marked 'WARNING! EMERGENCY USE ONLY!'
"Heron," he whispered, leaning closer to Heron's long ears, "Do you want to take one of these Emergency Pills?"
Heron stiffened and grabbed two of Byron's arms, "NO!"
Byron paused, confused, staring at the unusually strong grip Heron had on his arms, as Heron continued, "They are only for emergencies."
"Isn't this an emergency?" Byron asked, looking at his friend who seemed on the verge of dying.
"Not enough. I'm still breathing," answered Heron hoarsely.
Byron looked at the small canister in front on him and peered closer at the outer wrapping. Under the warning message was smaller print which he could read by squinting and moving the box towards and then away from him to get it into focus: "Only use when the patient has just died. Use on a living patient is contra-indicated and the special Nanotech Safety Pills may have unintended side effects."
"Huh," said Byron as he put the pill canister back into Heron's pocket and patted the pocket flap lightly.
"Then what CAN I do for you?" Byron asked.
"Just keep quiet and wait until the ship is in position to beam us out of here," whispered Heron.
Byron's shoulders slumped and he sighed.
"But I'm bored," whispered Byron as he squatted down next to Heron. It was dark up here in the ruined office building, with dusty beams of light sneaking in through the cracks in the boarded up outer windows. In the distance he could hear the occasional crackle of laser fire, the thump of explosions and rattle of collapsing buildings. At least the other hunters seemed to be having fun.
****
About an hour later, Byron stood up and stretched his knees and hip joints. It had been very quiet for some time and he only had the soft breathing of Heron to keep him company. Byron wandered across to the broken door to their room which was grimly hanging on by part of it's upper hinge and peeked into the corridor. He looked towards Heron who seemed to be still asleep. Byron reached out to move the door a little but stopped just before he touched it.
"What are you doing?" whispered Heron.
"Just having a look," said Byron, quickly turning and moving his hand away from the broken door. He leaned into the room and looked at Heron, "I'm bored and all the noise from the others has stopped."
"Well, don't go wandering," said Heron, "It's better we are out of it. How much longer until our rendezvous time?"
Byron looked at his wrist. The communicator had a countdown timer which showed how long it was until the ship was in position to beam them back up after their 'successful hunt'.
"Not much longer," Byron said, "About 30 minutes."
"Good," muttered Heron as he lay his head down, closed his eyes and went back to concentrating on some quiet breathing.
Byron turned away and back to the corridor. He figured it would be better to avoid the loosely hanging door and shuffled carefully past. He could see nothing either way along the corridor. He sighed, looked back towards Heron and then took a cautious step to the outer wall placing his back against the wall.
His imagination was starting to affect his actions and he was remembering all those hunter inspired action dramas he often watched. Moving his head quickly from side to side, he held his pistol in two of his hands and peered along the corridor through his almost closed eyes.
"And he looked this way and that as he checked for danger," he muttered in a grand voice-over style parody.
"He sees nothing but must check for danger through the cracks in the window," he muttered to himself as he looked through some cracks in the boards that covered the windows. He noticed some movement and saw a number of Dirtlings gathered in groups in the yard below. The Dirtlings were all wearing uniforms, carried weapons and looked as if they knew what they were doing. Byron looked down at his half empty laser pistol and shook his head. There were too many of them and Heron told him to stay very quiet. No one was looking his way so Byron stayed very still and watched what was happening through his small viewing area.
"Byron the Brave peered at the enemy, pondering his next move," he said as one of the Dirtlings pointed at the buildings on the other side from where Byron and Heron were hiding. A group of four Dirtlings jogged purposefully away with their weapons at the ready. Byron was glad they were moving away from him as they looked very dangerous. The pointing Dirtling then turned his head as if he had heard his name called, turned and walked out of Byron's vision.
"What is he doing?" Byron asked himself opening his eyes wider, then dropped back into the fake voice with partly closed eyes, "Byron needed to know what the enemy was doing to save his friend Heron. He moves along and makes a little space in the cracked boards on the window…"
Byron moved along a little way and faced the window poking his eyes into the gap in the boards. "Come on," he muttered, "A little more…"
He moved his head closer to get a better view and strained against the old wood, and finally succeeded in seeing the Dirtling standing next to an armoured vehicle and conferring with a large Dirtling dressed in a black robe and another armed Dirtling. As it was so quiet, Byron could faintly catch some whisperings of conversation so he pushed just a little bit further to hear better.
"And Byron could hear the enemy's secret plans," Byron continued in his fake voice and gave a triumphant heroic style laugh, "Ha Ha!"
With a loud "CRACK!" the board he was leaning on split into two and fell away to the hard ground below, taking with it most of the other boards that had been covering up his window. The cascade of noise shattered the silence. The Dirtlings in the yard quickly turned in his direction and saw Byron standing in full view in the newly revealed open window.
"Aarghh!" cried Byron as he leaped backwards and onto the corridor floor, just in time as a hail of bullets ripped through the space in which he had been standing moments earlier. He scurried back to the room and spoke to Heron quickly, "Heron! Heron! I think they know we're here!"
Heron groaned, "I noticed. What did you do?"
"Umm," Byron began but Heron cut him off impatiently.
"It doesn't matter. We have to move or hide. Can you pick me up?" Heron asked.
Byron leaned down and picked up Heron carefully but stopped as Heron cried out in pain.
"Don't worry," said Heron through gritted teeth, "We'll hide."
Byron looked around for somewhere to hide. All the room had to offer was an old desk and chair and some filing cabinets.
"Move the desk in front of us. Make it look as though it's meant to be there and we'll hide here," Heron instructed.
Byron quickly picked up the desk and placed it in the middle of the room and put the chair on one side then went down on his four knees above Heron.
"Now we be quiet," said Heron, "Properly this time."
Byron just nodded and pressed down a little closer as he could hear hurried footsteps outside coming his way.
****
Soon footsteps of the Dirtlings could be heard moving along the hallway, followed by the banging of a door being forced open, a flurry of activity and then a voice yelled, "CLEAR!"
This was repeated for each room in sequence and they realised their room was next to be checked. Byron pressed further down onto Heron and held his breath.
The door was shoved open, releasing it's precarious hold onto the door frame with a crash onto the floor. Heron could see a glimpse of heavy boots from underneath the desk as Byron pressed still closer on top of him, making breathing difficult.
"Sergeant," he heard a deep voice from outside call, "Let's move on."
"Padre, we should do a full check," started the Dirtling standing on the other side of the desk only feet away but was interrupted by the first voice.
"It will be fine. I have my defences. Move along and check the rest of this office block."
"Sir!" answered the Sergeant and the heavy boots moved away.
Gradually the voices and thumping moved away and Byron remembered to breathe. Realising he had been a bit too close to Heron he raised himself onto his hands.
"Thank you," said Heron, taking in a deep breath.
"No. Thank you," said a deep voice from the other side of the desk.
Byron quickly popped his head up and stared across the desk. His wide open eyes stared straight into the eyes of a large Dirtling, the one he had seen wearing the black cloak and talking to the others in the courtyard earlier. This Dirtling had a black helmet with a white cross painted on the front and around his neck was a white collar. The face seemed friendly and had some odd glass things perched on his nose. He was leaning against the door post and smiling at Byron.
"Greetings," the Dirtling said, "We mean you no harm."
****