Harrick sat alone at a booth in the up market eating area on the HTI shuttle. He had sent his teams home. They had done well and they all needed recovery time. These VIP hunts were very “challenging” as he referred to them in his reports.

  The specialist crews had all left so the assistant Nelson was in charge of catering and almost everything else. Harrick took a bite of the “Mystery Slice” as Nelson had described it and found it was actually pretty good. He was impressed with the assistant’s versatility.

  Harrick had been down on four more VIP hunts over the last month. He and his scouts learned from the first two hunts and ensured the areas for the hunt were suitably protected. They kept to remote areas populated more by general wildlife than the abundant Dirtlings that featured in the never ending data transmissions. Even with all their precautions they still encountered Dirtlings which always resulted in complications.

  Afghanistan - Ghazni River

  The third hunt took place in a remote area with few large cities or concentrations of Dirtlings in a place the locals called Afghanistan. The Dirtlings had no high tech weaponry or gadgets so should not have been much of an issue. He should have known from the previous hunt. Those Dirtlings also only used old projectile rifles and they weren’t even trained fighters - well most of them anyway.

  The Afghan Dirtlings were wily and very resourceful. They also used old rifles but they used the weapons’ long ranges to fire from hidden spots everywhere in the rocky mountains. For most of the hunt there was just sporadic sniping until one of his VIPs saw a small white creature wandering nearby and fired with his laser pistol. One energy unit would have killed it and he would have had a lovely trophy. However he didn’t listen to instructions - when do VIPs listen to the likes of people like us - and didn’t check the pistol’s settings. Five energy units disintegrated the goat in a huge explosion. There was a deadly silence until a cry of a young dirtling was heard echoing around the valley in which they were currently travelling.

  “Waaah! You killed my pet goat! Baba!” Harrick and his party heard the cry bouncing between the mountains.

  Then the shots increased in quantity and quality. It now seems obvious that the previous shots fired at them were training for the inexperienced fighters, perhaps the younger ones learning form their parents? These new shots were effective. His assistant scoffed when the firing started to increase and called out bravely, “Weak Dirtlings! You couldn’t hit the side of a …”. One shot went through his neck just below his helmet and three others shots penetrated other parts of him as he collapsed to the ground.

  Harrick and his troops quickly shepherded the VIPS back to an old abandoned building complex, with his troops taking a number of casualties, but thankfully no more deaths. The VIPS were able to take trophies of some of what the Dirtlings called hares and goats. They missed out on a larger furry creature of teeth and claws when it attacked them from what appeared to be his den in a cave and the VIPs panicked and ran. Harrick threw a tangle grenade which trapped the creature in a web of strong sticky web like strands that would dissolve over time. Harrick and his team then had to gather the VIPs back together. He was very happy to get the return call and they beamed back to the shuttle.

  Nepal - Gorkha Durbar

  Hunt number four went to a remote mountainous area known to the Dirtlings as Nepal.

  How was Harrick supposed to know the place they chose, Gorkha Durbar - was the home of the infamous Ghurka warriors, a museum, temple and holy site?

  Thankfully the timing was fortuitous as the main Ghurka troops stationed in the area were away in their capital for some military show or exhibition. How did he know this? During the hunt one of the VIPs fired at a bird flying in front of the museum. The bird was hit but the museum walls were also penetrated. The VIPs cheered and ran inside to get their trophies. While one of his men tagged the dead bird on behalf of the VIP, Harrick and his assistant stepped into the hole. As the assistant announced “All clear” his throat was cut and he fell to the ground headless. Harrick quickly fired at the attacker who fell to the ground dead.

  Harrick investigated the attacker and realised it was a Dirtling female holding a strange knife or short sword. He took an image of the weapon and researched it later, discovering it was called a Kukri, the traditional weapon of the Ghurka warriors. Looking further into the room the attacker had left, he held fire when he saw an infant Dirtling sitting in the corner, staring at him malevolently.

  “Greeting,” Harrick said out of habit, “We mean you …” then stopped, remembering the dead body outside the door.

  He looked at the infant and continued, “Stay here and don’t make a sound. We will be gone soon.”

  The infant nodded, but beckoned Harrick closer.

  Curious, Harrick stepped closer, but out of the reach of that weapon, just in case.

  The infant whispered, “You are lucky my Papa isn’t here. Then you’d be dead.”

  Harrick stood upright and said, “Is that so?”

  “Papa is a Ghurka, Mama is a Ghurka and I am a Ghurka. It is better to die than to be a coward.”

  Harrick considered the last statement and said, “Be brave and survive. Stay silent and stay there.” Harrick pointed at the infant who stared defiantly at him. He then stepped back and closed the door behind him, stepping in front of his dead assistant and announced, “There is no suitable target in that room. Do you have your trophies?”

  The VIPs nodded and made their way towards the entrance they had created through the hole in the wall. Harrick put up his hand to pause their movement, “Please let us check the area is safe.”

  Even though the VIPs scoffed at the idea that Dirt could be dangerous for them, Harrick directed his scouts to check the vicinity of the exit.

  One of the scouts looked back and Harrick, nodded his head in negation and pointed to to rocks a short distance away, “Multiple locals approaching stealthily. Many have weapons like you are holding, Sir.”

  Harrick looked down at his hand, still holding the Kukri and shook his head, acknowledging the information.

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  He turned to the VIPs, “Please continue to look around here for more trophies. This looks like a lovely store of treasures.”

  He quickly directed his scouts in teams of two to each exit, “Shoot at anyone that approaches. Warning shots should be fine. If they break cover and attack, kill them.”

  So they spent the last thirty minutes or so until the return call came. The Kukri was in his bag. He had a trophy. And a reminder of another assistant that died under his care.

  Russia - Wrangel Island

  The fifth hunt was on an uninhabited island located in a remote area near Russia, well away from nearby cities and population densities and separated by lots of water.

  Once again the hunt initially went well. There were plenty of birds and an animal known as a reindeer. His new assistant was nervous but after an hour of no Dirtling contact he was enjoying the excursion, as he saw it. He saw a large reindeer and approached slowly. The Reindeer was frozen in fright and stared with wide eyes at the approaching assistant, tempting the creature with some grass he had plucked from the ground.

  “There, there,” he said, don’t be scared.

  Harrick watched carefully and the VIPs were curious. The reindeer was quite large with a large rack of antlers on its head. It didn’t move as the assistant got to within a metre or so, when it shook its head and broke the spell. It raised it hoofs and the assistant quickly stepped back.

  The VIPs also panicked and fired into the reindeer, barely missing the assistant who hugged the ground as laser and projectiles flew mere inches above his head. The reindeer was killed quickly under the fusillade of fire.

  “Well Hunt Master,” said one of the VIPs, “Who gets that trophy?”

  Harrick was not paying attention to the VIPs as he held up his hand for silence, “Listen,” he commanded.

  The assistant stayed on the ground and looked behind him. There was the sound of movement in the woods the reindeer had come from.

  One of the VIPs screamed and yelled, “Monsters!” then turned and ran away from the woods, followed by the rest of the VIPS. Bursting from the woods were a great number of reindeer, all panicked and charging towards the hunting party. Harrick directed his team to protect the VIPs and looked back to help his assistant.

  He was too late. The stampeding horde of beasts had already charged over the top of where he had last seen the assistant. Harrick turned on his anti gravity belt and rose about ten meters, well above the horde which raced below him and down the slope away from the VIPs and the rest of his troops. Harrick dropped to the ground when the reindeer had passed and went to where he had last seen his assistant. All he could find was scraps of the assistant’s uniform amongst the trampled ground and vegetation.

  The return call came just as Harrick noticed signs of Dirtlings approaching the island on motorised boats. They had guns and were probably hunters too. Not wishing to be nearby when they arrived, it was a simple decision to agree to the recall.

  Antartica - Victoria Land

  The last of the special VIP hunts was in Antartica, the frozen southern land at the top of the planet. No-one lived there other than small birds and sea life.

  The VIPs found the small walking birds wearing dinner suits amusing, and after a little scare were no longer afraid of the large floppy sea animals that would jump onto the edge of the coast.

  How was Harrick supposed to know about the secret Dirtling military research base directly below their landing place? Those Dirtlings were all over the planet.

  After their scare when the sea creature leapt onto land and the VIPs ran back further inland, the VIPs were bored. His newest assistant who was for some reason very nervous and jumped at anything that happened stopped suddenly.

  “What is it?” Harrick asked.

  “Sir,” the assistant stuttered, either from the cold or nervousness, “my radiation detector has found something.”

  Harrick looked around at the very barren frozen landscape surrounding them for many kilometres in all directions. “Where?” he asked, surprised.

  The assistant shivered and pointed his detector downwards.

  Harrick and two other scouts approached carefully. One of the scouts knelt down and banged his rifle down into the packed snow and ice.

  “CLANG”

  Harrick and his scouts jumped back and held their weapons ready. That was a metallic clang in the middle of nowhere.

  The assistant looked down at where the scout had banged into the ice. Curious he took out a collapsible shovel from his backpack and went to scrape away some of the snow that covered the harder ice.

  “A shovel?” asked Harrick.

  “I like to be prepared,” said the assistant as he uncovered the ice, ‘Look Sir, the ice is clear.”

  Harrick approached and saw under the clear ice was a metal door.

  “That’s just stupid,” said Harrick, “Who would build something so far away from everyone and everything?”

  The assistant reached into his back pack and pulled out a blow torch and turned it on.

  Harrick raised his eyebrows and smiled, “That’s very prepared. Are you sure?”

  “Aren’t you at least a little curious?” asked the assistant.

  “No,” interrupted one of the VIPs, “I’m cold and this is boring. Let’s get some more of those dinner suit wearing creatures. They’ll make a good trophy.”

  Harrick considered. The assistant was correct and this was very interesting. But the mission here was for the VIPs to have a little hunt. Exploring mysterious doors was not part of that mission.

  He turned to the assistant who had already melted the ice and was waiting for the heated metal door to cool.

  He beckoned to the scouts, “Escort our guests to the area we last saw the dinner suit creatures and allow them to gather a few more trophies. We will follow shortly.”

  Harrick was just as curious. He racked his brain and remembered the assistant’s name. After his track record he had decided to avoid knowing their names in case they didn’t return. That was getting quite depressing.

  “Clinton, we should not open that door,” Harrick said.

  The assistant looked up at Harrick, surprised at the use of his name,”Sir, aren’t you curious?”

  “Very,” said Harrick, “But we have a job to do. Come along Clinton.”

  Clinton nodded sadly and put away his blow torch. While fiddling with his pack, he dropped the shovel and it fell on the door with a clang.

  “Oops,” said Clinton as a red light appeared on the metal door.

  “Run!” said Harrick as he lifted Clinton up by his armour’s carry handles and then they both ran from the door. Behind them they heard a slight squeal as the door opened and a very short time later projectiles were flying past them.

  ‘This way,” said Harrick as he dodged to the right and noticed that Clinton went straight and then fell into the snow. As Harrick rushed to Clinton’s side he noticed some dirtlings racing towards them on some motorised vehicles with straight bits on the bottom allowing them to glide across the snow.

  Clinton was alive but a projectile had badly injured his leg.

  “Not today,” said Harrick as he lifted Clinton across shoulders, “Not today!”

  Harrick fired his laser pistol wth just the right number of energy units to blast the lead Dirtling vehicle. The following vehicles swerved either side. Harrick then threw a couple of smoke grenades to cover his run to reach the rest of the VIPS and scouts.

  “YES!” he yelled into his communicator when the recall notice was received a very short time later.

  Clinton survived, but decided to retire as a scout. “Too dangerous for me!” he had explained.

  Fortunately, over all six hunts no Very Important People had been killed and only a few had slight injuries which could be handled by the public relations experts. Hunters who were injured were promoted as exciting and brave and so long as the injuries were superficial and did not detract from the perceived beauty of the hunter, the situation was beneficial for all.

  More worrisome to Harrick was the rate of injuries among his scout teams. These scouts were in direct contact with dangerous local inhabitants as part of their mission and keeping the special hunting parties out of danger had become harder with each hunt. Harrick had been monitoring Dirt’s transmissions and there was nothing in the public broadcasts about their hunts, yet every time they encountered locals, what started off simple became difficult.

  Luckily his primary mission was now complete and he could hand over the hunting parties back to the corporate team at Hunting Tours Incorporated. His main mission now was to find a new assistant. For some reason there wasn’t a rush of applicants in response to his latest job opportunity posting.

  ****