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The hull itself appeared intact, and there was little other external damage that she could see. Reaching the rear of the ship, she gingerly opened a small panel, burning her fingers slightly in the process. Behind the panel was an array of instrument readouts. Jeena studied them closely. The engines and Drive were still intact—good. Not that she had any hope of powering them up again, but she didn't need a massive radiation leak just now.

  Satisfied with the condition of the ship, she once again scanned the horizon for several minutes. The feeling of déjà vu was still there, as was the unsettling sense of being watched. She saw no movement, however, and after several minutes she was convinced there was no immediate danger.

  Setting aside the weapon, she began to unload the cargo hold. She had examined its contents briefly while in flight, entering through the cockpit hatch, and knew the storage area was almost full. Using the levitation jack in the hold, she removed all the crates and containers, taking inventory.

  There were twenty cases of cigars, thirty-five cases of Polarian whiskey, fifty crates of assorted gourmet foods, a case of old binoculars and ancient communicators and ten crates of various junk—pots, pans, hand tools and costume jewelry.

  When she had removed everything she noticed a panel in the far wall that had torn lose during the crash. Prying it away, she discovered a container hidden in the space and carried it out into the light. The contents were wrapped in a layer of oiled rags. Jeena gasped at what lay underneath. It was a MAAD.

  She lifted the weapon from its container, feeling its balanced weight in her hands. MAAD—for Mobile Attack And Destroy—was the most sophisticated and destructive handheld weapon ever developed. Essentially an electromagnetic pulse generator, it had been recently invented by Union scientists—a weapon the Coalition was not supposed to have. She had never seen one this close, but there was no mistaking it.

  It had an over/under design, the upper part resembling a typical rifle barrel. She pulled out the clip and looked inside. There were thousands of small, hardened pellets aligned in neat rows. She knew the pellets were composed of ferrion, a highly charged metal. They were propelled through the barrel by the force of a traveling electromagnetic wave. Since the EM wave moved at the speed of light, it was able to accelerate the projectiles to enormous velocities. Ferrion had the added property of expanding on impact, making the weapon both incredibly accurate and brutally effective.

  It was what lay below the rifle, however, that gave the weapon its true destructive force.

  Jeena flipped it over and patted the hollow tube below the barrel. Called a sonic concussion cannon, it measured eight centimeters in diameter and thirty centimeters in length. A slight smile curved her lips. Twenty thousand ferrion bullets spitting out at three thousand rounds a minute could decimate an army, but the real power of the MAAD lay in that hollow tube.

  Unlike the pulse rifle, the tube held no projectiles. The air within was charged, initiating a massive power surge. Once primed, this enormous store of energy was released down the length of the tube as a powerful electromagnetic pulse. The pulse carried the now-ionized air along with it, compressing and accelerating the molecules in the process. In the instant it took the air to reach the end of the tube, it obtained a velocity just below that of light, and the molecules reached a density beyond anything short of a neutron star.

  This rapidly moving mass of unimaginably compressed air struck the normally dense air before it with the force of a small nuclear weapon, sending a concussion wave before it as an ever-expanding cone of pressure at relativistic speeds. Anything unlucky enough to be in front of it when it fired did not so much blow apart as vaporize.

  Jeena shook her head in amazement. The MAAD was the most closely guarded weapon in the Union arsenal. Her own unit hadn't even been issued them, and yet here was one in the cargo hold of an old Coalition supply ship. Whoever he was, this smuggler was good.

  Among the rest of the contraband, she had discovered a good-sized tent, and decided her first task would be to erect it. Using the detailed and well-diagramed military instructions that came with it, she managed, in the space of two hours, to build a precariously leaning wall of black cloth. Finally, tossing away the instructions and putting it up the way that looked right, she had an airy and stable tent in twenty minutes.

  Standing before it she realized some things never changed. The military could build the most sophisticated and durable machines ever made then couldn't find one son of a bitch in the army able to write a readable manual on it.

  She went back inside and powered down all unnecessary systems—she wanted to conserve as much battery life as possible for communications, and for Vicki. The computer's memory stores could prove invaluable. From the cargo hold she built a stores pile near the tent of canned food, liquor and cigars. The rest she put back into the hold and sealed it up. By the time she was finished, the sun was high and the day had turned hot and steamy.

  Sitting on an empty crate, Jeena removed her sweat-drenched T-shirt and wrung it out, using it to wipe the dirt from her face. She tossed it on the tent to dry and lit a cigar, turning it over in her fingers and considering her next course of action.

  Ararat was in Coalition-controlled space, and although long-range sensors were still showing no activity in the area, she was not going to risk sending out a distress signal just yet—not with a hospitable planet to rest on for a while.

  Not with the memory of the Mizar 3 still fresh in her mind.

  She would not risk being taken prisoner again. No, that was not quite right. I will never be taken prisoner again—ever. I will die first.

  Pushing the thought away, she concentrated on the terrain before her. According to the map Vicki had provided, there was a stream about one mile to the north. She'd soon need a source of fresh water, so this seemed like a logical place to begin her recon of the planet. Hopping off the crate, the cigar between her teeth, she reached for the shotgun.

  There was a rustling sound behind her, and she turned her head slowly, the cigar smoke curling up into her eyes. A lurking shape crouched in the shadow of the ship's wing. Two golden circles reflected light back at her.

  Jeena glanced at the gun, trying not to move as beads of sweat appeared on her brow. She looked back at the animal—just as it sprang.

  Leaping for the weapon, she grabbed it and rolled in a single fluid motion, firing blindly into the onrushing shadow. A huge weight slammed into her, knocking her down and pinning her. Cursing, she clawed at the animal, fighting out from under it. Her body was covered in blood as she finally pushed it off and struggled to her feet, panting hard and shaking.

  Holding her ribs in pain, she examined the dead animal at her feet.

  The tigra looked just like the one in the holo—or would have if not for the gaping hole running through its chest. The luxurious coat was a radiant yellow, slowly fading to snow-white on its paws. It was slightly smaller than an Earth tiger but more heavily muscled. The toes were different as well, longer and thinner. Delicate, she might have called them, if not for the five-inch claws at their tips.

  She knelt and ran her hand through the fur. It was as soft as the Chimenian mink she had once felt on Tycho, but up close, she saw the animal was not as healthy as it first appeared. The fur had scattered bare spots, and the skin was loose over its bones. It was sick, starving probably, which could explain why it was not as silent as it might have been in its attack.

  Jeena kept a wary eye out for others but neither saw nor heard anything else, and remembered Vicki mentioning something about them being solitary hunters. Still shaking, she picked up the burning cigar and brushed it off before sticking it back between her teeth. Taking one last look at the animal, she limped painfully back toward the tent. The recon could wait. It was time to open the liquor.

  Chapter 4

  "And they shall say, This land that was desolate is become like the garden of Eden; and the waste and desolate and ruined cities are become fenced, and are inhabited."

  Ezekiel 36
:35

  Arian Christian Bible

  Jeena awoke the next morning kicking out at dark dreams. She opened her eyes to the sun blazing through the flap of the tent, the whiskey bottle empty on the ground.

  She groaned. She was nauseous, and her tongue felt thick and sticky. Her chest and arms were caked in dried blood. Through the tent flap she could see the carcass of the tigra, a swarm of flies buzzing around it.

  She felt her bile rise and turned away, picking up a canteen of water. She gulped it down and felt better. Rummaging through the tent, she found a carbo-bar and chewed it slowly, considering the dead animal outside her door.

  It'll take a good-size hole, she thought miserably, but the flies were getting thick. Sighing, her stomach still queasy, she went outside, making a mental note to never again kill anything bigger than a shovelhead near her tent.

  She dug the hole under the ship's wing then slowly and painfully dragged the corpse to it and dumped it in. It was late afternoon by the time she threw the last shovel-full of dirt over the grave, and her hangover had dissolved into a minor headache. She lit another cigar and wiped herself down with the T-shirt—she had stopped wearing it, as it had no practical use and only became wet and heavy with sweat.

  After a lunch of canned meat and water, she grabbed some synlamps and motion detectors from the ship and set up a perimeter—she wanted no more uninvited guests dropping by, particularly at night. Once the area was secured, she re-armed and headed north toward the stream, taking along a canteen equipped with a sterilization unit.

  She found it in short order, just as shown on the map, and silently thanked AL for his good choice in picking this place to ditch. Walking upstream, she came to an abrupt rise in the terrain that resulted in a small waterfall. Placing her weapon carefully on the bank she ran under it, washing the dried blood and grime from her body and enjoying the feel of the cool water cascading over her. Afterward, she lay on the grass near the bank, letting the hot sun dry her and feeling clean in a way she had not felt in a long time. She closed her eyes and listened to the gurgling stream as it flowed by...

  * * * *

  She yawned and opened her eyes then bolted upright. She had fallen asleep! The sun was low and setting fast. Grabbing her weapon and the now-filled canteen, she hurried back to her camp, cursing herself the entire way.

  It was fully nightfall when she finally arrived back at camp, triggering the perimeter lights as she did. Well, at least they work, she thought. She searched the area carefully, assuring herself it was unmolested, then set about building a fire. She had dug a shallow pit earlier in the day and now filled it with kindling and dead wood she found lying around. Soon, she had a warm blaze and, feeling more secure, killed the lamps.

  It was a warm, clear night, with the sky an explosion of stars and wispy streaks of color. Although Vicki had mentioned Ararat's aurora in her summary of the planet's characteristics, Jeena was amazed at the brilliance and rapidly changing patterns of the nocturnal lightshow. All those she had seen on other worlds, including Earth's, paled in comparison. Keeping the shotgun close, she lay back near the fire, its heat warming her body, and stared out at the stars and lights as she examined her situation.

  Through fate or dumb luck, she had escaped a hellish prison only to end up marooned on a distant and virtually uninhabited planet—a planet that, with the exception of the tigra, was beginning to resemble a Garden of Eden. The thought made her smile. Does that make me Eve? She looked down at her naked body. I certainly have the right wardrobe for the part. Come to think of it, an apple would taste pretty good right now.

  She didn't find any apples among the smuggler's foodstuffs, but there were tins of sardines and Tychorian truffles that she placed on crackers and ate with gusto. She had tossed the tins aside and was just picking up a fiery brand to light a cigar when the perimeter lights suddenly burst on.

  Dropping the stick, Jeena grabbed the shotgun, pumping the slide in the same motion. Moving with her back to the fire, she scanned the circle of light, peering into the darkness beyond. She could feel her heart pounding as she waited and listened.

  There was a faint sound to her right, and she whirled toward it, aiming the gun into the shadows. She could make out two golden rings, glowing from just beyond the reach of the firelight. Her finger tensed around the trigger as something stepped out from the darkness.

  Jeena lowered the weapon. Before her stood a tiny tigra cub, blinking in the harsh artificial light. She stood unmoving, blinking back at the animal, alert for any sign of another tigra. Surely, the cub's mother must be near. Then she recalled the mound beneath the ship's wing, and realized that this cub's mother would never return.

  Well, that wasn't her fault. The tigra had attacked her, and she had only been defending herself. Besides, it had been half-dead anyway. Another week, two at the most, and she would have likely died, and the cub right behind her.

  She raised the weapon again. It would be the merciful thing to do.

  "Sorry, cat, but it was me or her. Nothing personal."

  The tigra cocked its head curiously at the sound of her voice.

  "I can't have you wandering around here tripping my alarm at all hours and maybe attracting other predators. You won't last long without momma anyway. It stinks, I know, but that's life."

  She aimed carefully, not wanting the animal to suffer. A moment later she had still not fired, and found the gun was shaking in her hands. Angrily, she pulled the weapon from her shoulder and wiped the sweat that had appeared on her brow. What the hell is wrong with you? How many thousands have you killed, men and women? It's just an animal. Pull yourself together and do what you have to do.

  Raising the weapon again she held the cub in her sights for another long minute before finally falling to her knees and vomiting hard and loud onto the dark sandy ground.

  She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Battle sickness. She had heard of soldiers who, after years of bloody fighting, had suddenly awoken one day to find they could no longer kill. As conscription did not allow for psychological leave, it was most often a fatal disease.

  The cub stood unmoving, and apparently unconcerned.

  "So, what the hell am I supposed to do? I can't have you wandering around,” she said, spitting the taste of bile from her mouth.

  The cub made no reply.

  "Right. And I guess you're just going to stand there till you get something to eat, huh?"

  Keeping her eye on it, she groped behind her until she fumbled on a half-empty sardine tin. She set it in front of her.

  "Is this what you smelled? Yeah, maybe you just want a little snack before you go,” she said hopefully.

  The cub sniffed the air and pricked up its ears. It hesitated, looking between Jeena and the food, as if debating with itself. Hunger won out, and it strode briskly and fearlessly toward the all-too-tempting food, bouncing slightly as it did. It sat in front of the tin and, taking one last look at her, began eating the remaining sardines in earnest.

  Jeena found the cigar she had dropped and lit it. She sat back on her haunches and watched the cub eat, blowing smoke rings and considering what to do. The dead animal buried behind the tent was obviously this one's mother, probably just protecting her young, she thought with a pang of remorse. Left on its own, the cub would certainly die within a few days.

  So?

  So, you can't even kill it cleanly. You think you can just sit back and watch it die slowly of starvation while you eat?

  But I can't keep feeding it. This is no pet. It's a wild animal and very dangerous.

  The cub, finished with its meal, began to carefully lick its paws.

  It doesn't look dangerous.

  Don't be a fool! It's still a baby. When this thing grows up it will be as lethal as its mommy.

  That's a long ways off. Besides, it will probably run away long before that.

  Yeah, right.

  Jeena shook her head, clearing the debate from her mind. She couldn't kill it or let
it die of starvation. That left caring for it as the only option.

  The decision made, she stood and tossed the cigar into the dying fire. She was tired, and it was late. She made her way to the tent. Maybe the thing really would be gone by morning.

  Yeah, right.

  At the tent flap she turned to check on the animal—and found it right at her feet.

  "No, no. Go back. Shoo."

  She waved her hands, feeling slightly foolish. The cat stood its ground. She pushed it away gently with her foot, but it sprang back. Since the cub seemed unmoved by her verbal dismissal, she picked him up and carried him back to the slowly fading fire.

  "Stay,” she said, for no reason she could think of, and raced back to the tent. At the doorway she wheeled around ... and almost stepped on him in the process

  "Fast little bugger, aren't you? All right, stay here if you want, but the fire would have been warmer."

  She ducked into the tent and zipped up the flap. She lay down heavily on the cot and drew a light blanket over herself. Jeena Garza, lion tamer, she thought, just before falling into a deep sleep.

  No! Please, no, not the baby!

  Jeena awoke with her heart pounding in fear—fear that did not abate when she realized she had been dreaming. She could still hear the baby crying. She staggered to her feet, her body shaking. The cries were coming from just outside the tent, loud and incessant. She covered her ears with her hands. No! Don't do this! She isn't there. She's dead, dammit. She's dead, and you can't bring her back.

  But the wailing did not stop.

  Trembling, she stumbled to the tent flap and threw it open, fully prepared to see nothing but the empty air. Instead, she found the tigra cub, exactly where she had left it. Emanating from the tiny ball of fur was a high-pitched, shrieking wail. The sound resembled nothing like the whine of an Earth cat but was eerily reminiscent of the screaming cries of a human baby. As if to emphasize this point, a stream of tears ran down its furry face.

  Jeena knelt down and stared open-mouthed at the cub. Fear was quickly replaced by incredulousness. This is ridiculous. Cats don't cry—do they? She was fairly certain they didn't. And she was sure they didn't shed tears. At least, she didn't think they did. Anyway, this definitely did not look right.