Tigra Page 7

  The tigra now secured, they pulled the ropes taut, stretching its neck.

  "Jeena...” Samson whispered.

  "Shhh!” she warned, intent on the action below.

  As they watched, a third man, who until now had stayed out of the fray, approached the bound animal, his hands raised heavenward. Like the others, he wore heavy black robes, a green crescent moon emblazoned across the chest. A large sword hung from his belt, and the hilt of a knife glinted from under his robes. He spoke in a low monotone, but Jeena could not make out the words. Peering through the binoculars, she studied the face of the speaker.

  He was old, but how old she could not guess—the desert aged people prematurely, she knew, as did life in primitive agrarian societies. His hair and beard were dull dirty-silver, his beard reaching almost to his belt. His features were sharp and severe, his skin weathered and wrinkled. She tried to make out his eyes, but they were shadowed under heavy brows and sunk deep into his gaunt face. It was a hard face, almost inorganic in appearance, and its expression was grim.

  The old man finished his recitation and pulled aside the heavy cloth tunic he was wearing, too heavy to be comfortable in Ararat's heat, she thought. He withdrew the dagger, its curved blade shimmering in the sun. Murmuring, he held it momentarily above his head then strode toward the cat, a thin smile appearing on his lips.

  "Come here, Samson!” Jeena said urgently.

  "But..."

  "Come here now!” she repeated under her breath.

  Samson crawled over to her, and she grabbed his head, pressing his face tight against her breasts and away from the scene below. She watched as the knife wielder put the blade to the struggling animal's neck and, with a flick of his wrist, calmly slit its throat.

  Blood spurted high in the air as the tigra kicked weakly a few times then lay still. The old man kicked the limp body to ensure it was dead then signaled the others to untie the animal. They quickly remounted and rode away to the west, leaving the corpse to lie under the hot sun, the pool of blood slowly widening.

  Jeena scrambled away from the cliff's edge holding Samson near her, not allowing him to see the dead tigra below.

  "What happened, Jeena?” he asked as they made their way back to camp.

  "Nothing."

  "But, Jeena..."

  "I don't know, dammit!” she screamed. She was nauseous, shaking in confusion and anger and unable to point to the source of either emotion. She had just witnessed the killing of an animal, but so what? Hadn't she killed one as well? Probably this one had been raiding their livestock or perhaps had even mauled one of their people. That tigra, like the one she had been forced to kill, was a wild animal, not like Samson at all.

  Then why did she feel so ill?

  Because it was like Samson. It was just like him, from his golden-speckled eyes to his snow-white paws. And who's to say that Samson is unique? Maybe more are intelligent, maybe none are. God, I wish I had the answers!

  Then there was the killing itself. The men who killed the animal didn't seem intent on simply dispatching the tigra quickly and mercifully. It was as if they were performing some sort of long-rehearsed ritual. And those men did not look like half-starved farmers. They moved like a well-disciplined military unit.

  But for whom? Why would a farming community commit the time and resources necessary to maintaining a standing army? What the hell is happening on this planet?

  They reached their camp, and Jeena bounded up the gangway to her ship. She ordered Samson to remain outside.

  "Vicki, on,” she said, sliding into the com-chair.

  "Ready."

  "Two colonies were granted charter on Ararat, correct?"

  "That is correct."

  Jeena thought for a moment. “I saw a group of men today. They were wearing dark clothing decorated with the sign of a crescent moon. Speculate: from which colony would they most likely have come?"

  "The crescent moon and star is the symbol of the Afridi, a sect of Judaslam. The Afridi were the first colonists to be granted charter on Ararat."

  Judaslam? I thought mankind had seen the end of that silliness, she thought. “All right, I want everything you have on both colonies, starting with the Afridi—history, politics, religious beliefs—all of it."

  It was late in the day when Vicki ended her tutorial. Jeena stood and stretched, looking out of the hatchway at Samson lying comfortably in the sun. If she had been reluctant to initiate contact with the colonists before, she was even more so now.

  The Judaslamics she already knew about. Followers of a centuries-old fusion of Judaism and Islam, they had held great sway in Earth politics prior to the Second Migration. History had not been kind to their memory. They were intolerant and militaristic—religious fundamentalists who had used the Obsidian Plague as justification for driving mankind into a hundred years of ignorance and persecution. Like all dark ages, this one eventually passed, and the reign of Judaslam was now little more than a dark chapter in mankind's history.

  The Afridi were a particularly fanatical sect of Judaslamics who had migrated to Ararat almost two hundred years ago during their waning days of power. The original colony had been led by a charismatic zealot calling himself Caleb. Caleb preached an apocalyptic vision of the future wherein God would set up a holy realm in “the land of the righteous.” He had apparently intended that place to be Ararat.

  The colony was situated two hundred miles away, deep in Ararat's great western desert. Why? she wondered. As Ararat's first chartered colony, they had the whole planet to choose from. The southern hemisphere was much more temperate. Why settle in the least hospitable corner?

  Whatever their reasons, they didn't have long to change their minds. A second colony was chartered only twenty years later. Calling themselves Babylonians, they had risen from the chaos left after the fall of the Judaslamics. Perhaps as a response to the years of repression under the old regime, they embraced the pan-deism of the ancient world, with its numerous gods and lesser deities. They were proponents of sexual freedom as well, even going so far as to hold public orgies until halted by the local government.

  It seemed the Union was only too happy to be rid of them, and quickly approved their application for charter. They had settled some five hundred miles south of Jeena's position.

  She took a cigar from her rapidly dwindling supply and leaned against the hatchway, smoking. Only a Union bureaucrat would see fit to place two such diametrically opposed groups on the same planet. It would be a minor miracle if they hadn't managed to kill each other off by now, although armed conflict against a chartered colony was a high crime and grounds for revocation of charter. Then again, who knew what had happened in the ninety years since the Union last had contact with Ararat.

  Samson stirred and glanced up at her. He smiled and yawned.

  Vicki had been unable to shed any light on the killing of the tigra. There was no modern tradition of sacrifice in the Judaslamic religion, although certainly there had been in the far past, dating back to prehistory. The Babylonians seemed harmless enough, so she would have considered visiting them and gathering more information if not for the distance involved.

  No, whatever was happening on this planet it was not her concern. She and Samson were comfortable and safe here. It made no sense to go looking for trouble. From her experience trouble, in time, came looking for you.

  Chapter 7

  Standing Order #17: Firing the concussion cannon without the wearing of body armor is strictly prohibited. Survivors will be subject to disciplinary action.

  Excerpt from MAAD Training Manual

  Three weeks after the incident at the cliffs, the rainy season began. By the third day of the deluge, Jeena and Samson were forced to seek shelter in the ship—while the tent was waterproof, the floor had become increasingly damp, and cooking was impossible. Also, she admitted to herself, she was getting very tired of the smell of wet cat.

  So, they immured themselves in the belly of the ship, keeping the hatch o
pen for ventilation on most days and closing it only when the rain became so severe it pitched in horizontally. It was cozy and pleasant, if a bit claustrophobic, and to pass the time Jeena decided to try and teach Samson to read.

  It was a daunting task, and at times she wondered if she wasn't expecting too much from this alien feline. Samson, however, would not be discouraged. He threw himself at the task, burying his nose in the primers Vicki printed out for him and struggling over each new letter and word.

  Jeena could only watch in awe. By the end of the first month of rain he had the entire alphabet memorized and could recognize simple words. By the third month he was devouring entire volumes in a single day. She made another important discovery about her ward then. Samson, it seemed, had a photographic memory.

  She sat near the open hatch, listening to Vivaldi's The Four Seasons and gazing out over the landscape. The rain was still coming down in sheets, but it was not as thick as it had been the previous months. She was getting a case of cabin fever, and was glad the end of the season was near.

  Samson sat near her, his head hanging low over his front paws, reading. His latest interest was human history, and he was studying a new holo Vicki had supplied him.

  He twitched his whiskers and looked up. “I have a question."

  "No kidding. So what else is new?"

  He ignored the sarcasm. “What was the Obsidian Plague? The histories mention it a lot, but they never say much about it."

  "It was a disease created by mankind. It happened a long time ago, just after we had started exploring the stars. It killed a lot of people."

  "That doesn't make any sense. Why would humans make a disease?"

  "It wasn't created on purpose, fur-head, it was an accident, or so they say. I still don't think we know the whole story, but according to the history holos a group of scientists on a planet called Obsidia 5 were working on something they shouldn't have. They were fooling around with our genetic code, creating humans in the lab, trying to make a more perfect person or some such silliness.

  "Back then, mankind was still divided into different nations, and there weren't many safeguards on scientific research. It's said they created thousands of genetically engineered people over the ten years the project ran before the rest of mankind discovered what they were up to. By then it was too late. Somehow, one of their genetic transplantations went wrong, and the newborn child began expressing a virus our species had never seen before.

  "Must have been one nasty little bug. It didn't hurt people right away, so you didn't even know you were infected for months. Freighters delivering supplies helped spread it to most of the inhabited worlds. Suddenly, people started dying—fast. They say it only took a few hours from the first symptoms until death."

  "Did a lot of people die?"

  "Something like five billion in seven months—one-third of the entire human population at the time. The planets quarantined themselves from each other in an attempt to stop the spread of the disease, but the damage had already been done. Even after the plague burned itself out, the quarantine continued. People were terrified it might start up again—they still are. It's why we insist on a complete survey of each new planet now before we allow colonization."

  "Wow."

  "Yeah, it was one of the worst times in our history."

  "So, whatever happened to them?"

  Jeena drew on her cigar. “Who?"

  "The people. The ones the ones the scientists created."

  Jeena sighed. “Oh, them. The horrors, that's what they were called. People panicked. No one could be certain they were safe. Try to understand, Samson, the whole human race had almost been wiped out. They were afraid any one of them could be capable of expressing a new virus."

  "So, what happened to them?"

  "They were killed. They were rounded up and killed—although slaughtered might be a better word, from what I've read. They burned the entire facility on Obsidia, and the planet has been off-limits ever since."

  Samson shuddered. “How horrible. But why were those scientists trying to make humans better? How much better could they make you?"

  She had to smile. In Samson's eyes humans were already perfect, or nearly so. To him Earth was a kind of Eden, the home planet of intelligent and noble beings who had colonized the stars. He thought much less of himself and his own species, and Jeena knew she was partly to blame for that.

  In an effort to show him what other tigras were like, she had mistakenly showed him some nature holos of tigras hunting and living in the wild, but had to stop when he became visibly upset. Although she had explained many times how unique he was among his kind, he was unprepared for the impact of seeing mirror images of himself as nothing more than brute beasts. For the rest of that day he could not bring himself to look at her, and never again asked about his own species.

  He was keenly interested in mankind, however, and saw in man's accomplishments a grandeur she knew was misplaced. She understood he had taken humanity as his adopted race, figuring, perhaps, that even if he didn't look like them, at least he reasoned like them. So, he elevated mankind in direct compensation for what he saw as the tigra's low state.

  "We aren't perfect, Samson, not even close,” she replied. “I keep telling you that. Anyway, it won't happen again. Genetic engineering has been universally banned ever since, at least in the Union. Who knows what those butchers in the Coalition are doing."

  She sat up and leaned out into the rain, letting it beat gently on the back of her neck.

  "You hate them, don't you?” he asked softly. “The Coalition, I mean."

  Jeena did not answer immediately. “Yes, Samson, I hate them,” she said finally. “And I will go on hating them for as long as I live."

  The rainy season finally ended. After three days of sun and clear skies, Jeena moved them back into the tent. Samson had grown quite a bit during the preceding months, and it seemed the tent was smaller than she remembered, but they managed.

  They had depleted their food stores during the rains, and one of the first things on her list was procuring meat. Samson was less than enthusiastic.

  "Why can't we just eat what's left in the cans?” he asked.

  "Because, dummy, there's nothing left but beans and cream soup."

  He shrugged. “So?"

  Jeena regarded him mournfully. Here was an animal born to bring down heavy game, and yet his favorite food was paté. It was pathetic.

  "We need fresh meat, and besides, you need to learn how to hunt. Tell you what, you bring it down, and I'll skin and clean it. How about that?"

  His eyes brightened. “You're going to teach me to use the rifle?"

  "The rifle? No, I mean I want you to hunt. You know—naturally. C'mon, you have to learn sometime. It'll be fun."

  Samson cocked his head suspiciously. “What are you talking about?"

  "Don't act dense. You know what I mean. It's time you learn to hunt like the rest of your species."

  His whiskers twitched. “Why?"

  "Because you're a tigra. I've been treating you like a human being and it's not right."

  "Why, because I'm just an animal?” he demanded angrily.

  "No, dammit. I mean living like this is erasing all your instincts. You're losing all the skills evolution spent millions of years giving you, and I'm to blame."

  "Oh, right, big important skills. What are we talking about here anyway—marking territory with my pee and licking myself clean? Is that what you mean?"

  "I'm just saying I have no right to change you into something you're not."

  "Well, it's a little late for that, don't you think?” He was now visibly angry. “Rrrr ... I don't believe this. Do you really expect me to chase after some filthy animal you just know is going to be crapping all over itself, grab its neck in my jaws, pull it to the ground and kill it with my teeth?"

  Jeena nodded. “Stop making a face. There's nothing wrong with hunting that way, it's perfectly natural."

  Samson's eyes narrowe
d. “Then you do it."

  "I can't, you little shit, I'm not built for it. That's why I have to use a gun."

  "I'm more than willing to use the gun."

  "That's not the point. You're a tigra, you're supposed to use your teeth. You wouldn't have fangs otherwise. They're there to be used."

  "Is that a fact? And how's that appendix of yours working? Look, I'm not doing it, and that's final. It's sick and disgusting. Besides, hair makes me gag, you know that. I can't even stand it when my own fur gets in my mouth. I can't believe we're even having this discussion."

  "Samson..."

  "No. Forget it."

  They stood staring each other down. Jeena blinked first.

  "Oh, all right, you little shit, you want to throw away all your instincts, fine. I'll teach you to use the damn gun.” She picked up the MAAD and stomped off to the east in a huff.

  "Really?” Samson said, running up beside her. “That's great. But you'll still skin it and clean it, won't you?"

  * * * *

  Jeena stopped after about a mile and gave Samson his first lesson with the pulse rifle. The brush was just beginning to get heavy, and there were plenty of trees to use as targets.

  "Watch closely,” she said, and knelt on one knee. Shouldering the weapon, she aimed along the barrel and gently squeezed the trigger. There was a slight sound like a spark of static electricity. A hundred yards away a small branch flew from a tree.

  "Were you aiming for that?” Samson asked.

  She looked sidelong at him. “Yes, I was aiming for that."

  "Just asking. You know, in the holos the guns are a lot noisier,” he said informatively.

  "This is a pulse rifle. It's very quiet. Here, now you try."

  She had him sit and hold the gun much as a human would. She was surprised to find that it was a natural and comfortable position for him.