Cat Karina (20 page)

“Everything a man could desire.” She still bore the marks of Karina’s nails on her face, but this imperfection had the perverse effect of heightening her desirability. “Anything you want, El Tigre.”

“Including stolen tumpmeat?” He reached out and tweaked the nipple playfully. “Maybe later. Right now, I have a job to do.”

“I may not be around later,” said Iolande.

“A woman is a woman,” he said casually. “There are plenty of opportunities on the day of the Festival.”

Now she smiled, too. “And a man is a man. Only True Humans make commitments, and look at them.” A True Human couple were walking past at that moment, arm in possessive arm, while their eyes wandered among the attractive cat people.

“Go away, Iolande,” said El Tigre gently.

“Later, then. And.… El Tigre, I’m sorry it had to be your grupo we tangled with the other day.” The theft of the meat was nothing; felinos’ principles were different from those of True Humans and Iolande’s punishment had been a mere reprimand. The framing of El Tigre’s daughters was a matter of circumstance; no felino could condemn opportunism. But it was a pity, and Iolande recognized this. “Where are your little girls today, El Tigre?” she asked maliciously.

Before he could reply, Torch walked up. The young man was frowning, scanning the hillside. “Yes, where is the grupo, El Tigre?”

“They’ve gone to Torres.”

“That’s a pity.… I’d hoped that we.…” Torch’s voice trailed away. He’d hoped that tonight, as the drink flowed free and dissolved petty objections, he might have consummated his relationship with the El Tigre grupo.…

While they’d been talking, four more sailcars had passed, drawn by shrugleggers amid much shouting and cracking of whips. Next came Dozo, riding downhill with his shrugleggers trotting behind.

“Herrero’s away. Salvatore close behind. Four on the hill — that leaves two.” As he talked, Dozo cocked an eye at El Tigre. “Ah, and that’s Belin coming in now. Arrajo has him. So that just leaves
Rayo
.…”

Iolande said, “You’ve agreed with Tonio, El Tigre?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re an honorable man. You could have taken any of the others, but you didn’t.” She made a parody of sighing. “Ah, well.… I must get back to the fun. Maybe …?”

“Perhaps.”

She left them, walking slowly to disguise her limp — another legacy of her fight with Karina.

Dozo said, “Just a couple of weeks ago we were all getting heated about this
Rayo
, and how it was going to give True Humans all kinds of advantages — and where’s
Rayo
now? Stuck on some siding, I’ll be bound, with a broken spar.”

“
Rayo
will be here,” said Torch. “Or Captain Tonio will have El Tigre to answer to!”

“Loyally put,” Dozo’s tone was sarcastic, as the seventh car rumbled up the hill, the impetuous Arrojo flogging his shrugleggers and the captain yelling encouragement from the prow.

“Here she is!” The triumphant shout from Torch announced the flag which could be seen moving above the trees some distance away. Then
Rayo
burst out of the delta region and the white sails flitted along the flat lands behind the beach, taut and shining.

“She moves fast,” said Dozo thoughtfully. “Very fast.”

El Tigre took the harness of the lead shrugleggers and began to drag the team uphill, anticipating that
Rayo’s
present speed would carry her much further up the bank than he’d thought. “Move, you bastards!” he shouted, and the shrugleggers obeyed, eyes rolling in terror. Dozo and Torch ran beside him.

“She’s coming. She’s coming
so fast
,” gasped Torch, trying to look over his shoulder and run at the same time.

The hubbub of the Festival quietened suddenly. The only sound was the pounding of feet from El Tigre’s team.

Then came a drawn-out, piercing shriek as
Rayo
hit the curve at the foot of the bank and the guiderails protested with the strain. Children scattered and felinos yelled in alarm, dragging their shrugleggers aside as
Rayo
swept by.

El Tigre ran on, hearing the running rail resonate beside him, knowing without looking that he still had a long way to go. The shrugleggers ran behind in an untidy file, beginning to balk, kept going at this unnatural pace by their fear of the big cat-man who led them. And then El Tigre’s foot caught in a tussock and he fell. The shrugleggers halted, bunching and milling.

El Tigre stood. The shrugleggers would go no further. If Tonio passed this point, he would have to roll back to him.

The rumble from the rail was growing to a roar.

El Tigre looked back.

Rayo
had barely slackened speed! Sails full and straining, she raced up the gradient towards him, passing shrugleggers and felines, passing the cairn marking
Triunfo’s
record height of two years ago, passing Dozo as he toiled uphill, passing Torch who stood gazing in open-mouthed astonishment, passing El Tigre’s shrugleggers.…

Rayo
rocketed on and the wind of her passing pushed El Tigre aside. The shrugleggers were snorting and pawing in terror and El Tigre fell, still hanging onto a rein. As he lay there he caught a split-second image of Tonio’s face, pale and staring fixedly ahead; then
Rayo
was climbing rapidly away from him and the sound of her passage, already unnaturally quiet, was fading to a murmur.

Seconds later, Dozo arrived. “I told you, never trust —” Then he saw the expression on El Tigre’s face, fell silent, and began to think. A car had climbed the bank without assistance. The implications began to hit him, one by one. “Mordecai.…” he whispered.

El Tigre said, “Round up the men, Dozo. Saddle up the fastest mules.”

Then he began to run up the hill.

Reaching the signal tower at the south end of the town he began to climb the ladder. From the top he saw
Rayo
, going like the wind, heading out across the plain. In the far distance he could see the hill at Torres and, as he watched, a winking light caught his eye. News of the race was coming through.

He threw open the signalbox door.

“Have
Rayo
stopped at Torres!”

Two signalmen worked in the box; small men but with a proud, upright bearing and a reputation for belligerence. As El Tigre entered, one had been watching the signal from Torres and transcribing it into charcoal symbols on a tablet. The other was working vigorously at the signal arms which projected downwards into the middle of the cabin, acknowledging the message and adding comments of his own. On the roof, a big battery of hemitrexes caught the sun and flashed the reply back down the coast.

The signalmen stopped work, staring at El Tigre in anger. Theirs was an exclusive guild, their codes were secret and the boxes sacrosanct. Even the Palace Guards never climbed the ladder. And now, here was this brutish man issuing orders.

“Get out! This is private property! Out! Out!” They shuffled towards him with mincing steps and peremptory gestures.

El Tigre stood his ground. “Send a message, now! Get that goddamned car stopped and have the felinos hold Captain Tonio at Torres North Stage!”

“Out! Out! Messages must be presented in the proper manner through the agent! Out!” They stood before him, small men barely reaching his shoulder, heads jerking with the violence of their speech. They pushed him in the chest; short-arm shoves of some force.

With a roar of rage El Tigre seized them and slammed them together. They staggered, blinking rapidly, then came back with whirling arms. One of them caught him a chopping blow across the neck and El Tigre took hold of them again, pinioning them.

“Listen to me,” he growled. “Something’s happened which threatens the whole future of Specialists on the coast — and that includes you. We have to act quickly. If we let Tonio get away with this, it will show the True Humans that Specialists can’t cooperate even when our livelihood is threatened. We might as well take a long walk into the mountains! Do you understand me? Now send that message!”

“That can’t be done,” snapped one of the men. “The Guild rules are designed to cover all circumstances and
no
man, not even a felino, tells the Guild what to do. We’re not frightened of you. You can’t harm the Guild!”

The little man stared fiercely up at him and El Tigre knew he spoke the truth. Everybody knew signalmen were different from other people. Their society was like a hive. Individuals would willingly sacrifice themselves to preserve the integrity of the whole: the gestalt they called the Guild. And the Guild covered the whole coast, extending further than the sailways. The communication network was essential to the life of True Human and Specialist alike — and it was too big an organization for El Tigre to take on.

“We
cannot
bend the rules,” said the little man. “You must see the agent.”

And the two of them became suddenly still, watching him.

Mordecai!
thought El Tigre.
They’re waiting for me to kill them!

He turned and descended the ladder rapidly, jumping the last few meters to the ground, landing lightly on all fours. Then he began to run back to North Stage, moving with that bounding felino gait which covers the ground at deceptive speed.

There was no point in seeing the Guild agent. He was another fierce little man who went by the book and would undoubtedly refuse to send the message on the grounds that felinos had no authority over sailway captains and that such an instruction would make the Guild party to an illegal act.

So El Tigre followed the sailway back to North Stage, where a large crowd of felinos was being whipped into a frenzy by the sly words of Manoso, stage managed by Dozo. There were no True Humans in sight. The other Specialists, feeling it was not their problem, stood aloof.
Fools
, thought El Tigre.

“I’ll speak to them now,” he said to Dozo.

“Better not. Manoso’s doing fine. This is a time for exaggeration and deceit, El Tigre. A time for politics. One of your talks on brotherhood and rights would bore the hell out of them. They want blood.”

Arrojo added, “We’re going to catch that bastard Tonio and string him up!”

“How are we going to catch him?”

“We’ll get after him, right now!” Arrojo’s eyes were alight with anticipation. “We’ll follow him to the ends of the Earth, if needs be!”

“There are larger issues.” El Tigre visualized all the best felinos galloping to Patagonia, leaving the camp unguarded. His fury had abated now, and he was able to consider the situation more calmly. There was much planning to be done. Instead of chasing wildly after Tonio, they should call a Council meeting and decide on they tactics. The long-promised revolution was at hand.…

“And now we hear rumors that the evil Fire-god Agni himself had a hand in the building of this machine!” Manoso was telling the crowd. “Well, friends, I think that Tonio has suggested his own retribution. We will tie him to his own poopdeck and kindle the Wrath of Agni beneath his accursed sailcar, and he and his machine will perish together!”

“But what about the next machine, and the next Tonio?” El Tigre asked Dozo.

Arrojo broke in. “Is the great warrior preaching caution? What’s happened to your talk of war, El Tigre?”

“I am talking of war, you damned fool. I’m saying we shouldn’t waste time running after one man. I’m saying we should get home and hold a meeting.”

“
A meeting?
” Arrojo regarded him incredulously.

“El Tigre!” It was one of the signalmen. People regarded him in astonishment. Members of the Guild were rarely seen in felino camps even though their families might make an exception on Festival day.

“Yes?” El Tigre stepped forward irritably. The reminder of the frustration in the signal cabin added to the fires of his annoyance. “If you have a message for me, you’d better pass it through your agent. Guild rules, you know.”

“Listen to me, El Tigre. There’s been an accident at Torres involving
Rayo
, and —”

“
Rayo
is stopped there?” Arrojo uttered a yell of triumph.

“Yes, but —” The little signalman was still regarding El Tigre.

“We’ve got him!” shouted Arrojo. “By Agni, we’ve got him! To the mules, men!”

“What is it, signalman?” asked El Tigre quietly. His heart was pounding. There was something in the little man’s eyes. They had lost their fierceness, and watched him with a new expression.

“One of your daughters, El Tigre. One of your daughters was … involved.”

Now Arrojo was quiet, and so was the rest of the crowd. They edged closer, sensing tragedy.

“Involved? How? Which daughter?” El Tigre towered over the man, fingers hooked as though to tear the details bodily from him.

“I don’t know which — the signal only spoke of the grupo. But.…” The little signalman looked away, regarding the mountains almost wistfully, as though he’d rather have been there. “They say she died, El Tigre.”

The sound El Tigre made was, wordless. He turned away, snatching reins from Arrojo, jumped into the saddle and flogged his mount into a gallop. After a moment’s shocked hesitation, others began to climb onto mules and ride after him.

Dozo watched them go. “So much for the reasoned tactics of our leader,” he said quietly to himself.

The Song of Earth makes little mention of the tump. It is not a flamboyant animal. It does not capture the imagination of the listener in the way that the kikihuahua space bats do, with their thousand-kilometer wingspan; or the beacon hydras whose roots have been known to permeate an entire planet and throw it into a new orbit. No, the tump is a dull lump of meat. On the happentrack of our story it is doomed — although, as you will hear, there are happentracks on which the tump thrived and multiplied.

One couplet only describes the tump:

“Across the hills of Old Brasil the landwhales eat their way.