Cat Karina (25 page)

Suddenly a voice said, “I think I know where he might be.”

“Pegman!” Now Karina saw the figure in the corner.

The Pegman rose, draining his mug. “Let’s go outside,” he said. “It wasn’t doing me any good in there, anyway.”

He followed the grupo into the street, blinking at the light. The sailway ran nearby and he sat on a running rail.

“Well?” asked Teressa impatiently.

But the Pegman was not to be hurried. He uttered a couple of strange cries while be collected his thoughts. Finally he said, “You remember a little while ago, Karina, we talked about … the Dedo.”

“That bitch! I’m going to get her!”

“She lives in the rain forest above Palhoa. Now, Captain Tonio once worked on that old sailcar track that ran from Palhoa up to Buique. It’s all wrecked, now. It’s a region nobody ever goes to — even the mountain people stay away — because of the Dedo, I think. Anyway, things are a bit strange around there and Tonio knows that. I think that was the real reason why the sailway track was abandoned — you could almost smell the strangeness. Tonic’s mentioned it to me more than once. It’s a perfect place to hide out — no people, plenty of food.… I think that’s where Tonic’s headed for.”

“You don’t think he’s in town here?”

“Not if he’s got any sense. This town will be a battlefield before long. The signalmen reported a big gathering down at South Stage — but I expect you know about that. No. I think Tonio caught the morning car to Palhoa.”

“But the cars aren’t running, Enri.”

“The Palhoa car is a square-rigger, remember? It doesn’t need felino help. It’ll be back later on today. All we have to do is ask the crew if three passengers in black cloaks travelled to Palhoa today. And if they did, we take the car tomorrow.”

“You’re coming?”

“Of course,” said Enriques de Jai’a, hoping that he would be able to prevent bloodshed, not expecting success, and wondering why all this seemed predestined as though the Ifalong had suddenly become inevitable.

“Was it worth all those years of disappointment, El Tigre?” Dozo asked his chief.

The meeting had been a rousing success. The hillside still resounded with the roars of acclamation. The felinos were pouring out of the community hut prepared to do battle now, this minute. Mules were being brought, and the few precious horses. Even the shrugleggers had drawn near, mouths hanging open in dull astonishment.

“A moment’s cheering?” El Tigre regarded the crowd, which was now being marshalled into three armies. “No.”

“Still not satisfied, El Tigre?” Manoso gave his sly grin. “Maybe when I’ll capture the delta for you, you’ll smile then.”

“No.” The chief felino stood for a moment in thought. “When we control the whole Canton and I’m satisfied that people —
all
people — are better off than they were; and when the Canton is running so well that we can start giving things back: the tumpfields to the tumpiers, the town to the True Humans, the delta to the cai-men; and when I can see that everyone has his fair share, and no one race is setting itself up as chief; then maybe you’ll see me smile. But even then,” he added with a faint grin, “only if I’m happy.”

“I’m surprised to hear you considering giving the True Humans a share in anything,” said Diferir. “I mean,
you
, El Tigre.”

“My personal feelings have no place in the revolution.”

Dozo said, “It never occured to you that this racial segregation is the real cause of the problem?”

“No — that’s natural. It’s the very existence of races which causes trouble. Which takes me right back to a question I’ve asked myself many times. Was the great Mordecai — our creator — a saint or a devil?”

They followed the tail-end of the crowd outside, where the rain still fell steadily. Like the Pegman, El Tigre felt he was caught up in an inevitable flow of events. The revolution was not his doing; it had been brought about by a series of happenings culminating in the accident at Torres. He was a tool, and so was everyone else. Just for a moment, he allowed himself to wonder who was wielding that tool.…

They were watching him, waiting for a sign.

“Move out!” he shouted.

The revolution had started.

The felinos were divided into three fighting units, commanded by Dozo, Manoso and El Tigre himself.

Dozo headed west. His task was to take his army into the foothills to deal with the tumpiers and any True Humans who might be around. It was the easiest job of the three and little active opposition was expected although — and this was why El Tigre had chosen Dozo for the task — a considerable amount of diplomacy had to be used. The tumpiers had to be won over rather than conquered, to ensure the continuance of the food supply. They were proud people with their own culture and traditions and El Tigre did not want to antagonize them any more than necessary. In order to demonstrate good intentions, Dozo’s army consisted of good-natured bachelors. He had been given strict instructions that the Women’s Village was not to be entered.

Manoso headed north with a mixed army of bachelors and felina grupos to conquer the delta region and to seize the yards, workshops, and tortuga pens. The Canton’s whole economy was based on this region, and stiff opposition was expected. There were a number of True Humans in the jungle, Maquinista himself was known to have unusual and effective weapons, and the cai-men were an unknown quantity. Logically, as Specialists, they should side with the revolutionary forces; but past experience told Manoso that, once stirred up, the crocodile-men would probably fight both sides indiscriminately, just for the hell of it. El Tigre had faith, however, that Manoso’s devious mind would be equal to any challenge.

El Tigre headed northwest with a strong force of grupos plus their closest males and other chosen felinos such as Torch. His target was Rangua Town, and here the fiercest fighting was expected. Rumor had it that the Town Elders had already declared martial law, that all Specialists were being interned and that defenses were being organized.

These rumors were substantiated about a kilometer further on, when the advancing army met Karina, Teressa and Runa hurrying downhill.

“They’re putting barricades across the streets,” Karina told them. “And they’ve sent word to the Palace asking for a contingent of guards.”

“Guards?” echoed Diferir nervously.

“They won’t fight in Rangua,” said El Tigre confidently. “The Lord will keep them back at the Palace. He’ll want to protect his own neck.”

“All the same, guards.…”

“The Palace …?” somebody else said. “Are we intending to attack the Palace?”

“Mordecai!” roared El Tigre. “My only hope is that True Humans have even less guts than you. Torch! Round up the men for a frontal diversion. Iolande! take your grupo and fifteen others and circle west. Attack across the sailway, near the station. Tamaril! East, and keep below the ridge. Twenty grupos. Attack through the residential areas. Now.…” He regarded them broodingly. “We don’t know what to expect. But one thing we do know — if we fail, we won’t get another chance in our lifetimes. Now, we’re not used to killing — the Examples forbid it. But just for a few hours we’re going to have to forget the Examples. Kill if you have to, but only as a last resort. Make a few examples, scare them into surrender, and take prisoners. Then stop. No looting, no vandalism. We have to live with these people afterwards.”

“And if we find Tonio?” said Torch.

“Bring him to me. I want him alive. I want to be sure he dies correctly, in the utmost pain.”

“What about the rest of us?” asked Amora, the well-built mother of a strong grupo.

“Wait with me,” said El Tigre. “I want plenty of reserves. Now, Torch, Iolande, Tamaril! Move!”

The attack on Rangua Town began.

Astrud looked back on her old life, knowing she would never see it again, and the collection of shacks which was Rangua shimmered into tears. Raoul seemed to accept things better; he looked forward, up the track towards the jungle-clad hills, and there was a gleam of excitement in his eyes.

Tonio sat beside her, somehow shrunken, the lines of sorrow and defeat radiating from his eyes so that he smiled too readily, too watery when people glanced at him. He wore the cloak tucked closely around his neck, the hood barely above his eyes; and he’d shaved off his beard and mustache as a further disguise. Not only had he lost his sailcar and his pride, but he’d been forced to lose his identity too.

Now they bumped inland on an ancient square-rigged sailcar full of strangers escaping from the rumored felino attack, with the timbers gaping so the wind whistled through — which was probably as well, because it alleviated the stink of the goats which were wandering up and down the aisle. Astrud huddled down into her cloak as a mountain-girl caught her eye. Even on this branch-line to nowhere, they could still be recognized; and by now all Rangua must know the story of
Rayo
.

The mountain-girl smiled tentatively. “I think Rangua is a good place to be leaving, just now. But what takes you to Palhoa?” She was pretty. There was something about her features — her graceful neck, long eyelashes and full lips — which made a connection in Astrud’smind.

The mountain-girl was a Specialist. She had vicuna genes. In her sheltered existence Astrud had rarely encountered her race.

She instinctively pulled the hood tightly around her face as she realized for the first time that she was surrounded by llamoids — eyes heavy-lidded, heads carried high. She hoped Raoul would have the sense to keep his mouth shut. For herself, she was not used to being among a crowd of Specialists and she found the situation oppressive as well as fearful. Once you recognized them, Specialists looked more like animals than human beings. Tonio probably didn’t notice; he stared straight ahead, lost in thought. The mountain-girl was waiting for a reply.

Astrud panicked. “My husband is surveying the old sailway above Palhoa.”

Then the girl’s companion spoke, and her attention was diverted.

Out of the corner of his mouth, Tonio asked, “Why in hell did you have to say that? She may remember, if anyone asks her.”

Her fear turned to annoyance. “Well, why are we going to Palhoa, anyway?”

“It was the Canton Lord’s idea, and it has its conveniences. I know the old track up there well.”

Raoul asked, “What kind of traction did they use?”

“Shrugleggers, mules.… Not like this line. Here, the wind always blows up the valley so the car carries big square sails for the inland run, then rolls downhill back to the coast. Above Palhoa, it’s too steep for sails.”

“Do you think everything will be all right, Tonio?” asked Astrud for the tenth time.

He gave her his watery smile. “Of course it will.”

In the valley of lakes above Palhoa, there was a mystery. There were tapirs and hoatzins, capybaras and jaguars, marmosets and seriemas, common animals, rare animals, and fish too — and there was the Dedo. All living in perfect balance, century after century, with nothing gained, nothing lost. Some lived short lives, some long. Some evolved, some held their own, some died out.

One animal was like no other, and it lived a very long time. Even the omniscient Rainbow had no record of its origin, nor of its death — so, for all we know, it may still be there. The Song of Earth mentions this animal obliquely in an early couplet:

“Above the silver ocean and below the mountain’s peak,

There dwells a sacred animal of which men rarely speak.”

The part this animal played in the story of Karina is, however, well known. At this time, the animal was known as Bantus.…

Bantus was hungry. Feeling the rumblings in his stomach he padded to the mouth of the cave and regarded the Jungle. The rain fell, washing away the scents and sounds. He sniffed, snorted and lumbered downhill, following the well-worn trail to the creek. A lone capybara, sensing the hunger of Bantus, took fright and left the trail, trotting piglike into a deeper thicket. Bright macaws watched from branches as the beast passed; they were for once silent, their plumage streaming with rain. Then a tapir, perhaps blinded by the downpour, blundered onto the trail.

And Bantus ignored the beast, almost brushing the tapir aside as he plodded along. The tapir stood stock-still on the trail for a long time afterwards, trembling with terror.

It couldn’t know that today was not Bantus’ day for tapirs.

Today was fish day. But Bantus did not know who had placed that unusual instinct in his mind. As he descended the hill he passed an overgrown stone dwelling and didn’t give it a glance, even though a face of human appearance watched him from the window.

Bantus reached the creek and the little fish were there, but he couldn’t see them. The surface of the water was in dancing motion with the rain. Snorting with hunger and annoyance, he made a ponderous slash at a half-seen flash of silver, and his paw came up empty.

The nearby lake was about twenty meters across and quite deep; one of an interlinked system of five small lakes. Above, the stream descended narrow and cold from the mountains. Below, a waterfall fell a hundred meters down an escarpment, sealing off the valley from that direction. How the fish got there, Bantus didn’t have the intelligence to ask himself.

Now, irritated, he prowled the banks of the linking streams and soon came across easy prey. A huge fish hovered in the current, facing upstream and totally unaware of his presence. Bantus tensed. He would leap into the center of the stream and straddle the fish — that was the most certain way. The bases of his claws itched.

He sprang.

And something in the very fabric of his cells said:
Today is not the day for Torpad
.

Torpad?

No, he didn’t want the big fish today. Someday maybe, quite soon. But today the fish was too big for Bantus’ hunger. It would be wasteful to take him.

And Torpad, having no curiosity in his dim senses, fled into the next lake and instantly forgot his narrow escape. Soon he was feeding on small fish — never taking more than he needed — while the smell of mammal washed out of the waters.