Cat Star 04 - Outcast

by Cheryl Brooks

  "I'll give Bonnie a call and warn her first." Drummond knew that Lynx was probably in more dan­ger from Sylor than Bonnie was, but Drummond didn't want anything happening to him, either. Bonnie had been happier with Lynx than she'd been in a very long time, and Drummond didn't want anything to change that.

  He made the call right away, but couldn't reach her because, as luck would have it, Bonnie's glitchy corn-link was on the blink again.

  AAA

  <*> <*> <*> V V T

  Recognizing the scent, Lynx was instantly on the alert. Sylor was in the vicinity, but exactly where and with what intention, Lynx couldn't tell. He'd gotten several rats that evening—they liked to come out at dusk, and Lynx's keen vision had no trouble spotting them, just as he should have been able to spot Sylor. He consid­ered hunting him down by his scent trail alone, but knew that Sylor would realize he was being hunted and leave. Lynx didn't want that; he wanted a confrontation. This cat and mouse game they were playing had him primed for a fight—and now that he had something to fight for, he was more than willing to engage.

  Leaning against the feeding pen fence, he fed the rats to the enocks, letting them tear off bits of the meat while his eyes scanned the area. If Sylor moved, he would see him—but only if he happened to be looking right at him at the time. Lynx wondered just what mechanism the Vessonians used to disappear and decided that they must be capable, not of disappearing, but of projecting their sur­roundings to the viewer rather than their own image. This would explain why wearing clothing didn't affect the abil­ity—Ulla had been wearing a sleeper when she did it, and Sylor must have been capable of doing the same thing.

  Just then, Kipper trotted over, and Lynx remembered that the dog would know Sylor—possibly being able to see him, or somehow know where he was. He should have asked Tisana to tell the dog to point him out, but it was too late for that now. The Jolly Roger's crew had been gone for about two weeks, promising a return visit in a few months. Lynx had never considered just how valuable that kind of information could be, but he was thinking it now.

  "He is close by," Lynx murmured to the collie. "Do you smell him?"

  Kipper looked up at him questioningly. A little more time spent with Tisana and he would have been able to understand human speech better, but as it stood, Kipper only realized he was being asked a question. Not being able to talk back, he wagged his tail in reply.

  Lynx noted a few eggs in the pen and decided to gather them. Giving the rest of the rats to the birds, he slid the poles in behind them and entered the larger pen.

  It was only when the gate slammed shut behind him that he realized his error. Then he saw the poles to the feed­ing area begin to slide out all by themselves. Ah, thought Lynx, he will let the birds eliminate me. His mistake...

  Sylor had been waiting for this moment for some time. Bonnie had always been nearby whenever Lynx had gone into one of the pens, but this time she was in the house and might not hear the commotion—until it was too late. Locking the gate securely, he knew very well that it was impossible for anyone—bird or man— to climb out of that pen. He'd seen to that modification himself, and though its purpose was to keep the birds inside, it would also make for the best, most gruesome accident he could stage. Bonnie would be horrified and in need of comfort—which Sylor would graciously pro­vide. He might even give it some time before he ap­proached her—let her miss having a man around the way she'd apparently missed having him. He might even wait until after the burial to return to her, though it would be difficult. Sylor hadn't been faithful to Bonnie, but that didn't mean he wasn't attracted. She was a very desirable woman—whether she cut her hair or not.

  Sylor smiled, noting Lynx's expression of horror as the enocks realized that they were about to feast upon something more substantial than rats. The big male was the first to spot him, as usual—and Sylor understood the danger, having nearly been had by that one a few times himself.

  Lynx had seen movement by the gate and knew that the remote control hadn't been used to close it. Sylor was there—he could smell him, he just couldn't see him. Kipper saw what was happening and barked a warn­ing. The female enocks were milling around, not sure whether to go after Lynx or concentrate on what was left of the rats, but the male was not as indecisive. Zeroing in on his target, the bird went straight for Lynx.

  Kipper barked loudly, hoping Bonnie would hear him. He wanted to go find her, but was afraid to leave. Lynx had been much kinder to him than Sylor had ever been, and Kipper knew exactly what was going on; this was a territorial battle, something a dog understood even better than a man. He knew he didn't want things to go back to the way they were. Lynx was his favorite, and he went after Sylor with a snarl.

  From Lynx's perspective, the dog appeared to be at­tacking thin air, but he knew it had to be Sylor. The dog could obviously see the Vessonian—or smell him—and while Lynx knew he could rely on Kipper's help to track him, he first had to escape from the pen. He had to ad­mire Sylor for his skill and cunning; setting him up to be killed by the enocks was a good plan, but he'd reckoned without an inventive Zetithian as his prey.

  Lynx ignored the enocks completely and ran to the edge of the enclosure, hoping that Sylor hadn't been in the area when he'd been working on the pen. Pulling up the trapdoor on a buried box, Lynx smiled grimly. It was empty; the rope and grappling hook to be used for es­cape were gone. The release mechanism for the gate had also been disabled. There was only one other way out.

  Lynx heard Kipper yelp as Sylor kicked him and watched the collie's renewed attack on his invisible tar­get. If the dog kept him occupied long enough, Lynx knew he would be able to get out. The trouble was, the enocks had finished eating the rats by this time and, with nothing left to occupy them, they headed toward him with their beaks wide open, ready to rip the flesh from his bones. Lynx was under no illusions that his purring would stop them once they'd gotten a taste.

  Meanwhile, Kipper was doing his best to help. He'd tried to tell someone what Sylor had been up to—even searching in vain for Tisana to interpret for him, but hu­mans could be so stupid! Having seen what Sylor had done seemed strange to him at the time—and he'd wanted to tell someone then—but he understood it now.

  Lynx had one last escape route, but to use it, he'd have to run toward the birds, or lure them away and then circle back to the feeding pen. They were cunning hunt­ers, though, and they split up and fanned out in an effort to surround him. To scatter them, bold moves were re­quired. Lynx ran right at them, doing his best to appear even more frightening than they were. Having always been quiet and soothing when he was near them had the birds unprepared for his startlingly aggressive behavior, which gave Lynx all the time he needed.

  Lynx made it through the gauntlet of snapping beaks but was bleeding from several bites by the time he reached his goal. He'd carved discreet grooves in the otherwise smooth fence, which required getting a foot­hold in one spot and then reaching a long way for the next. The pattern was too complex for the birds to un­derstand, but it was possible that Sylor had noticed it and sabotaged them. With the male enock hot on his heels, Lynx made it to the wall, but as he scrambled up the side and stretched his leg sideways to find the next step, he felt the beak grab at his pants leg, ripping through the tough fabric like a knife.

  With no time to lose, Lynx whirled around and seized the bird by the throat, just as he had the day he res­cued Bonnie. "Sorry," he said grimly, "but you must die now." Throttling the enock with one hand, Lynx punched the side of its head with the other. As he heard the neck bones snap, he pushed the body backwards to block the advance of the females. Momentarily finding the male's inert body more interesting than Lynx, the females ignored him long enough for him to climb out. From the top of the fence, he could see Kipper nearby and still on the attack, and Lynx launched himself in that direction.

  His flying leap from the top of the fence took Sylor by surprise, disrupting his camouflage projection. Lynx could see him now, but was already close en
ough to smell and feel and knew that this was the one he truly needed to defeat—otherwise, he'd be fighting him forever.

  Sylor fought back with a vengeance, using every dirty trick he could remember, even going for Lynx's eyes. Kipper managed to get a grip on Sylor's boot, but got kicked in the face. His yelp of pain set off a fire inside Lynx and, as a lifetime of suppressed anger was unleashed, he struck at his enemy, not to injure, but to kill.

  Sylor's head snapped back from the blow to his tem­ple, but his kick at the dog had thrown him off balance and he was already falling—which canceled Lynx's advantage. Momentarily stunned, he then retaliated by kicking Lynx in the groin. Always one of those taboos in combat, Sylor wasn't above using it, and, at least in this case, neither was Lynx. Recovering quickly, Lynx whipped around, sending Sylor sprawling with a vicious kick of his own. Then, with a snarl, Lynx advanced on Sylor as the Vessonian scrambled to his feet. Neither man noticed when the dog took off running.

  The sensors had pinpointed his location and knowing what he knew now, Drummond was sure Sylor was there somewhere, but he still couldn't see him. As he got out of his speeder, he spotted Lynx in the enock pen and raced to his aid but stopped short as he saw Lynx's leap from the fence and his subsequent struggle with an invisible foe. When Sylor reappeared, Drummond knew he should have stepped in to put an end to the fight, but something made him let it play out.

  He wished he hadn't when the Vessonian pulled a knife.

  Chapter 21

  Launching himself at his opponent, Lynx saw the flash of the blade and went for the hand that held it, but missed. As the sharp point bit into his shoulder, Lynx let out a roar of fury and instinctively went for the Vessonian's throat. He heard Sylor's scream as his fangs drew blood. Snarling, Lynx shook his head—ripping through muscles, tendons, and arteries—only stopping when Sylor went limp in his grasp. Sylor's astonished eyes stared up at Lynx for a long moment before they lost their focus, and he fell back onto the grass.

  Lynx pulled the knife out of his shoulder and tossed it aside, not even feeling the pain or the flow of blood that followed. His rival was dead, and as he stared down at Sylor's inert form, his whole body felt numb with the shock and the taste of another man's blood on his tongue.

  Drummond stood watching, silently, until Kipper's beseeching whine finally got his attention.

  "Shame about that," Drummond said gruffly as he approached. "He should have known better to get in there with those damn birds! If I was that hungry, I'd have stolen chicken eggs myself. Not as big, perhaps, but at least chickens won't kill you."

  Lynx turned to face him, blood running down his chest and his yellow eyes still ablaze. "The birds did not kill him," Lynx said firmly. "I did."

  Drummond scratched his head thoughtfully. "Well, now, you can believe that if you want, but that's not what /saw. Actually, they saved me the trouble. Seems there's more than one death warrant out on him—and Sylor Halen isn't his real name, either."

  "He was a... murderer?"

  "Not exactly," Drummond replied. "He's what they call a sociopath on Earth—the kind of crook who thinks only of himself and likes to manipulate people and make bad things happen. Hard to pin a murder on one of them, but we won't have to worry about trying to do that now."

  "Why did he come back?" Lynx wondered aloud.

  Drummond shrugged. "Don't know. Must've had some sort of plan when he left here in the first place— but it's hard to get on this planet legally—and even harder to leave—'specially once you've had a trace put on you. Guess whatever he had planned must have fallen through, and he decided to come back. Wish he hadn't, though," Drummond said with a rueful grimace. "Don't look forward to telling Bonnie about this."

  "I am the one who will tell her," Lynx said.

  "You just tell her the enocks got him, and you were trying to save him," Drummond advised. "Might be bet­ter that way."

  "No," Lynx said with a defiant lift of his chin. "I will not lie to her."

  "Suit yourself," Drummond said with a shrug. "But that's how the official report will read."

  Lynx heard Kipper barking and looked up just as Bonnie rounded the corner of the house.

  "Don't tell her," Drummond warned again. "It'll be hard enough on her as it is."

  "I have to," Lynx said, wiping the blood from his chin with the back of his hand. He was already bloody from his encounter with the enocks, and Sylor's knife hadn't helped matters any.

  Bonnie caught one glimpse of Lynx covered in blood and started running. Drummond tried to head her off, but she saw Sylor anyway.

  Stopping short, she stared down at the body lying in the grass. "What happened?" she gasped.

  Drummond looked at Lynx warningly and shook his head.

  "He tried to kill me," Lynx said shortly. "So I killed him."

  "That's his story," Drummond grumbled. "But it's not how the report will read. I was a witness, and / say the birds did it!"

  Bonnie ignored Drummond and looked anxiously at Lynx. "Are you all right?" she asked. "You're bleeding!"

  "I will heal," Lynx said. With a gesture toward Sylor, he added, "He will not."

  "I kept telling you those birds were too vicious to fool with," Drummond said, "and I—"

  "That's enough, Drummond," Bonnie said firmly. "I believe Lynx."

  "But—"

  "It doesn't matter," Bonnie said. "I know he killed Sylor in self-defense. He's incapable of murder."

  "Murder? Did I say anything about murder?" Drummond demanded testily. "I just think an accidental death is easier for everyone."

  "No one will believe it," Bonnie said. "Sylor knew how dangerous those birds could be, and so does everyone else around here. Nobody in their right mind would believe he would just blunder into their pen and let them rip him apart." The fact that Bonnie had done that very thing didn't occur to her at the time, though it did occur to Lynx. "Yes, but—"

  "Drummond," Bonnie said quietly. "Thank you very much for trying to help, but we will tell the truth."

  "Didn't tell the truth when you filled out that birth record, did you?" Drummond countered.

  Bonnie glared at him. "That was something I did to keep Sylor from having any claim on Ulla, and you know it!"

  Lynx looked confused. "Ulla?"

  "For your information, the name on that child's birth record is Shaulla Dackelov," Drummond told him. "And it lists you as her father—and you weren't even living on this planet when she was conceived! How's that for being honest and truthful?"

  Lynx stared at Bonnie. "It is not possible."

  "Maybe so," Bonnie admitted, "but I had Drummond put your name down when I reported Ulla's birth. I didn't want Sylor coming back and claiming her, and I figured you wouldn't care one way or the other." Sighing sadly, she added, "I never thought you'd stay this long, anyway." So her name is—r

  "The same as your mother's, Lynx. I think I spelled it right—not sure how it would be spelled in Zetithian, but what I came up is phonetically correct, anyway."

  "You did this without telling me," Lynx said flatly. "Was I ever to be told?"

  "Well, I'm telling you now, so that's a moot point, isn't it?" Sighing, she added, "Guess I should tell you the rest of it, too. When I claimed abandonment to get Sylor's name off the deed, for the price of one credit, which I withheld from your pay, you bought his share."

  Lynx could hardly believe what he was hearing. "I have a daughter and I own this land?"

  "Well, you share them both with me," Bonnie said, "but, yeah, that's about the size of it." Lynx still seemed confused, so she added, "I did it because I love you, and I didn't want Sylor coming back and trying to pick up where he left off."

  "But he was the father of your child—" Lynx said, still trying to make sense of it all. "—her true father."

  "Lynx," Bonnie said gently, "You are Ulla's true father—the only father she's ever known! You're the only one I want, and I wouldn't have let Sylor come back. Not even if I had to give up everything to keep yo
u."

  A frown furrowed his brow. "Then I should not have killed him."

  "Why not?" Bonnie said with surprise. "He was try­ing to kill you, wasn't he?"

  "Yes, but that is not why he had to die." Lynx looked into Bonnie's soft blue eyes. "I did it because of you. Because he was my rival, and I wanted to be certain that you would not be able to choose anyone but me."

  "But I already have, Lynx," Bonnie said. "I love you, not Sylor."

  "Then he did not have to die."

  "Well, now, that's a matter of opinion," Drummond said briskly. He wasn't about to let Lynx go on blaming himself for killing Sylor—it wouldn't do him, or Bonnie, any good. "There are any number of people around the quadrant who want him dead. You just saved them the trouble. His name was really Ranx Prater, and he wasn't a purebred Vessonian, either; he was part Treslanti, which is why he could disappear. Vessonians can't do that. Seems Jack had some suspicions about him and did some asking around after that last visit and found some­one who could identify him. He must've forged his doc­uments to get here. That Treslanti ability doesn't show up on one of Vladen's scans, either." Drummond blew out an exasperated breath. "Damn crooks," he grumbled. "They keep getting smarter, and all I do is get older." Shaking his head, he added, "Maybe I should give it up and retire—just go back to Texas and plant avocados."