He then did a strange thing. He grabbed me in a bear hug and lifted me off my feet. He didn’t say another word.
Before we left Certis Prime I could not resist a message to my folks outlining our experience. If anyone would understand the import of the barroom encounter to me, they would. I thanked them for my name, and I could not help grinning through the entire recording session.
CHAPTER 12
The tiger was twice the size of its Terran namesake. Its tawny-coat slashed with dark brown and yellow-green stripes was perfect for camouflage on the Cennesari grassland that stretched for thousands of kilometers. Humans and the sentient, although primitive, carnivores native to the planet existed in a fragile truce. A problem with the planet’s domesticated native food animals had prompted the call to the GCVS.
Carel Foster, the head herdsman of a small settlement on the edge of the plains, sneered as he pointed out the creature. “Never used to see ‘em this close unless there was to be a meeting. Better not to see ‘em at all. Our grasslands are parched, and there ain’t many wild herds left, so the tigers eat our cenoxen. Don’t have nothing to spare for the damn cats.” Intense enmity flooded his emotions. I fought a surge of nausea as I clamped down on my shields.
I knew that the drought endangered the peace between the Hunters—the tigers’ name for themselves—and the human settlers. The loss of stock to starving cats led to killing of Hunters by ranchers. This had tension stretched to the breaking point.
“Now our cenoxen been dying off, and we don’t know why,” Foster said. “Can’t afford that. We’re already running on the edge.”
“We can look into the mortality in your herds,” I replied. “We’ve also been told that there’s an outbreak of disease among the Hunters. Can you tell us anything about that?”
Foster grimaced. “Don’t give a damn ‘bout that. What’s more important is that we have five thousand cenoxen confined to this fenced area”—he pointed to a fence twice as tall as a man— “and we’ve lost a tenth of ‘em. In good years, the grazing is enough for the herd. With the drought, we’ve had to supplement their feed with hay. We have feed stations scattered around the corral. The dead animals didn’t starve.”
“How big is the fenced area?” Fur asked.
“Ten by twenty klicks. Big enough for a bigger herd under better conditions.”
“What kind of signs do sick animals show?” I asked.
“Mostly we find ‘em dead in the field. Reports say there’s bleeding, but no one’s been willing to take a close look. There’s only one vet on the planet, and he can’t get here. Everyone’s afraid of infection. We’ve already had a quarantine slapped on us. Can’t sell any of our stock. That hurts.”
“And this is new, nothing you’ve seen before?”
“That’s right. Never seen nothing like it.”
I nodded. “We need to get out there and examine the cenoxen before we can do much more.”
“We need your help, Doc. We can’t afford to lose these herds.”
***
Fur and I set out in our land drone with herdsman Foster as guide. He directed us toward one quadrant of the corral.
“Give you a look at the herds, first,” Foster said.
We also got a good look at the effect of the drought. The native grasses in irrigated fields near the farm buildings stood more than head high, a rich greenish-yellow, with golden seed heads. Away from the cultivation, the grass was only ankle high. No doubt some of that resulted from grazing, but the ground was rock hard and we left a corkscrew of dust behind us as we drove.
When we found a group of animals, I saw why the settlers had used “oxen” in their name for these native grazers. They were the size and conformation of Terran beef cattle, except for an elongated muscular giraffe-like neck.
“I wonder if they evolved those long necks to keep watch over the top of the grass,” Fur said.
I nodded. “Good thought. No way to see predators otherwise.”
The cenoxen coats were a mottled brownish-gray that shaded to cream on the belly, and they sported a set of sharp horns that spread wider than my arm span.
“Those things look nasty,” Fur said.
As we exited the land drone to get a closer look, Foster responded. “They’re dangerous...especially if you rile ‘em.”
“You have my word. I’ll avoid provocation,” I said.
Fur snickered. I raised my middle finger behind my back.
As we approached a large, male cenox, the thought pattern I received took me aback. A specific, rational thought submerged the animal’s emotions. I stepped back.
“What’s wrong?” asked Fur.
“It’s the cenox. There’s something—”
“Wrong?” Foster broke in. “What do you mean? These animals are healthy. There’s no sickness—”
I waved him off. “That’s not what I mean. Quiet.”
He huffed but shut up.
I took a step toward the beast, and the thought came through as clear as a hyperwave message:
No way. I never read minds, and no animal thinks that logically. I shook my head. I took another step toward the cenox while I tried to soothe it mentally.
My stomach twisted like it never did for a single animal’s emotion. I took a good look at the hooves. They were three-toed with razor-sharp nails. Coupled with the horns, this thing looked like it could fend off a Hunter, much less a human. Still, I stood my ground.
“What are you doing, Doc?” Foster’s voice had a panicked tone.
I shook my head again in confusion, but did not want to reveal what I just felt. I turned to Foster. “How do we get blood samples?” I motioned with my head toward the cenox.
Foster laughed. “We don’t catch him. Not unless you want a week in the hospital—or worse.”
At this, the cenox charged five steps toward me then stopped short.
I backed up, but did not turn away from the animal. Animal? Maybe, maybe not.
Foster said, “We’d better leave him alone. We’ll collect your samples from a cenox that’s restrained.” He laughed again. “You don’t mess with the free ones.”
What was going on here? These things were raised as food animals. Were they intelligent, and telepathic, to boot? My mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton wads, and my heart raced at the thought that the cenoxen might understand their own fate but were powerless to affect it because no other humans could communicate with them.
***
Foster led us to a cenox confined in a pen that gave it little room to move. As I approached, the thing stank of fear, but despite its dread, it projected one clear thought:
I gasped as nausea and pain fought for predominance in me.
Fur put his hand on my shoulder. “Cy, there is something. What is it?”
I looked up at him and said, “Later.”
I shut down on my empathic reception long enough to get skin, blood, and saliva samples to create a baseline for tests. We repeated this on a second animal and returned to the drone to store the samples. Then we set out to search for sick or dead cenoxen. I wondered how the cenoxen reacted when they were ill.
“The dead animals been found scattered throughout the enclosure,” Foster said. “But more in the areas around the feeding stations.”
“Could be an infection, if it tends to be where the animals are concentrated,” Fur said.
“If this outbreak gets worse, it will ruin us.” Foster’s mood was bleak.
“We don’t know that it’s an outbreak,” I said. “But if it is infectious, we might be able to control it.”
Foster pointed to a lump in the distance. Fur steered the land drone in that direction, and shortly we pulled up to a dead cenox. Fur and I donned isolation suits.
External examination confirmed what Foster had told us. “Look here
.” I pointed to the eyes. “Hemorrhages on the conjunctiva.”
“Also around the anus,” Fur said. “Could it be some sort of hemorrhagic fever?”
I pointed to numerous large blisters, all on the lighter-colored and sparsely haired portions of the skin. “I’m not sure how the hemorrhages and these blisters fit together. Let’s get skin samples and do a necropsy.” I moved to the drone to get the necessary equipment.
We outfitted Foster with a third isolation suit, and he leaned over and watched us dissect the cenox. I opened the abdomen. Half-clotted blood spilled out onto the ground. There were hemorrhages involving just about every tissue and organ.
“This lady bled out,” I told Foster. “We’ll get tissue, but she’s too long dead. We need to find a sick animal that’s alive or dead only a short time. I want fresh samples to isolate any pathogen.”
***
A male cenox staggered and went down on its front legs. I could feel the animal was more confused than frightened. The thoughts I received were more what I would expect from an animal. Nothing lucid or rational, thank God, perhaps because of its terminal state. We put it out of its misery and performed a necropsy.
“Same lesions on the skin and internal organs,” I said. “The hemorrhages aren’t as bad, but my guess is they would have been soon.”
“What’s happening, Doc? Why are they bleeding like this? I don’t understand.”
“There are several possibilities. Hemorrhagic fever is at the top of the list because it’s most dangerous and even potentially transmissible to humans.”
Foster stepped backward, away from the carcass, despite his protective gear.
“I’m not saying that’s the case.” I didn’t want to blow the guy’s mind. “But if it is a hemorrhagic fever, quarantine becomes even more critical. I’m sure you’ve heard about Ebola virus.”
He shook his head, his face ashen. As I tried to shunt off his response, my face might not have looked much better.
“Ebola was carried to Alpha Centauri in a shipment of Terran monkeys for a zoo. More than a million people died in that epidemic. Emigration from earth stopped for years afterwards. Medical personnel are always primed for that kind of thing.”
“Now I remember. I learned about that in school,” the herdsman said, voice shaking. “But why does it cause bleeding like that?”
“The virus damages blood platelets and endothelial cells lining the blood vessels. The platelet damage inhibits blood coagulation, and the unclotted blood leaks out through the injured vessel walls. Victims bleed from everywhere and go into shock from blood loss.”
“That’s horrible.” Foster’s voice was hoarse.
“It’s as bad as it sounds. We need to get back to our ship to run these samples. Then we might know more.”
“If it is Ebola—”
I cut the herdsman off. “This is not Ebola. There are things that don’t fit, like the skin lesions. And Ebola does not affect cattle—and probably not cenoxen. So, please, don’t panic yourself or start one among your people. From the description you’ve given us about the number of animals affected and the time span involved, this does not look like any hemorrhagic fever we know of that could affect people. And there have been no people involved, from what you’ve said.”
I looked to him for confirmation. He nodded. I was sorry we had mentioned Ebola to begin with. “But we have an obligation to be sure. Let’s head back to town.”
I drove the land drone, dodging occasional large potholes caused by some native burrowing creature. Fur sat in back and chatted with Foster about agricultural practices on Cennesari. He kept the discussion away from the outbreak as much as possible to calm Foster down.
When we left Foster and returned to the GCVS, Fur stopped me before we docked the vehicle.
“Okay, spill it. What were you so worked up about out there?” The furrows between his eyebrows looked about ready for planting.
“I’m not sure, Fur. I received concrete thoughts from those creatures.”
“Exactly what does that mean?”
“I got the usual emotional broadcast, but it was overridden by specific messages, like ‘Flee or attack.’”
“You mean like it was talking to you?”
I shook my head. “I’m an empath, but I don’t read minds. I didn’t lie about that. I don’t receive verbal thoughts, from people or animals.”
“But these were verbal thoughts?”
“It’s impossible unless the cenoxen are telepaths. I’ve never encountered a telepath before, so I don’t know.”
Fur ran his fingers through his beard. “The cenoxen are livestock, but to use language they would have to be sentient.”
“Right. That’s what makes no sense.” Sentient cattle? The implications were earthshaking.
Fur continued. “If the Hunters evolved sentience here, why couldn’t their main prey do likewise to keep up?”
“That’s possible.”
We encountered Levi as we left the land drone. “What is possible?” he asked.
I was not about to tell Levi about the cenoxen. I did not want this to get back to the Cennesari ranchers. God knows how they might react if I claimed their herdbeasts were an intelligent species.
Fur jumped in before I could respond. “We were discussing Cennesari biochemistry.”
I followed his lead. “Yeah. The Cennesari ecology is biochemically compatible with humans, so the settlers can utilize local flora and fauna for food. It’s close enough that it should be easy to pick out any pathogens. We need to run the samples we took.”
He grunted and turned away.
***
“There’s nothing,” I told Fur and Levi.
Levi was sticking close since we were far enough out in the sticks that his spy missions were not worthwhile. I could tell that this relaxed Fur, since he and I were so busy with the cenoxen, he could not have kept tabs on the rebbe.
“We can’t isolate anything from the sick animal, RNA, DNA, or proteins that are different from the healthy ones.”
“Nothing like the weird bug on Pronac?” Fur asked.
I shook my head.
“Not an infectious disease, then,” he said. “That’s good news, anyway.”
“But what else would cause something like this?” Levi asked Fur. He was paying attention out of boredom, I thought.
“I’m not sure. You should ask the doctor.” Fur suppressed a smirk.
Levi looked at me, a sour curl to his lip.
“I have some ideas, but I need to get out into the field again. Let’s go see Foster.”
When we told the herdsman we had ruled out an infection, particularly a hemorrhagic fever, he went from stiff to limp in seconds. He grabbed a chair and collapsed into it.
“I...I didn’t sleep last night. I couldn’t forget the cenox...the blood...the stories about Ebola. I know, I know. You told me. But I still envisioned everyone on Cennesari...” He shuddered.
“What is he talking about?” Levi whined.
I brushed him off. “I’ll tell you later.” I turned to Foster. “You didn’t say anything, did you?”
“No. I didn’t say nothing to anyone. I just...” He shook himself, as if to throw off the burden he had assumed through the night.
I placed my hand on his shoulder. “You can relax now, but if it’s not an epidemic, we still have to determine what it is. Let’s go.”
***
Within the fenced enclosure, we searched for plants Foster did not recognize, that were not typical forage for the cenoxen, and collected those. Levi was not there. Such activity was beneath him.
“You think that this disease is related to the plants?” Foster asked.
“That’s what we need to find out,” I said.
“Are there more of these atypical plants than you usually see?” Fur asked.
“Yeah. There’s always more weeds in a heavily grazed area. When there ain’t enough forage, animals eat strange stuff. Might taste bad, but that ain�
��t important if an animal is hungry.”
“How much supplemental feeding are you doing,” I asked.
“As much as we can. The grain fields under irrigation are for human use, but the extra is cenoxen feed. We harvest hay from unirrigated native grass fields for them, too. Why?”
“Some plants can have compounds that can inhibit blood coagulation.”
“Some Terran plants do,” Fur added. “But what about the skin lesions?”
“I’m not sure yet. Let’s get on back and look at what we have.”
***
I looked at Fur, my shoulders slumped. “There are no anticoagulants in any of these plants. There are molecules I’ve never seen before, but simulations on how they might interact with coagulation components or endothelial cells are negative. We’re missing something,” I told Fur and Levi, “but what?”
Fur said, “Terran sweet clover was one of the main causes of bleeding syndromes in domestic animals. There was no problem unless the clover got contaminated with molds. The enzymes in the molds metabolized precursor compounds to dicoumarol, which inhibits vitamin K production.” He looked at Levi who radiated confusion enough that even Fur picked up on it. “Vitamin K is necessary to activate the blood clotting enzymes. If it’s gone, you can bleed to death.”
This did not seem to make Levi any happier.
“That’s a very good point, Fur,” I said. “We need to check the hay and test it.”
***
“The hay isn’t put up if it’s wet,” Foster said. “We know that wet hay can get moldy.”
“We still need to rule that out,” I told him. “We’re running out of options.”
The hay was mold-contaminated, much to Foster’s chagrin. “This wouldn’t happen if we didn’t have to use every last bale of feed because of the drought,” he said defensively.
When we analyzed the samples, we had a surprise.
“Foster, Fur, look at this. There’s still no anticoagulant, but this compound...” I pointed to the readout, “...is a photodynamic agent. Plants can produce these in response to fungal contamination. In the skin, they cause photosensitivity. They absorb ultraviolet radiation from sunlight, become active, and cause cell damage. They’re likely the cause of the skin blisters.”
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