Tigra

  "He comes with me,” she said sternly.

  David balked. “You can't be serious? Captain Garza, a city is no place for a wild animal, even a trained one."

  Jeena looked down at Samson. His ears were laid back on his head and his expression was sour. He's angry and ashamed.

  "I am being reasonable, Mr. Proverst. I don't expect you to understand, but I do expect you to trust me on this. He is gentle and intelligent. I would trust him with my life—in fact, I have. You have taken responsibility for bringing me into your city. I take full responsibility for him. If he cannot accompany me then I'm afraid I must decline to come as well."

  David groaned, turning his kytar toward the southern entrance of the mountain.

  "Very well, Captain, have it your way. But I certainly hope he's housebroken."

  David and Paul had already turned their mounts and so did not see Samson's gesture. It was something he had picked up from her, a flipping of the finger that was a universal human sign of disrespect dating back centuries.

  They had gone a short distance when Paul dropped back to ride next to her.

  "I'm sorry about what happened back there, Captain, but if you had simply told us you were Ewar's semata it would have saved a lot of unpleasantness.” He could not hide his bemused expression. “Forgive me. I suppose my surprise is evident. But I have to admit I'm curious as to how such a, uh ... relationship developed between a star pilot and an Intawa hunter."

  "You are mistaken, Mr. Byron. Ewar said only that I was semata, not that I was his. In point of fact, I am concubine to a god.” She rode ahead, leaving Paul to puzzle over her answer.

  They rode only a short distance before reaching a projecting overhang of rock, just high enough for a man to walk under. Jeena dismounted and, with Samson at her side, followed them through a guarded gateway into the heart of Pyros, mountain of fire.

  Chapter 16

  Into the wilderness we fled, leaving the city of our birth. There we discovered a new home. Only time will tell if we can re-discover ourselves.

  Jeruel an-Nur

  First Prime Minister of Pyros

  The gateway led into a dark cavern, so dark Jeena was momentarily blinded. As her eyes adjusted she saw the cavern was actually a short tunnel that ran from the gate to the interior of the mountain. The stones beneath her were smooth and flat, and the footfalls of the kytars echoed against the damp, cool walls.

  A large iron door blocked the end of the tunnel and was guarded by two armed soldiers, an image of a mountain emblazed in silver on the chest of their uniforms. They looked in astonishment at Samson but otherwise made no move.

  David gave an order, and they unbolted the doors, opening them onto a cavernous, brightly lit hall.

  "We will leave the kytars here,” David said. “Someone will come for them shortly."

  Jeena removed her pack from her mount and swung it over her shoulder, the weight of the MAAD reassuring. With Samson close to her side, she entered the gleaming hall.

  The room was carved out of the white rock of the mountain, the walls smooth and glossy and climbed in a gentle arch to meet in a high, vaulted ceiling. This was supported by thick, intricately carved pillars that rose from the polished floor. A beautiful but strange design was laid out in colored tiles in the center of the room.

  Jeena gazed at the impressive work of engineering it represented.

  It's as though giant sculptors simply carved out the parts of the mountain that were not wanted. The machinery to do this would have to be enormous. Someone is playing fast and loose with the rules of planetary designation.

  "Welcome to Pyros,” David said, though with little warmth, she noted. “Make yourself comfortable. Paul will locate Mordachi."

  Paul excused himself while David took up a position near the guards. His behavior was polite but stiff, and she realized she had probably wounded his ego earlier.

  She wished the first encounter with these people had gone better. If they were going to aid the Babylonians—and therefore, her and Samson—then resentment must not be allowed to smolder.

  As Samson sat tense and alert, she paced the large hall, studying the detail of the interior. Whereas her initial impression had been one of opulent grandeur, closer inspection revealed evidence of extensive repair. There were large cracks in the walls that had been expertly sealed but were still visible, new tiles had been set in the floor design, the colors and textures not quite matching the original; and in many places the high-relief carvings in the columns had eroded away, restored with what appeared to be a kind of plaster.

  It was clear that time and neglect had taken its toll on the great hall. It seemed to her it had been allowed to fall into considerable disrepair before restorations were initiated, and she wondered at the reason.

  Her attention was drawn to the light sources illuminating the room. They were not synlamps, as she had assumed, but glowing orbs in translucent globes set at regular intervals around the walls. There was something familiar about them, and it took her a moment to place a name to the devices—electric light bulbs. Another riddle. Why would a culture with synlamp technology use antiquated, wasteful electric light for illumination?

  And speaking of electric, how are they generating their heat?

  "Mr. Proverst, the Intawa call this the fire mountain. Is Pyros volcanic?” she asked.

  "No, not volcanic. Pyros sits over a natural geothermic reservoir. It is the source of our heat and electrical power. Because of thermal radiation, no snow accumulates on the mountain, as I'm sure you observed."

  "It is remarkable. I can't imagine what it must have taken to build it."

  "Neither can I."

  She was about to ask him to elaborate on that statement when Paul returned with a bespectacled, rotund man at his side.

  "Captain Garza, may I present Mordachi Robsaleum, Prime Minister of Pyros."

  Jeena guessed him to be about sixty, of average height and somewhat more than average girth. His hair was silver, falling in curls to his shoulders. He wore trousers and a rumpled jacket, giving him the appearance of an elderly scholar.

  She extended her hand. “Mr. Prime Minister, thank you for seeing me."

  "Please, call me Mordachi, everyone else does,” he said, shaking her hand. “Mine is more of a figurehead position, anyway, but I do get to make all the official noises and wear this nice pin."

  A silver brooch in the shape of a mountain was fixed to his jacket.

  He looked down at Samson, sitting quietly at her side.

  "So, this is the ferocious animal Paul was telling me about, eh? Magnificent specimen. They tell me you have domesticated him. Absolutely remarkable. I have never been this close to one that wasn't sedated. Looks like you've been in a fight recently, eh, big fellow?” Samson remained mute. Mordachi smiled. “My, but you're a good boy."

  He turned his attention to Jeena. “So. I understand you are a Union star pilot, marooned here on Ararat."

  "Yes, that's correct. I crashed in your desert."

  "I'm glad to see you escaped uninjured. You'll have to fill us in on what's happening in the rest of the wide galaxy. What you've done with the tigra is nothing short of amazing, by the way. I'm anxious to learn how you managed to tame him. We've never had any luck with them ourselves—too savage. But first, there is an important matter to discuss.” He gestured to his right. “There is a small office we can use. Please, follow me."

  The room they entered was carved from the same living rock as the hall. It had low ceilings and no windows, the light supplied by the archaic electric bulbs. In the center of the room was a round wooden table with surrounding benches carved from the stone floor. Thick cushions were scattered on the benches.

  Mordachi motioned for Jeena to sit, and was amused to see Samson settle next to her, his hindquarters on the floor and his forefeet on the bench.

  He chuckled. “He certainly is protective of you. Now, I am told you have a message for me from Touloc of Uruk, is that so?"

&
nbsp; "Yes."

  "Well? May I hear it?"

  Jeena hesitated. “First, may I ask a question of you, sir? I was told there was a connection between Pyros and New Jerusalem. I'd like to know about that before I say anything more."

  David spoke up, his irritation evident.

  "Look here, Captain, we have gone out of our way to accommodate you. If you cannot—"

  "No, David, it's all right. I'll answer the question. Yes, Captain, there is a connection, of sorts. We in Pyros are the descendants of a group who fled New Jerusalem almost eighty years ago. Scientists and their families, mostly. They had renounced Judaslam, and escaped from the city during the night, wandering in the wilderness before eventually founding Pyros. To the Rosh-dan, we are traitors, betrayers of the faith, and they have been searching for us unceasingly."

  A word Jeena had heard in New Jerusalem suddenly came to her.

  "So, you are the Apostates?"

  Mordachi smiled. “That is a word I have not heard since my youth. Where did you learn it?"

  "In New Jerusalem."

  David looked at her suspiciously. “You have been in New Jerusalem?"

  "Yes, it was in the city prison that I met Touloc and was asked to deliver his message."

  "May I inquire why you were held in the prison?” asked Mordachi.

  "For aiding a friend."

  "That isn't a crime even among the Afridi. Surely, there's more to the story,” Mordachi prodded.

  "Let's just say my friend and Jacob didn't see eye-to-eye. Jacob ordered his execution, and I had a problem with that. I managed to escape from the prison and rescue him, and now I'm a fugitive, the same as the rest of you, apparently."

  "Are you asking us to believe you escaped from the prison of New Jerusalem all on your own?” David asked, his anger rising. “Did it ever occur to you you may have been allowed to escape to lead the Rosh-dan to us?"

  Jeena held her own anger in check, though she could feel Samson tensing next to her.

  "I was not followed, Mr. Proverst. And if you remember, coming here was not my idea. I am here only as a favor to a dying man."

  "Dying?” Mordachi asked, stunned. “Touloc is dead?"

  "Yes, sir, I'm sorry. He died soon after passing his information on to me."

  "I'm sorry, Mordachi,” Paul whispered. “There was no time to tell you."

  "Touloc dead,” Mordachi repeated, shaking his head. “He was a good man. What a great loss to both our cities. Tell me, Captain, what is this message he felt was so urgent he would risk both his life and our discovery?"

  "This: the Rosh-dan have amassed an army of over half a million men, keeping them sequestered and hidden in their western lands. They are preparing to march on Uruk. The city cannot withstand such a force, and Touloc sent me to ask for your help."

  "A half-million men! That isn't possible. We'd have seen some sign,” protested Paul.

  "It's more than possible,” said Jeena. “I've seen them."

  "You have seen them?” David said sarcastically. “You have seen the army hidden from all eyes? But, of course—you escaped from the notorious prison of New Jerusalem, didn't you? And, oh, let us not forget your rescue of a friend from the very hand of the Rosh-dan. Quite a succession of adventures for a marooned fighter pilot, wouldn't you say?

  "So, tell me, where is this friend? I would love to speak to someone who witnessed such daring feats."

  Samson stood up.

  "Then speak to me,” he growled.

  "Samson!” Jeena cried. She slid her hand quickly into her pack, her fingers gripping the MAAD.

  The three men froze, their mouths gaping.

  "What?” peeped Paul.

  "I said talk to me. I was the friend she saved. I was bound on the altar of the Rosh-dan and would have been sacrificed if not for her. She saved my life, just as she escaped from the prison.” He stared hard at David. “She has been through more than you can imagine, and if you think she is lying, then you are an even bigger fool than you look."

  His mouth still gaping, his body trembling, David raised the carbine that had been resting in his hands.

  Jeena ripped the MAAD from her pack and leapt up.

  "Put it down!” she screamed.

  Mordachi, who had been struck dumb and slack-jawed, now found his voice.

  "No, David! Put that away. Put it away!"

  David lowered the weapon.

  Mordachi spoke directly to Samson.

  "You can speak,” he said, his voice filled with awe.

  "How very observant of you. Good boy, big fellow."

  An almost childlike smile appeared on the prime minister's face, accompanied by a nervous laugh.

  "But ... but how?” was all he could manage.

  Jeena still held the MAAD, switching her aim among the three men. Adrenaline rushed through her, and she could hear the pounding of her heart in her ears. She grabbed her pack and began to slowly back up toward the door of the office.

  "Everyone just stay where you are. We've delivered our message and we're going now. Don't anyone try to stop us. Believe me, you don't want to know what this weapon can do."

  She moved with Samson out into the entrance hall, the three men following cautiously.

  "Captain ... Jeena, wait, please don't go,” pleaded Mordachi. “We mean you no harm.” He turned quickly to David. “Give me your weapon,” he said urgently.

  David hesitated.

  "Now, David! That is an order."

  Reluctantly, David obeyed.

  Jeena tensed. “Don't try me."

  Mordachi stopped in mid-reach.

  "Please, Captain, trust me.” Taking the rifle he released the clip, letting it clatter to the floor. Then he pulled the bolt back, and the chamber bullet flew out. He tossed the weapon at her feet. “David, order the gate guards away. Do it."

  David moved toward the tunnel door, his eyes never leaving Jeena or Samson. Jeena trailed his movements with the MAAD. He reached the door and shouted the order to the guards in the tunnel. They could hear footsteps fading, and then all was silent.

  "There is no one between you and the outside world,” Mordachi said. “You have us as prisoners, if you wish.” His voice turned pleading again. “But I beg you not to go. I'm sorry if we have frightened you, but our reactions were simply those of astonishment. Perhaps, though, your animal's appearance is not the complete shock it should be,” he added cryptically.

  "I am not her animal!’ Samson snapped. “I am my own person and my name is Samson."

  "I'm sorry. Forgive me ... Samson, I meant no offense.” He turned to Jeena. “You trusted Touloc enough to search us out. I'm asking you to trust me now. Stay. Let us talk. If at the end of our conversation you and your animal still want to leave, I give you my word I will personally lead you to wherever you wish to go. Please, will you stay?"

  Jeena kept the weapon aimed. “I can't think of a single reason why we should."

  David stepped forward. “Then I'll give you a reason—you have nowhere to go. If what you say is true, the Afridi are set on all-out war. You think you can hide among the Intawa? How long do you think they'd last against the Rosh-dan?"

  "There is another reason—Samson,” Mordachi added. “I don't know how Samson has come to be—and unless I am mistaken, you don't either—but it may very well we be that we can shed some light on this ... miracle. We mean no harm to either of you, Captain, and it just may very well be that we can help you."

  Jeena was now at the door, but Samson had stopped. He sat unmoving, staring into the pleading eyes of the Prime Minister.

  "Let's go, Samson,” she ordered.

  "I think we should stay."

  "What?"

  "I believe him, Jeena, or at least, I want to believe him. Maybe I even need to believe him. And they're right. We have nowhere to run but to the Intawa, and I won't lead the Rosh-dan to them."

  "Are you forgetting who these people are descended from?'

  "No. But then, look at what I'm
descended from.” He walked cautiously up to Mordachi and held out his paw. “Let's try this again. My name is Samson. I am a tigra, but I will not harm you. In fact, I would like to be your friend."

  The old man gripped the proffered paw warily in his two trembling hands.

  "And I your friend, Samson,” he said, grinning. “And I yours."

  It took some coaxing, but Samson finally convinced her to lower the weapon and at least answer the obvious questions concerning him. She told of finding him alone as a cub, and of those first few months together. She described the incident that led to his first word, and the months of learning that followed. Then she told of being discovered by the Rosh-dan and of Samson's near death at the hand of Jacob.

  Mordachi shook his head sadly.

  "I am sorry. The genocide of the tigra race is a terrible crime that should have been halted long ago. We have not done as much as we should have to halt the Rosh-dan, to our shame."

  "It has not been for a lack of sympathy to the tigra's plight,” Paul added. “We have been aware of this butchery, but we simply have not had the strength to challenge New Jerusalem."

  "If Touloc's message is correct then it appears we no longer have any choice,” Mordachi said. “Jeena, I understand your distrust of us, but we are not Afridi. If Samson spoke too soon then consider it an act of providence. Knowing what we do now, we cannot allow the Rosh-dan to continue the slaughter. Even if Uruk were not threatened we would fight now to protect Samson and the other tigras—as we should have done from the beginning."

  * * * *

  Samson was genuinely touched by the old man's words. “Thank you, Mordachi, but I can't blame you for not risking war with the Rosh-dan for the sake of ... well, for the sake of some wild animals,” he said.

  Mordachi and Paul exchanged uncomfortable looks and diverted their eyes.

  "Samson, I wish it were as simple as that,” said the old man, his voice tinged with sadness. “Please believe me when I tell you it was not our intention, but our people were indirectly responsible not only for the creation of the Rosh-dan, but for the genocidal campaign against the tigras as well."

  Paul spoke to their confusion.