The Battle for Tomorrow (Ilon the Hunter)

by Frederick Bell

  Fighting back her revulsion she moved closer and stared for a long empty space of time. “Why do they not rip it apart and eat it? How do you explain its presence among them?”

  “I can’t. I have puzzled over this relationship for a considerable while, yet I am still firmly convinced that it cannot be a segathar. As on Epiphiline the laws of inheritance must be the same here. Within a species there is an extraordinary range of individual variation, but when similar animals breed they must produce similar offspring. That is, segathars produce only segathars. Therefore the probability of producing such a creature from this kind of union is zero. If that does not convince you then there are some other remarkable differences that clearly distinguish it from these animals. For instance, its diet. It could be an omnivore.”

  “Then, it does eat meat?”

  “Examination of its gut had led me to believe that it does. However, high traces of carbon indicate that the meat was burnt prior to its consumption.”

  “Burnt? The creature eats burnt meat?”

  “It would appear so.”

  “How revolting.” Pulima Cos made an accompanying facial gesture to show her disgust.

  “We’ve also done a complete analysis of the creature’s biology,” Igna Lox continued, “using biochemical, metabolic—every conceivable medical test. The body of evidence, the indisputable facts, is in here.” She tapped the thick wet binder before handing it over.

  Pulima Cos studied the first few pages closely before slamming the binder shut. There was a lot of technical jargon and indecipherable equations, little of which she understood. Her one eye was on Igna Lox who she was sure was thinking her the fool.

  “Explain this nonsense at once.”

  “Very well,” Igna Lox huffed. “I seriously believe the creature did not originate on this planet.”

  She was flabbergasted, stunned and stupefied. Rarely had someone been able to render her speechless. Had it been anyone else she might have had them stripped of their rank and driven from her sight. Nevertheless, when she was able to speak again her voice was cold and menacing.

  “You should feel shame for bringing me this deplorable information. Am I to believe that such idiocy flows from the mind of a scientist? Evidently all of that food you eat has added more to your bulk than your brains.”

  Igna Lox was insulted by her rough manner. Nor was she used to having her theories so ridiculed by a rank amateur, though forced herself to be calm in the face of her growing anger. “I assure you that my hypothesis is strictly in accordance with the facts.”

  “Demonstrate, speak, explain!” she demanded.

  “First you must promise to listen. It is abundantly clear that this is information you do not wish to believe. Can you do that?”

  “I can,” she answered testily. “Go on, but be careful not to drift into the boundaries of stupidity again.”

  “There are quite possibly more than eight million different kinds of animals living on this planet. Each species arose by a slow modification of earlier forms, tracing their existence back in time to a common origin. That is to say, all roads lead back to a single ancestor who is the progenitor of all life forms. So because of this phylogenetic kinship the morphology of every living creature shows a varying degree of similarity. Their nucleated cells clearly share a common unity in composition, structure, reproduction, and . . .” Igna Lox stopped herself when she saw the blank look on Pulima Cos’s face. “Do you understand any of what I am telling you?”

  “No.”

  She stepped back and fought to control herself. The emptiness of her mind appalled her. Pulima Cos, who, unlike herself, was impulsive and reactionary. The majesty of her thoughts, the beauty of her knowledge, certainly could not be appreciated by a crude and uncivilized thinker as this.

  “I will try to explain it again.”

  “I find you extremely boring,” Pulima Cos rudely interrupted. “Do you have a point to make? If so it escapes me.”

  She scowled and was full of contempt. “You take issue with things that you know nothing about. So listen closely and I will elucidate. This particular creature is unique in all the vastness of the world because its genetic makeup differs markedly from any other existing life form. To put it simply, it is utterly impossible for it, or any of its kind, to have existed here.”

  But Pulima Cos continued to remain skeptical. “I can’t believe that.” She expressed her reservations further with her next two questions. “Then where did it come from? And what is it doing here?”

  “Regrettably, the answers elude me.”

  “Then you have a mystery. Every problem must have a solution. Find it.”

  This new task did not please her in the slightest, and she unconsciously wriggled her pendant flesh in hatred of this domineering and overbearing administrator. If Pulima Cos had any idea what she was asking! She could command her to search the length and width of the world, yet as Igna Lox parted company and went on her way, she knew that tomorrow and the next tomorrow would bring her no closer to the answers than today.

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Ilon’s original plan to get himself and his hunters into the Iranha city had only been partially successful. His presence here was proof of that. Yet he had little choice and accepted his fate as one who was already dead. No hunter had ever returned from the Iranha alive, he knew. Only dead. Had he ever thought it possible that he could escape then he would be thinking it now. Instead he was thinking of his death, and hoped it would be soon.

  For a long period he sat motionless in his cage, seeing only the strange buildings outside the windows of the moving vehicle. It was daylight, yet there was darkness in his thoughts as he wondered of his hunters. Had the Iranha gone back to exterminate them completely? Were they all dead? He could only wonder and be afraid for them.

  When the vehicle drove out onto the open plains his worries were forgotten for the moment and he was overcome by a longing so strong that he clenched the solid bars with his hands and shook them until the cage rattled. But this feeling was not to last. He was soon loaded into one of their flying machines and the next thing he knew he was in another Iranha city.

  As they wheeled him down the corridor some of the Iranha stopped to look at him. Lumpy, gray-black mottled skin, and unbelievably ugly. A few pressed their faces against the bars and looked in. Two of the ugly creatures were wearing an Egris skin on their backs. How Ilon wished he had his spear. To run it through their hides was indeed a very satisfying thought.

  There were four Iranha waiting for him in a large room. From what he could tell they all looked alike. All were strangely garbed in green gowns, their hands and faces covered with the same bright material. In the center of the room was a circular table with restraining straps. Overhead a bank of lights glared down from the ceiling. Ilon sniffed the air. It smelled like blood and death and he was genuinely afraid. Backing himself into the corner of his cage he howled in terror as one of them reached in and stuck him with a sharp instrument. He suddenly felt very tired; he wanted to sleep. Now barely able to keep his eyes open he felt the cold metal of the table beneath his back, saw the bright lights directly overhead, and blinked his eyes shut. They did not open again.

  When Ilon awoke the next day he was sore and bruised from where they had poked and prodded him. He had no idea what they had done but parts of his body were covered with a sticky material which adhered to his skin. Ripping off his bandages he saw where they had cut through and bled him. He touched the red weal of puckered flesh and grimaced in pain. After he slept some more he was fully awake when a single Iranha entered the room.

  It was carrying a tray between its stumpy hands as it stomped forward and screeched at him. Crouching in the corner of his cage he snarled back, though he knew that it was he who was the prisoner. When it left the room he reached forward through the bars and thirstily drank down the bowl of water. In another bowl was something that looked edible which he picked up and sank his teeth into. He was too hungry to care.
Pushing the gobbet of food into his mouth he chewed on it while he began to think. Whoever had captured him seemed to want him alive, and he wondered what his life could possibly mean to these Iranha. Thinking about it made his head hurt, so he stretched back and closed his eyes. He would probably never know.

  Only later, when Ilon slowly regained consciousness did he realize that he had been moved again. He felt too groggy to sit up; the back of his head was throbbing. Something creaked behind him. He felt wet nostrils touch his leg, a snort of hot air, then a wet tongue.

  “Stop that!” he sharply commanded.

  An Egris female was wide-eyed with amazement, shocked, incredulous, and gaped at the other two males beside her who also wore the same stunned expression. When they fully recovered one of the males expressed disbelief, but it was the female who bent forward and peered quizzically at him.

  “Speak creature. Say something to us.”

  Ilon sat up and looked about his new surroundings. A circular enclosure with a high domed roof. The grounds crudely resembled prairie terrain. Sandy hills, clumps of grass, a few small bushes, yet a prison nonetheless. “Like what?” he asked, focusing his attention on how he might escape from here.

  All three clicked with excitement; their heads bobbed rhythmically together. “Amazing! A creature who speaks just like us. Do you understand every word?”

  Ilon snorted. “Of course. I speak better than you.”

  “There are more mysteries in this world than can be imagined,” she remarked. “Are there others like you?”

  “I am one of you.”

  “One of us?” She appeared puzzled. “I thought you were a meal. You are lucky. We had already eaten our fill before they put you in here, and so we were saving you for the next time one of us got hungry.”

  “Then I am happy to not have been devoured by my own people.”

  “Then you are Egris?”

  It was too difficult to explain, nor was there time to elaborate because he wanted to know everything that he could since the Iranha still might yet take him away. Suffice for the moment he very simply said, “I am Ilon of trod Horhon. And you, hunter?”

  “Nagris of trod Nagris.”

  The two males behind her were introduced as Krunod and Sekak. They briefly conversed and exchanged information. Ilon told them about the other trods and his efforts to unite them together. In return Nagris told him how her own trod had been ambushed, captured, and killed. It was a sad story which he had heard many times in the past. But now that he had answered their questions it was his turn to ask some of his own.

  “Are there others?”

  “There were. One died, the other two are gone now.” Nagris lowered her head. “Dead I suppose.”

  “Do you think they might have escaped, Ilon?” It was Sekak who spoke. He was the youngest among them, and the most excitable. With a single word Ilon very quickly severed his optimism.

  “No.” Then he added with grim finality, “They are dead. Just like us.” All sadly agreed. “Tell me, Nagris, what is this strange place?”

  “Something between life and death,” she glumly told him. “We are fed, but we are not free. See there?” She was pointing to the wall. When he approached he could see that it was constructed of a transparent material. Outside there was a lighted corridor all around the perimeter.

  Frustrated, Ilon kicked uselessly against the hard surface with his foot, reflecting only the pain that was evident by his expression. “Then we are trapped here, living in the shadow of the Iranha. Why?”

  “The Iranha come each day to watch us.”

  “They watch you? I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I. Some watch for a very long time, then they go away. That is all they do.”

  Shaking his head, Ilon said, “Keep you alive, feed you, watch you. I can fathom none of this.”

  Unfortunately Nagris was unable to provide any better explanation. The only certainty was that he was trapped in here just as they were. Ilon felt completely helpless. There was nothing he could do, nothing at all. As the day wore on he saw more and more faces behind the wall.

  Now they were looking in. At him.

  Chapter Thirty Five

  City Tsilix was the ideal place to meet.

  Still a frontier city, it was far enough removed from the influences of distant city Anaxerxes that there were ample opportunities for its citizenry to engage in all sorts of illegal activities—many of which the local politicians actively participated in. With transports full of new Epiphilinian immigrants arriving daily the city was growing at a spectacular pace. Still others were coming in from the outlying areas, eager to make a profit on these new arrivals.

  Consequently there was a large criminal element thriving within the city. All sorts of nefarious characters were commonly seen on the back streets peddling their wares. Anything could be bought or had. For instance, those who had a taste for military weapons had their choice from among several of the planet’s top arms merchants. Mercenaries and terrorist organizations wishing to stock up on the latest and most sophisticated weaponry could find it all right here. These various assorted thugs and exploiters were all part of a complex web of crime. In fact, a substantial part of the city’s trade and commerce was illegal, though the local authorities tended to look the other way since it was known that well connected politicos were controlling the operations. Therefore bribery and corruption were rampant among city officials. As public representatives, they were used to demanding added inducements whenever it concerned a discretionary matter, or a speedier and more favorable zoning permit. Everybody was on somebody’s payroll. This colonial profiteering and capitalism all meshed nicely together with its increasingly cosmopolitan population, making city Tsilix a good place to be in the world.

  Borobos disapproved of this city. As they edged along through the busy traffic she pointed out sights that not only were displeasing to the eye, but an ominous sign of what was coming for the planet. “Rampant urbanization, untreated industrial waste, stinking rancid air, heaps of garbage. As on Epiphiline it is all here again. A waste. A terrible waste. Stop here.”

  The passenger vehicle creaked roughly as it came to a halt at the street corner. As Borobos waved her arm a cloaked figure suddenly appeared from one of the buildings and climbed quickly inside.

  “Were you followed?”

  Inelefar glanced out the driver’s window as he angled the vehicle back into traffic. “Of course not.”

  “You are quite certain that no one knows of your whereabouts?”

  “Absolutely,” Borobos calmly assured him.

  Poxiciti then lowered his hood and leaned back in the seat to catch his breath. “Good.”

  “What is our destination?” Inelefar asked him.

  “Just drive for now.” He indicated the direction with the swing of his hand. “Anywhere.” After he was fully satisfied that no one was following he directed Inelefar to turn at the next road and head south.

  “You look well,” Poxiciti told Borobos formally, though his next words did show some genuine concern. “I heard there was an . . . accident.”

  “I am none the worse for it, although now I limp just like you.” Pulling up her garment slightly she ran her wedge along a long length of scar where the doctors had reconstructed her smashed leg. “See? It heals nicely.”

  Inelefar showed little interest. When Borobos was sure he wasn’t looking she reached over and touched Poxiciti’s hand. He in turn grasped hers firmly and was secretly filled with desire for her. They stared at each other in silence and held hands until Inelefar’s shouted query for directions broke the spell. Poxiciti pulled his hand quickly away and the moment was over, although when he spoke his voice was gentler.

  “The pleasure of seeing old friends increases with the time apart, your companionship sorely missed, yet I feel that for us to be together the risk is too great. Perhaps you should not have come.”

  Borobos enjoyed his attention but dismissed his worries and spoke
instead with an intensity that made him remember the point of her visit. “I had to come. The turn of events made it imperative to contact you. Important news has reached me. It seems that Pulima Cos has our creature in her possession.”

  The mentioning of her name was as if a floodgate had been loosed open within him, tearing through the reinforced barriers and flooding his mind with feelings of revulsion and animosity. Borobos sat patiently while he shouted out obscenities.

  “You know how much I hate her. I would try to kill her again if I could,” he admitted breathlessly.

  “So would I.”

  Thinking of the captured creature brought to mind the real reason for his anger: his helplessness to stop her. “Is their nothing that grotesque thing does not already possess?”

  “You.”

  This plain and simple truth lessened his anger and he felt ashamed for the way he was acting in her presence. Still he needed to grapple with the abominable truth: Pulima Cos still held onto the reins of power. She, his hated and despised enemy, still alive. And he, living his life under a constant threat of death every day. How he wanted to sink Pulima Cos and her ilk to the very bottom of the ocean, to see her crushed under the weight of her own evil doings.

  “Then we must hurry up with this meeting, for she will soon learn of our whereabouts.”

  “To know that her spy would have to be at the very top of our organization. And if she does know, well then this traitor will undoubtedly be exposed.”

  “Her shadow is everywhere in this city.” Unlike Borobos, he did not believe this one spy was her only source of information, and so he was eager to see a speedy end to this meeting. “Has the creature been harmed?”