The raft tipped.
Karina floundered in deep, icy water. Something struck her a smashing blow across the head, then the grip on her legs slackened and she rose. Surfacing, she found the raft beside her and pulled herself half onto it, gasping for breath. Other heads bobbed up, Siervo’s among them. They began to drop astern as the raft sped over the shallows. Karina stood, preparing to dive to Siervo’s aid.
“No!” The little True Human shouted. “Leave me, Karina!”
She couldn’t do that. But his cry made her pause, and in that instant the raft swept past a tall figure dressed in black, standing motionless beside the ditch. The ruined face turned to Karina, the scarred lips formed just two words.
“Leave him.…”
And Karina hesitated, just for a second.
Then a fetid blanket enveloped her and she fell.
Siervo had designed his escape route well. The gathering momentum of the raft across the shallows was sufficient to carry it through the fence, and a hundred spiders hissed their fury as the raft smashed through their handiwork and sped on past the guards, across a shallow tributary and into the deeper waters of the delta.
She lay still, wrapped in a dense, translucent web, using every last part of her self-control to summon her Little Friends against the spiders attacking her body, while the floodwaters hastened her towards the sea.
In later years the Escape of Karina formed an important part of the Song of Earth, being celebrated in the stanza beginning:
“Karina fought the crocodiles with courage and with might,
Then called upon the power of bor to dull the spiders’ bite.”
But there was another Karina on another happentrack, who refused to heed the command of the Dedo’s handmaiden, and who dived into the swift water to swim to the aid of her True Human friend. Now that Karina fought the cai-men bravely, killing one and mortally wounding another before her neck was broken by two of the brutes.
The minstrels of Late Earth do not sing of that Karina. They do not know of her, because her story is locked in some cold memory of some dying Rainbow on some remote happentrack. On that happentrack the Purpose was not fulfilled, Starquin was not freed, and in his eventual disinterest he allowed Mankind to rot in his Domes and villages. The Dedos were withdrawn into Starquin’s body and Earth spun on its way, of no more use to him than the dead canyons of the Moon, while in the reaches of the Greataway the Hate Bombs circumscribed his eternal tomb.
The Canton Lord.
In the year 91342 Cyclic, Earth was threatened by a race of aliens known as the Bo Adon Su. This was during the Age of Resurgence when it seemed that nothing could stop humanity from populating the entire Galaxy, given time. His three-dimensional spaceships were everywhere and their navigational, drive and defensive equipment were wonders of physical technology. You will understand that this technology was to seem incredibly clumsy fifteen hundred years later, in the age of the Outer Think and the Invisible Spaceships; but at the time it was a thing to be marvelled at. And marvel was what the less-advanced races did.
All except the Bo Adon Su. Refusing to accept the supremacy of Man, they scythed through the Galaxy in a series of clumsily-executed raids of little more than nuisance value, finally arriving at the Solar System itself — the very cradle of Mankind. They poised to attack Earth, trying to mass their fleet into some semblance of order for a concerted onslaught.
Suddenly, humanity woke up to what was happening.
They fed the Bo Adon Su’s tactics into the Rainbow, to prepare their defenses.
The Rainbow found the Bo Adon Su’s tactics incapable of analysis.
The attacks had been utterly undisciplined, characterized only by inventiveness and adaptability. Frequently the attacks had not been pressed home despite initial gains. The Bo Adon Su had apparently lost interest, or maybe proved their point, and taken off in search of fresh glory.
And now they were at the gateway to Earth. The Rainbow had metaphorically thrown up its hands, so the defenses of Earth were as uncoordinated as the Bo Adon Su, who milled around somewhere outside Pluto, filling Space with urgent but incoherent messages to one another.
The situation for Earth was particularly alarming since the Rainbow, by that time, had gained some reputation for foretelling the Ifalong. But if the computer couldn’t even tell Earth how to defend itself, its Ifalong predictions must be meaningless. Some gloomy individuals even took this to mean that the Earth had no future. Then, suddenly, the Rainbow emitted the message:
“Put the matter in the hands of the Whirst Institute.”
The Mordecai N. Whirst Institute for Genetic Research had up to that time been involved in low-key improvements to human stock, adapting humans to alien environments and, most controversial of all, creating new varieties of humans for specific purposes by adding a tiny proportion of appropriate animal genes to their chromosome structure. These were the Specialists, who became the Felinos and the tumpiers, and many others who lived and died outside the scope of our story.
The Whirst Institute rose to the challenge.
Calling upon its most distinguished geneticists including several who had to be summoned from outlying colonies, the Institute commenced Operation Counterthink, a five-year crash program which culminated in the creation of the Us Ursa.
The Us Ursa was a triumph. It was a living, breathing creature which combined the intelligence of a human with the social instinct of an ant, the reactions of a leopard, the intuition of an ultrapigeon, the planning ability of an architect-mouse of Chega IV and the strength and ferocity of a grizzly bear. In addition, it had an extremely high self-preservation quotient. It was a superb creature, well suited to its task of protecting Earth against the Bo Adon Su.
Unfortunately, by that time the Bo Adon Su had lost interest in Earth and were seeking adventure elsewhere.
Now the Us Ursa’s instinct for self-preservation came into play. Realizing that their existence was now unnecessary they fled into the mountains where, for several thousands of years, they lived in tiny villages, hunting and growing crops and generally maintaining a low profile. In time their file at the Whirst Institute deteriorated and could not be recalled, but they remained in hiding, knowing full well that if the rest of Mankind learned what powerful creatures they were, they would be hunted down and destroyed.
Then the Inner Think came, and the Age of Regression, and Man drifted back into the Domes.
And the Us Ursa came down from the hills.
Captain Tonio received a summons to appear before the Canton Lord.
He trembled. He watched the back of the huge man who had delivered the message, and he resisted the temptation to cry after him:
“Why? Why does he want to see me? What have I done?”
His mind rifled through a casebook of imagined misdemeanors.
“It’s quite an honor,” said Astrud, unsuspecting, brushing his best vicuna jacket.
Raoul watched him thoughtfully, and Tonio wondered what the kid was thinking.
Tonio rode the deck of the Lord’s private sailcar, aware that he hadn’t been invited to use the cabin. The crewmen were reticent, handling the sails with quiet skill, saying little as they concentrated on a difficult, jibing run uphill.
And then, at the Lord’s palace, the guards.
They were giants like the one who had delivered the summons. They carried weapons of unknown workings and like the crewmen, they hardly spoke, escorting Tonio through endless corridors, past exquisite statuary, paintings and tapestry, to a vast anteroom.
“Wait here,” said the guard. He was a head taller than Tonio, immensely broad in the shoulder and thick at waist and hip; bigger than a felino male even, and more powerful. Tonio watched him depart with a heavy, shambling gait quite unlike the graceful walk of El Tigre.
Then Tonio waited. For at least an hour he stood in the anteroom, hesitating to sit, examining the tapestries until he knew every stitch. The books — thousands lined the walls — did not interest hi
m. Like most of his contemporaries, he was unable to read the complex prints of the ancient texts. Forty thousand years later much of the substance of this library would be rediscovered and its contents keyed into the Rainbow to flesh out the history already recorded. By that time, some of the stories would already have found their way into the repertoire of the early minstrels, ultimately to be included in the Song of Earth.
The door opened.
“Enter,” said the Lord.
Tonio knew that nobody had ever seen the Canton Lord — or maybe nobody had lived to tell the tale. It didn’t surprise him when he entered the chamber to find nobody there. There was a chair, however, and the voice said, “Sit.” Tonio sat facing a blank but translucent wall through which a shadowy form could be discerned.
“Speak,” said the Lord.
This confused Tonio, since he was not yet aware of the purpose of the summons.
He said, “I regret to report that the experimental sail-car Rayo was severely damaged in a trial run. We shall have to develop new techniques for handling such craft. As we gain experience, we will pass on the knowledge to other Canton crews.” Was the Lord going to tell him he was being replaced as captain of Rayo?
“I heard about the crash,” said the Canton Lord.
“Maquinista used a revolutionary design of axle bearing. This, together with the light weight and altered sail-plan of Rayo, resulted in remarkable acceleration.” Who would be given the job, then? Not Herrero!
“I know all about that, too.”
“Well, then.…” Tonio’s voice trailed away.
“There was a spy,” prompted the Lord gently.
“Hardly worth mentioning. A young felina named Karina. I had Cocodrilo lock her away until after the races.”
“Well, not quite, Captain Tonio.”
“I beg your pardon, Lord Benefactor?”
“She escaped, didn’t you know? She arrived back at the felino camp yesterday and had a conversation with her father, the redoubtable El Tigre, no less. He held an emergency meeting. His objective, so it seems, was to whip up dissension on the basis of his daughter’s story and to lead the felinos into some kind of action against the sailways. He failed, due to that lack of cohesiveness so peculiar to the felino character. His daughter was not believed, and is being temporarily sent away from the camp.”
“That’s … that’s good, Lord Benefactor.” “How much did Karina find out, Tonio?” “Nothing. She couldn’t have. She probably thought Rayo was fast, that’s all. And the felinos already knew that. There have been other spies.”
“That’s all?”
Then it hit Tonio like a kick in the stomach. The tortugas. Maquinista told Cocodrilo to lock Karina away in one of the pens. Maquinista was an engineer. He had no thought for the niceties of religious belief — he’d already proved that. But now Karina probably knew the life cycle of the tortuga. Would she realize the significance — that True Humans were trading in meat? Probably not. Felinos ate meat. If Karina had thought the matter important enough to mention to her father, the Lord would have known, and said so.
Unless the Lord was trying to catch him out. People who defied the Lord came to a bad end. The guards were sent for them, and they were never seen again. Fear of the guards was the whole basis of the Lord’s rule. The guards were incredibly strong and efficient.
In the end, Tonio decided to play innocent.
“I’m sure she didn’t hear our conversation after the accident,” he said evasively. “I criticized Maquinista for using metal in the construction of Rayo.”
To his disappointment, the Lord seemed unmoved by this sacrilege. “Rayo is the top Canton car. It is very important that Rangua Canton wins the Tortuga Race — not merely for financial reasons. The Companies have been troublesome lately, and I want it to be seen that Canton cars are superior.”
The Companies were loose associations of True Humans who operated cars out of various coastal towns in competition with the official Canton cars.
“I have sent a reprimand to El Tigre,” continued the Lord, “recommending his daughter be sent away for a while. This will give matters a chance to calm down.”
“Lord Benefactor, the felinos aren’t fools. They will have guessed the capabilities of Rayo. There will be ugly scenes when we demonstrate these capabilities. The felinos will see Rayo as the first step towards their becoming redundant.”
“As indeed it is. But I anticipated this. Guards will be posted at the Stages. All that remains now is for you to prove yourself worthy of the trust I’ve placed in you. You will win that race, Tonio. You understand?”
“Yes, Lord Benefactor.”
The interview was at an end. He was still alive. His vicuna jacket was drenched in sweat. He rose, and left. His final impression was of the sheer size of the Lord, who rose on the other side of the screen like a thunderhead.
Karina in the tumpfields.
The ride into the foothills seemed endless. The shrugleggers plodded slowly uphill, following the sail-way towards Rangua Town for a while, then joining an ancient trail which wound among the rolling downs. The short grass became streaked with a richer green — the sign that tumps had been here. The shrugleggers pulled on, dragging the crude meat-carts with their squeaking bearings, heads twitching to the bites of countless insects.
Karina seethed. She was in disgrace and her punishment was, to her mind, unjustified.
From time to time the other felinos grinned in her direction as she rode, bolt upright, beside her father. She ignored them. She despised them — particularly that fat fool Dozo who had ruined El Tigre’s meeting, calling her testimony into doubt and holding her up to ridicule.
“So Karina says Rayo is faster than the wind.… Well, she must be more trustworthy than our previous informant, the anonymous crocodile. Or wasn’t it her grupo that Iolande caught stealing tumpmeat the other day? Dear me, I can’t quite remember.…”
The El Tigre grupo minus Karina, having been beaten by Iolande in battle, had been presented to the camp as the guilty ones. Might, in the felino culture, is always right.
By the time the meat train reached the tump station, Karina was at bursting point. She stood sulkily by as her father bargained with Haleka, the head tumpier, and she refused to speak to the young felinos.
Haleka was a frail figure beside El Tigre, but he carried himself with pride. He had never kowtowed to the felinos and he wasn’t going to start now, even though El Tigre himself had come. He bargained almost absently, while with razor-sharp shell he cut strips of meat from the tump.
Haleka prided herself on being the best butcher in Rangua. He cut strips a meter long and five centimeters deep, wedge-shaped so that the beast’s skin was marked by a single cut which healed within two days.
And the tump lay there, making no sound, feeling nothing.
Haleka wore a simple robe of guanaco hide. His face was long and pale despite a lifetime in the sun; his eyes pale also, and deep-set. When El Tigre finally arrived at an acceptable price, he merely nodded slightly, saying nothing. The felinos carried the strips to the cart. There were other felinos, other tumpiers; but the best tump was Haleka’s and the best meat went to the cart of El Tigre. The meat was ripe red and bleeding sweet blood.
Karina stood beside the tump. She touched one of the neat incisions. No blood flowed here, and only a faint indentation in the skin showed where the wedge of meat had been cut.
“And the girl will help you,” said El Tigre. “She is my daughter, so you will treat her with the respect she deserves.”
“I will certainly do that,” replied Haleka drily, “but not because she is your daughter, El Tigre. Here in the tumpfields, respect must be earned.”
“And each year there are less tumps. Perhaps there is something wrong with the tumpiers’ code.”
“When God wishes it, the tumps will breed. Maybe God wishes to cut down on the felino population.” He referred to the felinos’ dependence on tumpmeat.
“One day the
felinos will hunt the jungle again,” snarled El Tigre, “But without tumps there will be no tumpiers.”
Haleka was preparing his next sally when his gaze fell upon Karina. She stood beside the tump, swallowing heavily. As he watched, she brushed a finger along the wound and raised it to her lips.
“Get your dirty hands off my tump!” Haleka shouted. He stepped forward and slashed at Karina with his tumpstick, then picked up a bundle of herbs and began to rub them gently along the length of the wound, chanting in a sing-song voice:
“Spirit of the herb make the tump live long.
Spirit of the herb make the muscle strong.
Spirit of the herb make the man belong,
All one with hills.”
And as he sang, he nicked his own forearm with the shell, and rubbed the herb into that wound, too.
“Damned fool,” said El Tigre.
Karina stood by, fingers hooked, restraining herself with difficulty. The tumpstick had missed her by several centimeters, but the indignity had struck home.
When the meat was all loaded the felinos returned to their carts. Seven tumps lay in a great circle, their keepers ministering to their wounds, their chanting borne up the foothills into the trees, where the monkeys heard it and yelled back with animal derision.
“Goodbye, father,” said Karina, feeling suddenly alone.
El Tigre looked at her for a moment, then turned away with a growl. The felinos shouted. The shrugleggers threw themselves against the harness. The carts squealed, and the long procession moved off downhill, El Tigre in the lead, hopeful vultures circling overhead, Rangua a clutter of little boxes under the noon sun.
Iolande rode in the last cart with her grupo trotting alongside. Karina’s final impression of the meat train was Iolande’s malicious grin.
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