Cat Karina

by Coney, Michael

  Karina watched her eyes. Karina’s face was streaming sweat and her hair hung like wet kelp. The skirt of her tunic was missing and blood seeped from a deep wound in her side. Her eyes were wide and steady, and they watched, watched.

  Iolande thought, Mordecai, she’s beautiful.…

  Her head spun.

  And her smile became fixed; a grimace of twisted lips.

  Karina said, “Scream, Iolande.”

  She reached out with hooked fingers and drew her nails deeply down that smiling face, gouging the flesh. She took her hand away, still watching the eyes, while parallel rivulets of blood trickled down Iolande’s face, two on either side of the nose, flowing aside at the bow of the upper lip then entering the mouth at the corner, dribbling into the smile and forming a little lake in front of the teeth before flowing again, down the chin.

  “Scream, Iolande.”

  Now Karina’s hand fastened on the neck of Iolande’s tunic and jerked downwards, exposing the breasts. The sounds of battle had ceased but Karina didn’t notice. Iolande had suckled eleven children and her breasts were just slightly pendulous, in contrast to the trim muscularity of the rest of her body. Karina’s fingers, hooked into claws, reached towards those vulnerable breasts. Iolande smiled her bloody smile, her mind emptied of thought.

  “No, Karina!”

  Saba had her by the wrist, tugging at her, pleading. “That’s enough! Leave her alone! They’re beaten — beaten, all of them!”

  Karina blinked.

  The spell was broken. Iolande crumpled to the ground.

  “We’ve got them all.” Teressa appeared, dragging another felina, and flung her down beside Iolande.

  The tump was wriggling now, moving away as though the pain of its wound and the savagery of the fighting was too much. Runa pulled two more girls forward. They were crying; little mews of mortification. Karina said shakily, “I didn’t think you could do it. I thought I’d have to get Iolande to surrender.”

  The tumpiers began to gather, coming from all directions to view the prisoners.

  “Bastards!”

  “Always knew it was a grupo. Jaguars don’t do that kind of damage to the tump. Look at the poor brute — the pain’s beginning to get through to him!”

  “Well done, Karina.”

  Karina said, “How’s Haleka?”

  The elderly tumpier limped forward, assisted by Saba. “Pain is of little consequence,” he said. “It comes, it goes. More important the effect upon the tump. I would like to express my gratitude to you and your grupo, Karina, but.…” His face was like parchment in the moonlight and suddenly he coughed, clutching his chest. “Would you … mind controlling the tump for a while? I am not quite capable at this moment.”

  So saying, he sagged against Saba. She laid him carefully on the ground. “He went to help me,” she explained, “and he took a hell of a kick in the ribs. Maybe something’s broken.”

  Leaving him there, Karina went after the tump. She wanted to get away from them for a moment, to sort herself out. Events of the past few minutes had left her very frightened. For the first time in my life, she thought, I completely lost control of myself.…

  And the words sounded in her head. Lost control of myself.

  It was a horribly apt phrase. She had lost control, and something else had gained control, pushing her aside.

  Just for a moment, the Little Friends had stopped being mere assistants, and had taken over.…

  A fit of shivering took hold of her, and for a moment she thought she was going to be sick. She gulped, breathing deeply at the cold night air, and the pain of her wounds swam back. To divert herself, she turned her attention to the errant tump.

  “Basta!” she shouted; the traditional cry.

  The tump ignored her.

  Suddenly concerned, she ran around to the front of the beast and laid her hand on its nose, leaning against it.

  “Basta! Basta!”

  The tump moved on, thrusting her aside. She peered into its eye as it moved past. “Basta, you brute!”

  Still the tump undulated forward, an irresistible mountain of meat, moving relentlessly downhill, towards the coastal plain. Karina punched it, shouted at it, kicked it, climbed on its back and tried to guide it — but it was no use.

  Haleka’s tump had gone loco.

  Bor.

  “It is done,” said the handmaiden. “She is in the tumpfields.”

  The walls of the Dedo’s cottage were hung with animal remains; furs and skulls and skeletons of creatures which the handmaiden had never seen living. A giant pelt almost covered one wall; russet with the hairs running in an unusual direction. Behind it hung a big skull of a carnivore with two upper canines lengthened like tusks and fitted into curious sheaths which extended downward from the lower jaw. Next was a batlike creature with a considerable wingspan, a leathery skin, a long jaw with sharp teeth and an odd lump which extended back from the head and seemed to counterbalance the jaw. There were all manner of creatures, big and small, all carefully preserved and displayed, occupying two of the four walls and hanging from the rafters.

  The Dedo said, “From there she will go to Torres. There are two possible deviations from our happentrack. Make sure they don’t occur.” She went on to give exact details.

  The handmaiden said, “Who is she?”

  “You sense nothing remarkable about her?”

  “Well.… She seems to have a resistance to pain.”

  “That is caused by bor, the alien parasite consumed by the legendary Captain Spring. It was bor which assisted Captain Spring to achieve many of her exploits; otherwise she was an ordinary tiger-woman in charge of a clumsy three-dimensional spaceship.”

  “But how would a parasite help?”

  “Bor has a remarkable sense of self-preservation. It permeates the cells and achieves a complete empathy with the host. At first it was thought to be a hallucinogenic drug, because it made the host feel good — and incidentally made him live longer. A technique known as the Inner Think was later developed to harness this property of bor and extend Man’s lifespan to several hundred years. Even now, a few people with traces of bor in their genes are able to practice the Inner Think.”

  The handmaiden said thoughtfully, “So Karina has this bor. How does it help our Purpose?”

  “I don’t know,” said the Dedo. “All I know is that Starquin will be freed by a descendant of Karina’s possessing bor — if he is freed at all.”

  HERE ENDS THAT PART OF THE

  SONG OF EARTH KNOWN TO

  MEN AS

  “SUMMER’S END”

  IN TIME,

  OUR TALE WILL CONTINUE

  WITH THE GROUP OF STORIES

  AND LEGENDS KNOWN AS

  “TORTUGA FESTIVAL”

  Where El Tigre strikes a bargain

  which is not in accord with Starquin’s Intent,

  while Karina utters blasphemy

  and the seeds of revolution germinate.

  Four

  * * *

  The Frustration of Tonio

  “Haul the sails and grease the rails

  As down the coast we fly!”

  — Traditional carrera.

  One day before the Festival.…

  You will win that race, Tonio.

  He’d woken at nights sweating, dreaming of those words and the tone of infinite menace in which they were spoken. During the daytime, as he piloted his car along the sailways, the shadow of the Canton Lord seemed to loom behind him, watching his methods, assessing his skill and finding it wanting, so that he began to make mistakes and actually caught himself glancing over his shoulder.

  He’d kept it from Astrud. She thought it was simply the gathering tension as the time of the Festival approached.

  “Why don’t you rest, today?” she said. “You don’t have to work. You don’t have a sailing until tomorrow.”

  But Tonio was pulling on his tough hide jacket and saddling up his horse. “I have to get down to the tort
uga pens. They’re loading today. I want to see nothing goes wrong.”

  Astrud sighed, watching with concerned eyes as he rode away. Raoul was still asleep, and Tonio hadn’t even asked him if he wanted to go too.

  A scene of confusion met Tonio at the pens. Long-necked mountain people moved slowly around the farm, gathering up ripe tortugas in disinterested fashion while a cai-man harangued them with threatening barks.

  “What’s going on?” Tonio glanced wildly from the tortugas, scattered far and wide, to the cart. Loading hadn’t even commenced. “We’ll miss the start of the race! God, it’ll take all day to get the cart loaded, at this rate. And where are the other carts?”

  “Nobody thought to order the carts,” the cai-man told him. “This one was all I could find. We’ll have to make several trips — the other sailcars have reserved all available carts.”

  “But why weren’t the tortugas ready for loading?”

  “A tapir broke through the fence and ran amok.”

  “But Siervo …?”

  “Siervo is dead.”

  “Dead?”

  “I killed him.” The cai-man stared at Tonio and behind his eyes was something primitive and savage which caused the True Human to blink and change the subject.

  “Where is Cocodrilo?”

  “He is dead, too.”

  “Cocodrilo dead? I can’t believe that.” Siervo, yes. But there had been something indestructible about Cocodrilo.

  “Are you calling me a liar?”

  “No, no. Of course not. I’m surprised, that’s all. And by the way, what happened to that felina we captured?” Tonio’s fear turned into bluster. “I thought you people were going to look after her, and now I’m told she escaped. The Canton Lord told me that,” said Tonio, making it clear he had friends in high places. “You’re going to have to answer to him.”

  “It was I who told him,” said the cai-man. “He seemed upset about it.”

  “So?”

  The Specialist gave a cold grin. “I told him he was welcome to come to the delta and reprimand those responsible. I think he decided it wasn’t worth the trouble.” He glanced at the huddle of stinking huts outside the gate, where the children fought tooth and nail, and the elders lay on the wet grass watching the proceedings with sleepy menace.

  Tonio shivered. “Well, just keep those mountain people moving, will you? I’m going to check on the yards.” His words sounded high-pitched and scared to his ears. He turned quickly, annoyed with himself, and mounted his horse.

  Things seemed to be going wrong rapidly, so he was mildly surprised when he reached the tortuga yards some time later to see Rayo sitting in her siding, apparently ready for loading.

  Eight cars were participating in the race. Eight sidings ran parallel along the coastal plain before converging into two southbound tracks. The first two cars to reach these convergences would have a considerable advantage over the others. There was not much chance of overtaking, further down the coast. The usual procedure, if one car found itself seriously delayed by another, was to change lanes at the felino stages before the shrugleggers were attached for the climb.

  But the first two cars would have a clear run, so speed off the mark was essential.

  Behind the racers were the slower cars who would not be competing, some twenty of them flying the colors of a multitude of Cantons and Companies. These were the older craft, the big names of bygone years whose owners had to be content with tower prices in the tortuga market. Many of these cars would take three days or more for the journey to Rio Plata, selling their cargo for what it would fetch along the way. The racers generally completed the course in two days.

  And Rayo, not requiring assistance at the hills, could conceivably complete it in one.…

  The Tortuga races were steeped in history. Each year added to the lore of famous deeds, crippling accidents, bravery and skulduggery. The Festival even featured a special type of song known as the carrera, which celebrated events of past races — and, like the Pegman’s songs, were one of the roots of the great Song of Earth.

  Groups of felinos ambled about the yards, singing these songs, chatting with the race crews and concluding agreements for shruglegger help at the vital hill at Rangua North Stage.

  Not wanting to arouse suspicion, Tonio came to such a deal with El Tigre.

  Later the first cartloads of tortugas began to arrive. Tonio climbed into the cargo hold of Rayo — the tubular space which would be fitted out as a passenger compartment after the race.

  The hold was full of nimble-fingered monkey-Specialists, pulling things apart.

  “What in hell is going on here?”

  Maquinista followed Tonio in. “A slight setback, I’m afraid. One of the axle housings was weakened in the accident, unknown to us. It fractured during this morning’s trial run. We must replace it.”

  “But how can we load the tortugas if your men are tearing up the floor?”

  “Well, clearly you can’t load the tortugas, Tonio.”

  “But the race starts tomorrow!”

  “It’s not likely Rayo will be ready for the race,” said Maquinista absently, as though the point was of little consequence to him — as, indeed, it was. He hated the yards; the panicky captains, the inadequate facilities. He looked forward only to tomorrow afternoon, when he could pack his tools into his cart, gather his mechanics about him, and return to his workshops in the delta. Engineering was a pure science and the design and production of a beautiful craft like Rayo was an end in itself. The scrambling, frantic atmosphere of the tortuga yards was a debasement of all he held dear.

  “Not ready for the race! But —”

  “Listen, Tonio. Would you rather a wheel had come off at the kind of speed Rayo can do?”

  “The Canton Lord will be furious!”

  “Refer him to me,” said Maquinista sarcastically, echoing the earlier attitude of the cai-man. “Meanwhile, perhaps you should have the carters dump the tortugas beside the car, so we can load once the axle housing is replaced. And get out of the way of my men.”

  “When will you be finished? For God’s” sake, you must have some idea!”

  “Maybe by noon tomorrow.”

  “The race starts at dawn!”

  “You’ll be able to sail with the slow cars, probably. You’ll still get a good price, Tonio. Tortugas are a valuable commodity.”

  “It’s not just a question of price.…” You will win that race, Tonio. The difficulties of the past days suddenly overwhelmed him, and he found his eyes filling with tears. He swung around and almost ran from the hold. Outside, a felino caught his arm.

  “You know me, Captain Tonio — my name is Diferir. Now, I think we can do business —”

  “Let go of my goddamned arm, you animal!”

  “What did you call me?”

  “Get away from me!” Tonio tore himself free and set off up the yards, almost running.

  The big felino paced alongside. “Just what did you call me?”

  “I have nothing to say to you.” Tonio turned away and ducked under the rails of a siding. Captain Herrero stood there, tall and irascible, quibbling over prices with the crafty Dozo. “Stop following me!” cried Tonio.

  “Maybe you should hear what the great Captain Tonio just called me, Dozo,” said Diferir.

  “Causing trouble again, Tonio?” asked Herrero, seizing his chance to put a rival down.

  “Just get away from me!” Tonio was almost out of control, close to weeping. “All of you — leave me alone!”

  “Well, now, this isn’t what we expect from.…” Herrero’s voice trailed away as the general hubbub of the yards was interrupted by an extraordinary commotion from the south. Beyond the convergence of tracks a crowd could be seen waving their arms, yelling and running. Rumbling along the track beside this mob came an ancient sailcar with patched sails. Swinging from the cross-trees was a bizarre one-armed figure who shouted:

  “Hoooooo! Hoooooo! Make way for the Rangua express!” />
  “It’s that crazy Pegman,” said Diferir.

  “If he doesn’t climb down and use his brake he’s going to cause an accident,” said Herrero.

  But the Pegman came rocketing in with sails tight until someone, with great presence of mind, flung himself at the pivot arm of a swinging guiderail and diverted the Estrella del Oeste to a vacant siding.

  Still the decrepit craft careered along, outpacing the mob apart from a couple of excited children on mule back. Then, about fifty meters before he ran out of track, Enriques de Jai’a dropped to the deck and threw himself bodily at the brake. Wood squealed on wood, smoke trailed and, as the car shuddered to a stop, flames licked around the brake shoe. The Pegman stood at the deck rail with stiff dignity, waiting for a crowd to gather.

  Tonio, glad of the diversion, joined the hurrying crowd. Within seconds, most of the people in the yard — True Humans, Specialists, and quite a few inquisitive mutes — had assembled beside the Estrella. The mood was of amused impatience, but the Pegman seemed in no hurry to explain the reason for his precipitous arrival. He stood with eyes raised to heaven as though awaiting a sign. Children began to throw decaying fruit.

  “That buffoon is an embarrassment to the True Human race,” said Herrero.

  The Pegman held up his hand for silence. An overripe mango smacked into his palm and he frowned in sudden puzzlement, examined it, sniffed it and, amid derisive cheers, punted it across the yard.

  “People!” he shouted. “I regret that the race will be delayed!”

  There was a chorus of disbelief.

  “No — I tell the truth. There’s been an incident south of Rangua and extensive track work will be required. I shall need twenty men — and you, Maquinista!”

  “Pegman!” shouted El Tigre. “When will the work be finished?”

  By now Enri had jumped down from the deck to avoid the mangoes. He leaped astride a mule and began to gallop wildly around the crowd, shouting, “Follow me, monkey-men! Follow me to the storehouse and fetch pegs and hammers! We have work to do, monkey-men!” He was probably the only True Human who could so describe the small, dextrous Specialists without causing a riot. Still yelling, he reined the mule in, dragging it to a halt beside Maquinista. “Bring strong took,” he said. “You know what I mean?” And he contorted his face into an exaggerated wink. “And we’re going to have to work right through the night, so we’ll need.… What’s it called again? You know — something to see by.”