If captured, you can expect to be tortured. It is inevitable. Do not worry that you may divulge military secrets. You will not be given any. Nothing you may tell your captors will help them in the slightest, nor you.

          Excerpt from SAG survival manual

 

 

          The alarm buzzer sounded, startling Jeena awake. The phantom, laughing faces dissolved into the shadows of the dayroom.

          “It is 0600 Greenwich mean time, Captain,” Vicki reported.

          “Yes, all right. Thank you, Vicki,” Jeena replied hoarsely.

          She sat up in the bunk and ran her hand through her hair, wincing. Her arms were stiff and sore, the left bicep swollen and almost black. The pain in her ribs was back again, and her eyes felt dry and swollen. Haltingly, she limped to the head.

          She sat on the latrine, catching sight of her reflection in the shiny metal wall. It was a face only vaguely familiar to her. The thick, dark hair, full, sensuous mouth, and slightly olive complexion were only hinted at in the thin, emaciated image that stared back at her. Not even her eyes were the eyes she remembered; they were dull and lifeless.

          Not surprising, considering I have come from the planet of the dead, she thought. Turning away from the reflection, she finished her toilet and went back to the dayroom.

          Once the ship had safely made the jump into hyperspace, she had torn off her soiled and bloody flight suit and thrown it on the floor. It lay there still, a small red puddle beneath it. She would not put the filthy thing back on now.

          Searching through the pilot’s private locker, she found some over-large t-shirts, the collars stenciled with the name ‘Capt. J.C. McCullough.’ Throwing on one of these and her prison sandals, she went back to the cockpit. The sensors still showed no activity.

          Good. Maybe they think the ship was destroyed in the raid.

          Even if they suspected she had escaped, there was little chance of them looking for her in this isolated sector—thanks to the CCOMS modifications of Capt. J.C. McCullough.

          Tripping over a mess pack, she rummaged through it and found a food cylinder. After checking its label, she tore off the lid, setting off a chemical reaction that soon had the contents steaming. Armed with the now-hot coffee, she sat back in the com chair and had Vicki give her a short tutorial on the planet on which she was stranded.

          Ararat was the second of four planets orbiting Arcturus, a sol-standard star in the Aleph-prime sector, a sector Jeena noted grimly that had recently fallen under Coalition control. Of the remaining planets, the first was a barren, moon-sized world in a close solar orbit, and the last two were gas giants.

          The third planet, Leviathan, was enormous, even by the standards of these huge worlds—the largest planetary body ever discovered. In times of conjunction, these behemoths were capable of playing havoc with Ararat’s geo-activity, but luckily this occurred only every few millennia.

          Discovered just over two hundred and fifty years ago at the beginning of an era in human migration known as the second migration, Ararat was a beautiful, if somewhat isolated, world. Four-fifths the size of Earth, it had a single continental landmass and several oceanic islands. It hosted a breathable atmosphere and a variety of plant and animal life.

          The official Five Year Survey was completed in 2351 with no sign of either harmful microorganisms or sentient life, and the world was sanctioned for colonization by CAIO, the Council for Alien Immigration and Occupation, four years later. It was given a Zed-Tech designation.

          Jeena interrupted the tutorial. “Zed-tech? I thought you said this world had abundant energy stores?”

          “That is affirmative.”

          Jeena frowned. A Zed-Tech designation quarantined a planet from all advanced technology, allowing only agrarian colonies. The Union seldom used it except where the planet was deemed too poor in resources to support large populations or industry. Ararat certainly didn’t appear to qualify.

          “Your information must be incorrect.”

          There was only a slight pause. “The designation does not correspond to usual Union standards. However, there may have been extenuating circumstances.”

          “I’m listening.”

          “I have several reports cataloged during this period of a schism within CAIO itself concerning Ararat’s eventual designation. There were rumors of external pressure brought on individual members of the CAIO directorate. Accusations of blackmail were voiced. It is possible CAIO was compromised concerning Ararat.”

          “Compromised? By whom and for what reason?”

          “I do not have enough information to formulate an answer.”

          Jeena considered the possibility. CAIO directors were elected for life in an effort to immunize them from just this sort of political pressure. They were more powerful in many ways than even the members of the Supreme Union Court, with whom they shared the benefits of lifetime commissions. It was hard to imagine what pressure could be brought to bear on any seated director, let alone a majority, that could influence a vote on tech designation. And why Ararat?

          Still, there was no denying the oddity of it. A world with geo as well as chemical energy stores left to a bunch of farmers? Of course, this Vicki was Coalition programmed, and so this could all be nothing more than propaganda.

          Jeena gave a mental shrug. However it came about, it would be an unlooked-for blessing. A Zed world would hold little interest for the technology-obsessed Coalition, and its isolation would make it impractical even as a military outpost.

          “You mentioned energy stores. What about mineral deposits?”

          She wanted to make sure there was nothing of value to lure the Coalition.

          “Information concerning Ararat’s internal makeup is incomplete.”

          “Why?”

          “Ararat’s magnetic field prevented detailed analysis at the time of the Five Year Survey.”

          “Explain.”

          “Ararat’s magnetic field is highly unstable and in a constant flux state, which interferes with long-distance metallurgic detection. The technology did not exist at the time of the Five-Year Survey to overcome this interference.”

          “All right. What about people? Is the planet colonized?”

          Two colonies were given charters before the outbreak of the galactic civil war, both of which were followers of primitivism—odd back-to-nature movements that occasionally swept through mankind. There had been little contact with the Union from either even before the war, the colonists paying their taxes as required and on time, and for that, they were pretty much left alone. Since the war began, there had been no contact at all.

          Vicki projected a map of the last known population centers for both colonies, but as these were almost a century old, they were probably useless. Most agrarian societies lasted only a few generations, even with continued support from the Union.

          The dream of a simpler life that drove the colonists to the edges of civilization was seldom passed on to the children. With no contact in over ninety years, it was doubtful either colony had survived. Vicki began an overview of their societies, but Jeena cut her off and fast-forwarded to flora and fauna.

          Animal life was abundant on Ararat and included several large carnivores, the most fearsome of which was reported to be the large cat-like animals the locals referred to as tigras.

          The holo-image Vicki projected showed a large cat much like an Earth tigra but without the stripes. It had a beautiful golden-yellow coat, its irises as golden as its fur. Interestingly, its fangs were retractable and projected only during times of stress or when bringing down prey. It was a truly gorgeous animal, she thought, and apparently quite dangerous, although one of the colonies had reported that it was nearing extinction.

          Intrigued, Jeena had Vicki run a short video on the animal. As the clip began, the tigra was circling a large bear-like animal the computer identified as an usk.

          It seemed to Jeena that the cat had picked the wrong fight. The usk was huge, towering over its smaller antagonist and possessing claws Jeena conservatively estimated at nine inches. She watched as the tigra moved cautiously closer, trying to get inside, only to be driven back by the bigger animal’s greater reach.

          After several unsuccessful attempts, the tigra raised itself on its hind legs. Where this would have proved unsteady and awkward for an Earth cat, the tigra looked strangely stable in this position. Then it faltered. The usk, sensing the feline’s mistake, drove in for the kill.

          At that instant, the tigra sprang, sweeping its right arm to the left, straight at the big animal’s neck. Five razor-sharp claws found their mark, tearing into the usk’s throat. Blood flew into the air. The holo ended with the great bear crashing to the ground.

          Jeena watched the clip again. There had been something not quite right about the tigra’s actions. As the scene neared the attack, Jeena had Vicki slow the speed by two-thirds. The cat was in its strange standing position. The usk’s right arm muscles tensed to strike. The tigra swayed to the right.

          There!

          Jeena backed it up a little and played it again, watching intently. She was an elite combat soldier, academy trained and an expert in hand-to-hand combat. There had been no mistake. The tigra hadn’t faltered; it had deliberately feigned to one side to pull the usk’s blow wide, opening it up. The cat had set all its weight on its left hindquarters. As soon as it had created the opening, it leapt straight at the throat.

          Jeena let the clip run out. No wonder the colonists feared this animal. It fought with the guile of a man and the speed of a coiled snake. She’d remember to give it a wide berth if she ever had the misfortune of meeting one.

          Vicki continued her discussion of Ararat’s animal life, but Jeena stopped the lecture. She could stay here for weeks studying the planet, but to what end? With her ship out of commission, this would be her home for a while—at least until she could figure out how to contact the Union forces.

          This ship had no direct subspace link to Union Command, and her general access codes were over six months old and therefore useless. The planet had passed the five-year survey; it had to be at least livable.

          She swallowed the last of the coffee and stood, testing her legs. It would take months of rehabilitation to fully recover from her imprisonment, but it was time to look around. Opening the weapons cabinet, she withdrew an eight-gauge shotgun and slung it over her shoulder. She considered taking the forty-four-caliber handgun but decided against it. If there was anything out there the shotgun couldn’t handle, the pistol wasn’t going to help.

          These were the standard weapons for most transport vehicles and ground troops on both sides of the war. Laser and plasma hand weapons had been available for many years, but these were expensive and needed regular high-tech maintenance and were generally assigned only to personnel on the larger battleships and carriers. Projectile weapons were dependable, easy to use and repair, and killed just as readily as lasers. They were also cheap to produce—an advantage not overlooked in a war that had spanned a century.

          Armed with the shotgun, Jeena opened the ship’s outer hatch. There was a rush of escaping air and plumes of white mist as the cabin pressure equilibrated with the planet’s atmosphere. Squinting in the bright sun, Jeena looked out onto Ararat.

          The sun that greeted her was low on the horizon: it was still morning on the planet. The area immediately surrounding her ship was scrub—mainly dirt and twiggy bushes—that became an expanse of yellow grass a hundred yards distant. The knee-high grass shifted softly in the warm breeze, a sea of yellow extending to the distant pale mountains to the north.

          To the west lay a vast desert, the sands rolling in undulating hills toward the horizon. The sky above her was less blue than she remembered on Earth, yet still imbued with that subtle aqua hue so intimately associated with all habitable worlds that it took an effort of will just to see it. A flock of alien birds, their forms unclear in the hazy sky, flew silently above her, heading off to the north.

          Jeena observed that the sky, like the horizon, seemed closer than they would have appeared on Earth—a visual confirmation that the planet was indeed smaller. Impulsively, she jumped from the ship, leaping over the steps and landing lightly on the ground. She felt a stab of pain shoot through her body.

           That was stupid, she thought, but the gravity was indeed weaker.

          Standing on the soft yellow soil, she scanned the immediate area and breathed in the air of this new planet. The act made her cough and wince. There were no animals she could see, but the air was heavy with the rich odors of life. The sweet scent of flowers mingled with the more musky, acrid smell of animals in a combination that was almost nauseating to someone used to filtered air and sterile environments.

          And yet… There was something oddly familiar about it, a sense of déjà vu that brought her back to the home and the stables she knew as a child. It was not an unpleasant feeling, but she did not have time to dwell on it and turned her attention back to her ship.

          The ship had the general shape of a wedge, with the tram at the forward tip. Behind it, the huge engines and Drive extended two hundred feet and rose steadily to a height of forty feet at the engine exhausts. The Earth weight of the transport was fifty thousand tons, forty-five thousand of which was the singularity cell—a minuscule ball of incomprehensibly dense matter the size of a grain of sand buried within the Drive. It was the manipulation of the singularity that produced the “warp” in the space-time continuum that made interstellar travel possible.

          The hull of the vessel was charred black and steaming; the heat of re-entry still radiating from it. The nose of the tram was buried in the ground, and the windshield was covered by a thick layer of dirt. There was no sign of fore or aft landing gear. Behind the tram, the immense engines and Drive lay in a deep furrow that extended half a mile behind it.

          The hull itself appeared intact, and there was little other external damage she could see. Coming to the rear of the ship, she gingerly opened a small panel, burning her fingers slightly in the process. Behind the panel was an array of instrument readouts. Jeena studied them closely.

          The engines and Drive were still intact—good. Not that she had any hope of powering them up again, but she didn’t need a massive radiation leak just now. Satisfied with the condition of the ship, she once again scanned the horizon for several minutes. The feeling of déjà vu was still there, as was the unsettling feeling of being watched. She saw no movement however, and after several minutes, was convinced there was no immediate danger. Setting aside the weapon, she began to unload the cargo hold.

          She had examined its contents briefly while in flight, entering through the cockpit hatch, and knew that the storage area was almost full. Using the levitation jack in the hold, she removed all the crates and containers, taking inventory. There were twenty cases of cigars, thirty-five cases of Polarian whiskey, fifty crates of assorted gourmet foods, a case of old binoculars and ancient communicators, and ten crates of various junk—pots, pans, hand tools, and costume jewelry.

          She had removed all the contents from the hold when she noticed a panel in the far wall that had torn loose during the crash. Prying away the panel, she discovered a container hidden in the space and carried it out into the light. The contents were wrapped in a layer of oily rags. Jeena gasped at what lay underneath. It was a MAAD weapon.

          She lifted the weapon from its container, feeling its balanced weight in her hands. MAAD, for Mobile Attack And Destroy, was the most sophisticated and destructive hand-held weapon ever developed. Essentially an electromagnetic pulse generator, it was a weapon recently invented by Union scientists—a weapon the Coalition was not supposed to have.

          Jeena had never seen one this close, but there was no mistaking it. It had an over/under design, the upper part resembling a typical rifle barrel. She pulled out the clip and looked inside. There were thousands of small, hardened pellets lined in neat rows. The pellets were composed of ferrion, a highly charged metal.

          These pellets were propelled through the barrel by the force of a traveling electromagnetic wave. Since the EM wave moved at the speed of light, it was able to accelerate the projectiles at enormous velocities. Ferrion had the added property of expanding on impact, making the weapon both incredibly accurate and brutally effective. It was what lay below the rifle, however, that gave the weapon its true destructive force.

          Jeena flipped the weapon over and patted the tube below the barrel. Called a Sonic Concussion Cannon, it measured eight centimeters in diameter and thirty centimeters in length. A slight smile appeared on her lips. Twenty thousand ferrion bullets spitting out at three thousand rounds a minute could decimate an army, but Jeena knew the real power of the MAAD lay in that hollow tube.

          Unlike the pulse rifle, the tube held no projectiles. The air in the tube itself was charged, and a massive power surge was then initiated. Once primed, this enormous store of energy was released down the length of the tube as an immense electromagnetic pulse. The pulse carried the now-ionized air along with it, compressing and accelerating the molecules. In the instant it took the air to reach the end of the tube, it attained a velocity just below that of light, and the molecules reached a density beyond anything short of a neutron star.

          This rapidly moving mass of unimaginably compressed air struck the normally dense air before it with the force of a small nuclear weapon, sending a shock or concussion wave before it as an ever-expanding cone of pressure at relativistic speeds. Anything unlucky enough to be in front of it when it fired did not so much blow apart as vaporize.

          Jeena shook her head in amazement. The MAAD was the most closely guarded weapon in the Union arsenal. Her unit hadn’t even been issued them, and yet here was one in the cargo hold of an old Coalition supply ship. Whoever he was, this smuggler was good.

          Among the rest of the contraband, Jeena had discovered a good-sized tent and decided her first task would be to erect it. Using the detailed and well-diagrammed military instructions that came with the tent, she had, in the space of two hours, managed to build a precariously leaning wall of black cloth.

          Finally tossing away the instructions and putting it up the way that looked right, she had an airy and stable tent up in twenty minutes. Standing before it, she realized some things never changed. The military could build the most sophisticated and durable machines ever made but couldn’t find one son-of-a-bitch in the army able to write a readable manual on it.

          The tent up, she went back inside the ship and powered down all unnecessary systems. She wanted to conserve as much battery life as possible for communications and for Vicki. The computer’s memory stores could prove invaluable.

          From the cargo hold, she built a stores pile near the tent of canned food, liquor, and cigars. The rest she put back into the hold and sealed it up. By the time she finished, the sun was high, and the day had turned hot and steamy.

          Sitting on an empty crate, Jeena removed her sweat-drenched t-shirt and wrung it out, using it to wipe the dirt from her face. She tossed it on the tent to dry and lit a cigar, turning it over in her fingers and considering her next course of action.

          Though this sector of space was contested, for the present it was under Coalition control. Long-range sensors were still showing no activity in the area, but she would not risk sending out a distress signal just yet—not with a hospitable planet to rest on for a while; not with the memory of the Mizar 3 still fresh in her mind. She would not risk being taken prisoner again. No, that was not right.

          I will never be taken prisoner again—ever. I will die first.

          Pushing the thought away, she concentrated on the terrain before her. According to the map Vicki had provided, there was a stream about one mile to the north. She’d soon need a source of fresh water, so this seemed like a logical place to begin her recon of the planet. Hopping off the crate, the cigar between her teeth, she reached for the shotgun.

          There was a rustling sound behind her, and she turned her head slowly, the cigar smoke curling up into her eyes. A lurking figure lay crouched under the shadow of the ship’s wing. Two golden circles reflected back at her.

          Jeena glanced at the gun, trying not to move as beads of sweat suddenly appeared on her brow. She looked back at the animal—just as it sprang. Leaping at the weapon, she grabbed it and rolled in a single fluid motion, firing blindly into the onrushing shadow.

          A huge weight slammed into her, knocking her down and pinning her under it. Cursing, she clawed at the animal, fighting out from under it. Her body was covered in blood as she finally pushed it off and struggled to her feet, panting hard and shaking. Holding her ribs in pain, she examined the dead animal at her feet.

          The tigra looked just like the one in the holo, or would have if not for the gaping hole running through its chest. Although it had a superficial resemblance to an Earth tigra, there were obvious differences.

          For one, it was much smaller. Jeena guessed it’s weight at one hundred and fifty kilos and would have stood just under two meters on its hind legs. Its coat was a radiant gold, slowly turning to a snow white at its paws. The skin was more firmly attached to the underlying frame of the animal, so that its musculature stood out, even under the fur.

          Its head was also smaller and narrower than an Earth tigra. Jeena tested the hip and shoulder joints. As she had assumed from the holo, they had some sort of hinge mechanism that allowed them to both stand and run on all fours. The paws were different too, being longer and thinner. Delicate, she might have called them, if not for the five-inch claws at their terminus.

          She knelt and ran her hand through the fur. It was as soft as the Chimenian mink she had once felt on Tycho, but up close she saw that the animal was not as healthy as it first appeared. The fur had scattered bare spots, and the animal’s skin was loose over its bones. It was sick, starving probably, and that may have explained why it was not as silent as it might have been in its attack.

          Jeena kept a wary eye out for others but neither saw nor heard anything else and remembered Vicki mentioning something about them being solitary hunters. Still shaking, she picked up the burning cigar and brushed it off before sticking it back between her teeth. Taking one last look at the animal, she limped painfully back toward the tent. The recon could wait. It was time to open the liquor.

 

***

 

          Jeena awoke the next morning kicking out at dark dreams. She opened her eyes to the sun blazing through the flap of the tent, the whiskey bottle empty on the ground.

          She groaned. She was nauseous, and her tongue felt thick and sticky. Her chest and arms were caked in dried blood. Through the tent flap, she could see the dead form of the tigra still lying there, a swarm of flies gathering around the carcass.

          She felt her bile rise and turned away, picking up a canteen of water. She drank it down quickly, feeling a little better. Rummaging through the tent, she found a carbo-bar and chewed it slowly, considering the animal outside her door.

          It’ll take a good-size hole, she thought miserably, but the flies were getting thick. Sighing, her stomach still queasy, she made her way out, making a mental note to never again kill anything bigger than a shovel near her tent.

          She dug the grave under the shadow of the ship’s wing, then slowly and painfully dragged the corpse to it and dumped it in. It was late afternoon by the time she threw the last shovelful of dirt over the grave, and her hangover had dissolved into a minor headache. She lit up another cigar and wiped herself down with the t-shirt. She had stopped wearing it altogether, as it had no practical use and only became wet and heavy with sweat.

          After a lunch of canned meat and water, she grabbed a few synlamps and motion detectors from the ship and set up a perimeter. She wanted no more uninvited guests dropping by, particularly at night. Once the area was secured, she rearmed and headed north toward the stream, taking along a canteen equipped with a sterilization unit.

          She found it as shown on the map and silently thanked Al for his good choice in picking this place to ditch. Walking upstream, she came to an abrupt rise in the terrain that resulted in a small waterfall. Placing her weapon carefully on the bank, she ran under it, washing the dried blood and grime from her body and enjoying the feel of the cool water cascading over her.

          Afterward, she lay on the grass near the bank, letting the hot sun dry her and feeling clean in a way she had not felt in a long time. She closed her eyes and listened to the gurgling stream as it flowed by.

 

          Jeena yawned and opened her eyes, then suddenly bolted upright. She had fallen asleep! The sun was low and setting fast. Grabbing her weapon and the now-filled canteen, she hurried back to her camp, cursing herself the entire way.

          It was fully nightfall when she finally arrived back at her camp, triggering the perimeter lights as she did.

          Well, at least they work, she thought.

          She searched the area carefully, assuring herself that it was unmolested, then set about building a fire. She had dug a shallow pit earlier in the day and now filled it with kindling and dead wood she found lying around. Soon she had a blazing fire and, feeling more secure, killed the lamps.

          It was a warm, clear night with the sky an explosion of stars and wispy streaks of color. Although Vicki had mentioned Ararat’s borealis in her summary of the planet’s characteristics, Jeena was amazed at the brilliance and rapidly changing patterns of the nocturnal light show. All she had seen on other worlds, including Earth’s, paled in comparison. Keeping the shotgun close, she lay back near the fire, its heat warming her body. Staring out at the stars and lights, she examined her situation.

          Through fate or dumb luck, she had escaped a hellish prison only to end up marooned on a distant and virtually uninhabited planet—a planet that, except for the tigra, was beginning to resemble a Garden of Eden. The thought made her smile.

          Does that make me Eve? 

          She looked down at her naked body. I certainly have the right wardrobe for the part. Come to think of it, an apple would taste pretty good right now.

          She didn’t find any apples among the smuggler’s foodstuffs, but there were tins of sardines and Tychorian truffles she placed on crackers and ate with gusto. She had tossed the tins aside and was picking up a fiery brand to light a cigar when the perimeter lights suddenly burst on.

          Dropping the stick, Jeena grabbed the shotgun, pumping the slide in the same motion. Moving with her back to the fire, she scanned the circle of light, peering into the darkness beyond. She could hear her heart pounding in her chest as she waited and listened.

          There was a faint sound to her right, and she whirled toward it, aiming the gun into the shadows. She could make out two golden rings reflecting from just beyond the circle of light. Her finger tensed around the trigger just as the figure stepped out into the light.

          Jeena lowered the weapon. There, standing and blinking in the harsh artificial glare, was a tiny tigra cub.

          Jeena stood unmoving, blinking back at the animal. She remained still, alert for any sign of another tigra. Surely the cub’s mother must be near, she thought. Then she recalled the mound beneath the ship’s wing and realized that this cub’s mother would never return.

          Well, that wasn’t her fault. The tigra had attacked her, and she had only been defending herself. Besides, it was half dead anyway. Another week, two at the most, and she would have likely died and the cub right behind her. Jeena raised the weapon again. It would be the merciful thing to do.

          “Sorry, cat, but it was her or me. Nothing personal.”

          The tigra cocked its head curiously at the sound of her voice.

          “I can’t have you wandering around here tripping my alarm at all hours and maybe attracting other predators. You won’t last long without momma, anyway. It stinks, I know, but that’s life.”

          She aimed carefully, not wanting the animal to suffer. A moment later she had still not fired and found the gun shaking in her hands. Angrily, she pulled the weapon from her shoulder and wiped the sweat that had appeared on her brow.

          What the hell is wrong with you?! How many thousands have you killed, men and women? It’s just an animal. Pull yourself together and do what you have to do.

          Raising the weapon again, she held the cub in her sights for a long moment before finally falling to her knees and vomiting hard and loud onto the dark sandy ground.

          She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

          Battle sickness.

          She had heard of soldiers who, after years of bloody fighting, had suddenly awoken one day to find they could no longer kill. As conscription did not allow for psychological leave, it was most often a fatal disease.

          Jeena saw the cub still sitting there, unmoving and apparently unconcerned.

          “So what the hell am I supposed to do? I can’t have you wandering around,” she said, spitting the taste of bile from her mouth.

          The cub made no reply.

          “Right. And I guess you’re just going to stand there till you get something to eat, huh?”

          Keeping her eye on the cub, she groped behind her until she fumbled upon a half-empty sardine tin. She set it in front of her.

          “Is this what you smelled? Yeah, maybe you just want a little snack before you go,” she said hopefully.

          The cub sniffed the air and pricked up its ears. It hesitated, looking between Jeena and the food as if debating with itself. Hunger won out, and it strode briskly and fearlessly toward the all-too-tempting food, bouncing slightly as it did. It sat down in front of the tin and, taking one last look at Jeena, began eating the remaining sardines in earnest.

          Jeena found the cigar she had dropped and lit it. She sat back on her haunches and watched the animal eat, blowing smoke rings and considering what to do. The dead animal buried behind the tent was obviously this cub’s mother, probably just protecting its young, Jeena thought with a pang of remorse. Left on its own, it would certainly die within a few days.

          So?

          So? So, you can’t even kill it cleanly. You think you can just sit back and watch it die slowly of starvation while you eat?

          But I can’t keep feeding it. This is no pet; it’s a wild animal and very dangerous.

          The cub, finished with its meal, began carefully licking its paws.

          It doesn’t look dangerous.

          Don’t be a fool! It’s still a baby. When this thing grows up, it will be as lethal as its mommy.

          That’s a long way off. Besides, it will probably run away long before that.

          Yeah, right.

          Jeena shook her head, clearing the debate from her mind. She couldn’t kill it or let it die of starvation; that left caring for it as the only option. The decision made, she stood and tossed the cigar into the dying fire. She was tired, and it was late. She made her way to the tent. Maybe the thing really would be gone by morning.

          Yeah. Right.

          At the tent flap, she turned to check on the animal—and found it right at her feet.

          “No, no. Go back. Shoo,” she tried, waving her hands and feeling slightly foolish.

          The cat stood its ground.

          She pushed it back gently with her foot, but it sprang back. Since the cub had seemed unmoved by her previous repartee, she picked him up and carried him back to the slowly fading fire.

          “Stay,” she said for no apparent reason she could think of, and raced back to the tent. At the doorway, she wheeled around and almost stepped on him in the process.

          “Fast little bugger, aren’t you? All right, stay here if you want, but the fire would have been warmer.”

          She quickly entered the tent and zipped up the flap. Once inside, she lay down heavily on the cot and threw a light blanket over herself. A smile came to her. Jeena Garza, lion tamer, she thought, just before falling into a deep sleep.

          No! Please, no, not the baby!

          Jeena awoke with her heart pounding in fear—a fear that did not abate when she realized she had been dreaming. She could still hear the baby crying. She staggered to her feet, her body shaking. The cries were coming from just outside the tent, loud and incessant. She covered her ears with her hands.

          No! Don’t do this! She isn’t there. She’s dead, dammit. She’s dead, and you can’t bring her back.

          But the wailing did not stop.

          Trembling, she stumbled to the tent flap and threw it open, fully prepared to see nothing but the empty air. Instead, she found the tigra cub exactly where she had left it. Emanating from this tiny ball of fur was a high-pitched, shrieking wail. The sound resembled nothing like the whine of an Earth cat but was eerily reminiscent of the screaming cries of a human baby. As if to emphasize this point, a stream of tears ran down its furry face.

          Jeena knelt and stared open-mouthed at the cub. Disbelief quickly replaced fear.

          This is ridiculous. Cats don’t cry—do they?

          She was fairly certain they didn’t. And she was sure they didn’t shed tears. At least she didn’t think they did. Anyway, this did not look right.

          Jeena picked up the cub and held it at arm’s length, as if not trusting the strangeness of the animal. Oblivious to whether it was behaving correctly or not, the cat continued to wail. Jeena winced. The sound was piercing.

          Still wary but wanting to quiet the animal, she brought it close to her and gently stroked its back. There was no effect for some time, but eventually, the crying decreased in both volume and intensity until it was replaced by quiet sniffling. Having a now-quiet tigra cub and wishing to keep it that way, she eased them both into her cot, lying down with the cub next to her. It immediately snuggled up to her and closed its eyes, content and unconcerned. Just before dozing off herself, Jeena opened one eye and peered at the animal.

          “Piss the bed,” she warned, “and you die.”