Cougar's Roar

by Jim Mohr

  I take a healthy swallow of the wine as another report catches my eye. “Cougar Reed: Aeronautical Engineering” The entries are all by instructors of Cougars’. One entry especially interests me. “Cougar, your design of this combat jet is beyond our expectations. I highly recommend that you reconsider your desire to enter the Secret Forces department and apply your talents to engineering. Your design will be forwarded to the command in Moscow for further evaluation.”

  I sip the wine again and I close my eyes. I think of Cougar working out, his martial arts, his mind. His movements are so fluid, so artistic. His mind is so analytical, so precise. Have I been wrong about him this whole time? Is he a wounded boy, or is he a sensitive soul with a hard, lethal exterior and the mind of some advanced being?

  Long ago, when I was a little girl, my father demanded that I take piano lessons. He used music as an escape from the budding war he was fighting in, this war. He bought me an electric piano for Christmas one year. Since we lived on base, we had disposable income. That was, until the attack ten years ago. He was taken from me. I sip another mouthful of wine as I rub the glass with my thumb. Could art and music give us the escape we desire or maybe tap Cougar’s humanity? Is that how Cougar is? Is his love of art and music his escape from the abuse and death he has experienced? Or is he one prodigy whose mind does not have a dominant side?

  I remember my father, I miss him so. He was my everything. I could never say goodbye to him, or my mother for that matter… The piano… My junk closet is its resting place now.

  ***

  The computer prints off the sheet music for me. The electric piano still works, thank goodness. I remember the notes, the timing, the pauses, and the emotion. My left hand plays the C sharp minor as I see the first three notes for my right hand. As I play them, I think of my father. He is gone, he can never hear me play again, he can never hold me. Like Cougar, I am alone.

  The wine glass is empty, like my life. I grab the bottle and fill my glass. I play the first three notes again, working on my timing, building muscle memory.

  This haunting song, it is full of sadness and pain, loss and perseverance. I hope, if I ever play it for Cougar, he will enjoy it. I must play it for him, to see how he reacts. The thought of him touching my hand brings a smile to my face.

  I sip another mouthful of the Zinfandel. I will keep practicing until either my hands cramp up, or I pass out. This will be for Cougar…

  ***

  The Next Morning, Saturday

  My cramped hands wake me up before the annoying buzz of the room-to-room intercom does.

  “What?!” I yell at the damned buzzing.

  “Incoming call from room 71B15, do you accept?” The intercom’s computer voice announces. It is Cougar!

  “Yes,” I answer.

  “Sergeant Montclair, I hope I didn’t wake you.” Cougar’s voice is lively and excited. It carries no hint of depression from the previous day’s news.

  “No, Cougar, I was up already.” Oh God, I’m lying to him now. Shit, this is worse than I thought.

  “Since it’s Saturday, and I don’t have any BMT classes, I was hoping to go to the firing range, if that’s okay?”

  “Without me?” I hope he doesn’t see me as wanting to tag along to be with him, versus supervising him.

  “Whichever works. I’m just going to the range. I was wondering if you want to come with me.”

  I roll out of bed, my hands ache. “You just want to shoot that Kalashnikov, don’t you?”

  “Yes. It’d be nice to just spend time with you too. If it’s okay, I don’t want to impose. Yesterday took a lot out of me. I need to clear my head.”

  A warmness burns in my chest. He just said he wanted to spend time with me! “I’ll meet you at the range if that’s okay. I’ve got to do some things around here first.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant,” he answers and the intercom clicks off.

  “All right, goodbye then,” I say out loud to myself. I have to put the piano and sheet music away and clean up my kitchen table. There’s no sense in him seeing this mess of a residence. What the hell am I doing? We are going shooting, not coming back here for a romp.

  While I clean up my mess I think about Cougar’s desire to fire that pistol and how it is a way to clear his head. I remember the look on his face when he opened that pistols box. He looked like some troops that I have seen who were given robotic limbs. That look of being complete, whole once again. That was the look that Cougar had, as if the pistol that Major Yarrow sent to him had made him a complete person.

  ***

  Cougar

  My loaded Kalashnikov would be too much for a weak armed human to handle. It takes some muscle to handle the kick and the weight. Remembering Mikhailov’s physique, he could have handled it. I don’t think he ever fired it though.

  The engraved, black ivory grips, feel as much a part of me as my hands are. “Mors Hostibus Meis,” death to my enemies. Yes, that is perfect for my weapon.

  I select the number of targets, their ranges, and the time they are up. The system will randomize the targets. I have twenty targets at ranges between 2 and 50 yards. The targets will stay up for two seconds. Shooters are scored points for each hit, based on how close to the bull’s-eye you get. A complete miss earns you zero points, a bull’s-eye is worth five points. The closer to the bull’s-eye, the more points you earn.

  I step into the contestant box. The system recognizes my weight and activates. “Begin,” I announce. The computer beeps three times and the first target pops up. I aim and squeeze. The recoil is what I had expected. This pistol is incredible, it is me. The target drops. The next target pops up. The smell of gunpowder fills my nose. I love it!

  My firing is rhythmic, like the sound of heavy marching feet. The system beeps again signaling the completion of the course.

  Above me, in bright red, my score registers 100. I look at my Kalashnikov, it is hot in my hand. The smoke is noticeable to me, I guess it would be to humans too.

  “Wow! Nice!” I jump and spin. Instinctively, I am in a karate fighting stance. “Holy shit, Cougar! It’s me.” Sergeant Montclair’s hands are up, startled at my reaction. “So, I guess you can sneak up on a Psychokinetic.”

  I holster my pistol and relax. “Yes, you can. It’s not advisable though.”

  She chuckles. “I guess not. 100 huh? Shit, I’ve never seen a perfect score.”

  “Sergeant Montclair, you said shit!” Profanity just doesn’t seem to fit her, she always has come across as such a stuffy and ‘by the rules’ type of person.

  “It’s Saturday, Cougar. I’m off duty. One of the benefits of supervising a recruit. I work when you work.”

  I smile. “Benefits of supervising a recruit? There are benefits?”

  She kicks the ground as if trying to search for an answer. “Yes, that, and maybe getting to meet the Admiral. Of course, not many recruits get to sit in Command Staff Room 1.”

  “Sergeant Montclair…”

  “Cougar, my first name is Carrie. You may call me Carrie.” She smiles softly and bats her eyes at me. Does she like me?

  I can feel my face getting warm, I hope I’m not blushing. “Okay, Carrie, what happens if I complete BOT?”

  Her eyes narrow. “You’ll be commissioned, you know that.”

  I don’t know how to say it, I’m nervous, and I don’t want to offend her. “I’ll outrank you. Does that bother you?”

  She smiles, her beautiful lips separate slightly showing her white teeth. Her vibrant eyes light up. “No, that doesn’t bother me. You were a Sergeant in the Resistance. Hell, you probably outrank me now. Besides, if you were commissioned it helps the Alliance win the war, I’m all for it.”

  She pulls her issued 9 mm from its holster. “My turn, what is it set to?”

  “I have twenty targets, 2 to 50 yards.”

&n
bsp; She checks her pistol and steps into the box. The system activates. “Begin,” she says out loud. The targets pop up and Carrie fires. I can hear delays when she aims for the 40-, 45- and 50-yard targets. She finishes, and her score displays: 80.

  “80 is a good score,” I say as I check the scoring list. She hit every target, except the 45-yard target. She registered eight bull’s-eyes. “Nice job,” I nod approvingly to her.

  “I would’ve done better, my hands hurt this morning.”

  “Sure, excuses… excuses,” I laugh.

  “No, really,” She replies seriously.

  I grab her hands in mine. She does not resist my touch. Her hands are warm and soft. I release my healing power. Warmth and love radiate into Carrie. I can see tenderness and care in her eyes. “You were right, they were sore.”

  She is staring at me, open-mouthed. “Yeah, sore.” She doesn’t blink.

  “Are you okay? Should we try again?” I ask.

  “You go first, Cougar, I’m kind of caught off guard or something.” Her face is looking flushed, did the healing power do something to her?

  I clear the empty magazine and reinsert a full one, I must consider Carrie’s privacy. I want so badly to read her mind, to discover her intentions. Until recently she has been aloof to me. Why the change?

  I step into the contestant box. “Begin.” The computer beeps three times. The first target pops up, I fire. The rhythmic percussion of gunfire fills the indoor range. When my last round is spent, the red scoreboard lights up: 100.

  “Do you ever miss?” Carrie seems to have regained her inner strength.

  I clear my Kalashnikov and smile. “I don’t remember my last miss. It’s not telekinesis or anything like that. The way it was explained to me, is that some Psychokinetics have special abilities beyond our five powers. Mine is my marksmanship. For whatever reason, I see the target, the bullet, everything in a way that’s... It’s almost like my telekinesis guides the airborne projectile. It goes where I want, but it’s not telekinesis.”

  Carrie looks at me with a curious eye. “Is Lieutenant Smith’s ability her speed?”

  “Yes,” I reply.

  “You also have the ability to get people mad and start fights.”

  “Yes, I have that also…” I chuckle softly. “It’s your turn.”

  She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes as she loads her 9 mm and steps into the contestant box. A small smile is on her lovely lips. Something seems to be on her mind.

  “Begin.” The computer beeps three times and the first target pops up. Her fire is even more sporadic than the first time. She misses one of the 5-yard targets, so she fires at it again, this time hitting it. She doesn’t have a round for the final target, the 40-yard target. Her score displays above her: 52.

  “52? Really? What happened, Carrie?”

  She looks embarrassed as she clears her 9 mm. “Do you really want to know?” She asks as she blushes.

  “Yes, are you all right?”

  “Oh, I’m just fine,” she raises her head as she takes a shallow breath. “Honestly, my hands feel great, better than ever. I can’t get you out of my head now though.”

  “Carrie, I’m not reading your mind. Unlike Cheetah, I won’t invade your privacy.”

  She gives me a cute sneer. “That’s not it! How can you be so intelligent, but also be so dense? Cougar, your damn healing power was like this intense feeling of love. It’s kind of hypnotic. I’ve never felt anything like it. You are in my thoughts, in a good way now.”

  I guess maybe I should have warned her about that. I remember how it affected Nada and how our friendship changed after I had healed her. “I am sorry, Carrie. I should have said something. I was just trying to help you is all.”

  She blinks at me and lowers her face. “It’s okay. I do think it would only be fair if I was allowed to distract you when you are shooting. Make it even, so to speak.” Her smile has turned devious, this is not a good idea.

  “I don’t want to ruin my streak.” I look down range, to avoid her eyes. “I’m afraid that you would be successful, and my perfect scores would be ruined.”

  “Cougar, in battle you will be distracted by worse things than little old me. A warrior should be able to focus, right?”

  “Aw shit.” My chest is getting warm. I fear this woman. “Why are women so damn devious?”

  “It’s just how we are, I guess. Come on, unless you’re scared,” she winks at me. I know this won’t be good.

  I consider trying to get my defensive power up, it might help me. I concentrate on it, it’s not there. “Carrie, my defensive power won’t raise. I guess you aren’t a threat.” She chuckles softly.

  “What, what is so funny?” I ask.

  “Nothing, nothing at all.” She begins to blush slightly.

  “No, say it. What is so funny?”

  “Cougar, I’d rather not. Just forget my little jest. It’s nothing.”

  I won’t read her mind. I watch her cautiously, trying to guess at what the joke would have been. I can see that she is nervous about something.

  “Ok, Cougar, I don’t want you to think less of me. I was just kind of chuckling to myself when you said that your power wouldn’t raise, or go up. I thought, if you couldn’t get it up I could help with it.”

  I remove the empty magazine and insert a full one. I step into the contestant box as she approaches behind me. What did she just say? I turn back to her confused. “Was that a penis joke? Did you just flirt with me?”

  She smiles at me, her hands behind her back as she rocks on her feet. “You are a quick one, aren’t you? You’ll make a perfect Lieutenant.”

  I take a deep breath as I face the range again. Never have I wanted to read someone’s mind as much as I do right now.

  “Begin.” The computer beeps three times and the first target pops up. As I fire I feel a soft, warm breath of air on my right ear. It is followed by a small kiss. I feel her touch on my back. Oh hell, it’s not her hand touching me. The firing continues as my focus returns to the targets. She is whispering something that I cannot hear.

  As the last target drops, I check my Kalashnikov and spin to face her. We are practically nose to nose.

  “Hi,” she smiles, taunting me. “How did you do?”

  Above me the score displays… 92. A wave of embarrassment washes over me. This human distracted me.

  “We’ve got to work on that concentration of yours, there. Cougar.” She winks at me playfully. I am thinking that this human woman is bad news.

  Chapter 41

  Falcon—Devante Estate: The Buckhead District, Atlanta, Georgia

  The accursed dream startles me awake again. I sit up and place my feet on the floor, I hear the nightingales outside my window. It was just a dream, though it has become more frequent and more intense. It reminds me of my power dreams. To add to my enjoyment, my headache has returned. I rub my temples and I release my healing power. The pain dulls and then disappears entirely.

  The dream… Its imagery is still fresh in my mind. Was it a premonition, or merely my powers going awry? I was locked in a fight with a mountain lion. I was my animal; a great peregrine falcon. I was wounding the cat. It could not reach me. Then, without warning, another cat struck me from behind. It was a cheetah. If this dream was a premonition, I must be wary of the cats.

  My breathing slows as I focus on my heartbeat. I must calm my nerves, I must slow my heartbeat. Maybe, just maybe, I will leave the cats to Hyena. Let him deal with them. Osprey is too weak to handle any cat greater than Bobcat. Jaguar would be fodder for Cheetah or Mountain Lion.

  I sense the approach of Osprey. Her room is on the other side of the estate grounds. Why is she here? A knock on my door. It opens slightly as Osprey’s head pokes inside. The light from the hall lands directly on me.

  “Falcon, ma’am, I am sorr
y to wake you.” Her soft English accent is so much more enjoyable to hear that Lion’s raging southern accent.

  “Osprey, you did not wake me. What is it?”

  “Ma’am, our Lord is awake. He had another dream. He is angry with you.”

  “He’s angry at me because he had a dream?”

  Osprey ducks inside my room as if she is a secret agent from an old twentieth-century movie. Osprey fears me, but she fears Lion more so. “Please, do not speak that way, Falcon. He is angry because of Owl besting you. The dream was of a coming war. A black and gold snake, a mountain lion, and him.”

  My eyes narrow as my power works. A snake, a black and gold snake? “Osprey, it is a taipan snake. Some argue it is the deadliest snake in the world.” I rub my temples again. “So why would Lion still care about Owl and me? If he’s fighting Taipan, he should worry about him.”

  “Falcon, I am sorry. I am only warning you about what I gleaned from the Pigeons.”

  I shake my head in disgust. “Pigeons! Osprey stop communicating with them. They are barely Psychokinetics and are only good as messengers. Don’t even talk to them.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Osprey bows slightly.

  Suddenly, the pressure in the house seems to drop slightly. It feels similar to when I would travel with my parents in our car and someone in the back seat would lower a window.

  “FALCON!” The yell echoes through the 30,000 ft.² mansion. Warmth and fear flood over me. It is Lion…

  “I am sorry, Falcon,” Osprey leaves my room, closing the door behind her.

  Well, I had better take my beating. I regret the day I accepted the job of training this brat, Malcolm Davante. He has terrorized me ever since. As I dress, I work on clearing my thoughts. If Lion were to ever see them, he would kill me.