The Legacy of Lehr

by Katherine Kurtz

  That distracted Mather at first. For a heart-sinking few seconds he feared that the feline mind was too alien, the channels too convoluted for him to enter and still retain his own identity. But then he was inside the big cat’s mental processes—he could hardly call it thinking, especially with the drugs—remembering with fear and hatred the man-thing that had come and slain her mate.

  It was cold-bloodedly done, and he wished fervently that the cat’s ability to distinguish between individual humans were more acute—because he watched only through the eyes of her uncomprehending perception as the annoyingly flickering shields disappeared, and not one but two man-shapes approached the cages. He felt her wariness, then surprise and fear as something like a cloud hissed at her from one man-shape’s paw—and the other one shot her mate with one of the stinging things she remembered from her capture.

  He bit at the dart and tried to tear it from his fur, but the drug worked quickly—and something was draining her strength as well. She could not seem to make her legs obey her. She saw her mate staggering, weaving drunkenly, then collapsing as more darts struck his side, and she tried to call to him. He was panting now, lying flat on his side, his tufted tail lashing more and more weakly, and her hunting mates were sprawling helplessly in the cage behind her.

  Then one of the man-shapes was emerging from the cloud and circling the end of the cage nearest her mate, opening the mesh, and raising something that shone in the odd light.

  She tried to force her heavy body to respond, to drag herself upright and rend the hated enemy limb from limb, but she was as weak and helpless as a new cub. She saw the flash of metal, then the bright fountain of blood, as the man-shape savaged her mate—who fought bravely, for as long as he could.

  But soon she could lift her own head no longer and felt her own awareness draining away, her vision going dim, as the drug continued to work.

  When next she could stir, her mate lay motionless in a congealing pool of his own blood, not even breathing, his soft fur matted and streaked with red. She had nosed at him desperately, raking her tongue across his face in a futile attempt to rouse him, but he was as still as the fleetbeasts they had used to hunt together. Her howl of anguish had soon been joined by those of her hunting mates, as they sang their grief to an unhearing and uncaring universe.

  Mather shuddered at the poignancy of that raw emotion, staying with it a few seconds longer to let the full impact sink into his mind, then withdrew, opening his eyes carefully to turn and gaze at the creature whose memory he had just shared. The big cat slept more easily now, as if sharing the horror had somehow brought a measure of comfort to her simple mind. Perhaps she had sensed Mather’s outrage as well. Softly Mather stroked the giant paw where it lay beneath his fingers, finally turning to glance at Wallis. His wife was sitting patiently and waiting, a strangely fragile smile on her lips.

  “Some of it spilled over, didn’t it?” Mather murmured, letting his head lie back against the cage once more. “Did you see what happened?”

  “Not really. But think I felt a little of her loss,” Wallis answered softly. “They mate for life, don’t they?”

  With a drowsy smile, Mather held out his hand to her and pressed her palm to his lips, retaining her hand in his as he leaned back once more.

  “Unfortunately, this confirms that our intrepid killer definitely was not working alone,” he said, his eyes not yet focusing as he coaxed his recall to more conscious levels. “Matilda saw two man-things, and one of them had a knife. Whoever they were, one of them gassed the cats and then the other one needled her mate and cut him up while he was dying. It’s pretty obvious now that someone is trying very hard to frame the cats—why, I have no idea.”

  “That does tell us how they managed to do it, though,” Wallis said. “If they gassed the cats, they probably gassed the Rangers, too. Hey, easy!” she added, rummaging in her medkit for a stimcap as Mather started to get shakily to his feet. “Here, break this under your nose and breathe deeply. You’re not quite out from under the hypo yet.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Bracing himself against the side of the cage, Mather snapped the plastic capsule between his thumb and fingers and cupped his hand over his nose. The brief whiff of vapor was pungent, but it cleared his head. Nodding his thanks as he finished standing up, he handed the empty back to Wallis. “Thanks, that’s better. Now, where were we? You’re saying they gassed the Rangers? Wouldn’t someone remember?”

  Wallis shook her head. “Not necessarily. I’ll have to run some tests to determine exactly what was used, but there are several definite possibilities. Properly administered, the men would never even know they’d been out.”

  “Well, that’s just dandy,” Mather muttered under his breath. “Who would know how to do that? I don’t.”

  “No, but I do. And unfortunately, it’s quite possible that any of our Rangers might. It isn’t difficult—just rather specialized.”

  “So you’re saying that it really could have been an inside job?”

  “It could have been. The killer’s accomplice could have been one of our men, at least. But it’s equally possible that the gas could have been introduced from outside the hold. I’d rather not get bogged down in suspicion of our own people right now—especially since more than half of them, including ourselves have A-positive blood.”

  Mather shook his head and sighed again, glancing at the bright-black shimmer of the shields still around them. “Would the gas show up in blood samples, after this long? And if so, would a drug screening clear our men, if they all had it in their systems?”

  Wallis shook her head. “It would probably show up, but unfortunately our culprit probably would’ve been smart enough to gas himself, too, after he’d reset all the security systems. You’re asking all the questions I’ve already asked myself, Mather.” She threw the inside switch to lower the shields. “I only wish I had some answers for you.”

  With the shields gone, a red light could be seen flashing insistently above the lock system in front of the outer door. Four Rangers waited there with stunners at the ready.

  “Incidentally,” Wallis added, “the captain arrived just after you went under, and he’s madder than a Sirian swamp stalker. Do you want to let him in?”

  Mather snorted. “Not particularly, though I suppose I’m going to have to. If I don’t, he’s likely to burn the door off, or some other fool thing. Anything else I should know?”

  Wallis grinned. “At least a dozen things, I’m sure, but no one knows them yet to tell you. While you talk to him, I’ll be in the office, checking on those printouts. Shall I have them reactivate the shields, so he doesn’t hit the cats if he comes in shooting?”

  “You can be so encouraging,” Mather muttered, moving closer to the lock. But he signaled Webb to reengage the shields before giving Casey the sign to admit Lutobo.

  “Now, see here, Seton—” The captain was the first one through the door, a needler strapped conspicuously to his right hip, his dark face a mask of smouldering resentment. Four armed security guards followed him, but they kept their hands carefully away from their own weapons when they saw the Rangers’ stunners. Last came Perelli and Shannon, the latter more than a little cowed by the captain’s black mood. Mather decided immediately that the best defense was going to be a strong offense.

  “Seton, I want some answers, and I want them now!” Lutobo began.

  “Yes, Captain, I’m sure you do,” Mather interjected smoothly. “But before I give you any, I’d like to know about your communication with the Imperial authorities. I trust that our respective positions and authorities have been defined to your satisfaction?”

  Lutobo’s expression hardened at that, but he broke off what he had been about to say and took a deep breath, visibly forcing his temper back in check.

  “Commodore Seton, if you were the emperor’s own cousin, it would still be my responsibility to safeguard the lives of the passengers and crew entrusted to me. If you cannot allow me to
take what I feel are the appropriate preventive measures to ensure their safety, and you refuse to offer reasonable alternatives, then you almost force me to go against direct orders from your superiors.”

  “As long as we’re permitted to continue our investigation and the cats aren’t harmed, I won’t interfere with any reasonable measures that you may wish to take, Captain,” Mather said calmly.

  “Investigation? You’d think there was some question as to what’s been going on here!” Lutobo bellowed.

  “And just what has been going on here, Captain?” Mather countered. “Because if you know, I wish you’d tell me!”

  “Well—for God’s sake, Seton, three people have died!”

  “Three?” Wallis said, coming out of the security office to join them. “Then, Ta’ai—”

  “She died half an hour ago,” Shannon replied, speaking for the first time. “There was nothing else we could do for her.”

  “You see?” Lutobo said accusingly. “Three deaths, Seton. Where does it all end?”

  “Not before we stop blaming the cats and start considering other alternatives, Captain,” Mather said. “It now appears—and we do have evidence to this end—that there’s been a massive frame-up shaping under our noses. Would you like to have a look at the body of the cat that was killed?”

  He signaled Webb to deactivate the security net again, but Lutobo barely glanced at the cages that became visible.

  “At least poor Phillips got in a few good blows before the cat mangled him,” the captain muttered. “I understand that there was blood all over his force-blade.”

  Mather shook his head. “Phillips may have gotten in some good blows at his assailant, Captain, but that assailant was not a Lehr cat. The blood was humanoid, type B-positive.”

  “What?”

  “There wasn’t any cat blood anywhere in the area, either,” Mather went on. “The tuft of cat fur in his other hand was the only link to our cats—and anyone could have put it there.”

  “What about the paw prints?”

  “I can’t explain those yet, but the blood itself was the engineer’s, with a few drops of the same blood as on the blade—type B-positive.”

  “But—if someone besides a cat killed Phillips, how do you account for your butchered cat?” Lutobo asked, astounded.

  “Will you let me finish, Captain? I said that there wasn’t any cat blood in Phillips’s vicinity. Furthermore, the blood we found on and around the dead cat here, other than its own, was humanoid blood. For the most part, it was the same type as on the force-blade.”

  Lutobo’s jaw dropped a fraction, but he managed to cover most of his astonishment well. “You mean that someone killed Phillips to make it look as if a cat did it and then came down and killed the cat, too?”

  “It’s beginning to look that way,” Mather agreed. “Someone with type B-positive blood, which is reasonably rare.”

  “Well, do you know whose it is?”

  Mather shook his head. “Not yet, Captain, but we can tell you several people whose blood it isn’t. It isn’t Phillips’s, and it isn’t Ta’ai’s or any other alien’s.”

  “Then who—and how—and why?”

  Mather shook his head again. “We only know a little of the ‘how,’ so far. As nearly as we can gather, whoever killed Phillips—getting himself wounded in the process—knew he would have to cover if it was going to continue to appear that the cats were responsible for the murders. I can’t even speculate as to why he’s doing this yet, or especially why he’s doing it the way he is—but that’s another facet of the story. At any rate, he came here to the hold, managed to get past my Rangers and tamper with the recording devices—we think he gassed them, but we haven’t figured out exactly how he did that, either; we’re working on it—and then he gassed and needled the cats, one of them fatally.”

  Lutobo, glancing past Mather at the bloody carcass, frowned. “I thought the cat was knifed.”

  “He was, but only after he was already dying from too many needler darts. Our fearless murderer climbed into the cage with the dying Lehr cat and started to butcher him, trying to make it look exactly as you thought it happened. Only he moved in too quickly, and the cat wasn’t as helpless as it appeared. That’s how humanoid blood got on the cat’s claws and in the cage. In fact, there are two different humanoid blood groups unaccounted for, so our murderer must have had help.”

  “Two people involved,” Lutobo breathed. “That’s incredible. But who?”

  “That shouldn’t be too difficult to find out,” Wallis replied. Our murderer and his accomplice, whoever they are, will have a few claw marks to show for their trouble. In fact, Mister B-Positive will also have one or more force-blade wounds, and those are rather difficult to hide. Doctor Shannon, you haven’t had anyone come into Medical Section to be treated for lacerations or force-blade wounds today, have you?”

  “Not that I know of,” Shannon replied. “In light of what’s been happening, I’m certain my staff would have notified me. I do have the list you requested of all passengers and crew with type B-positive blood, however. Assuming that it wasn’t one of the crew or a child—and we do know that it’s a male—that gives us about forty names.”

  She produced a printed list from inside her tunic and handed it to Wallis before going on. “I also discovered something odd when I tried to narrow down the list further. I wondered why I couldn’t get past the very basic blood profile for a more precise match. He’s taking some kind of drug that blocks the more subtle blood factors.”

  “You don’t know what, specifically?” Wallis asked.

  Shannon shook her head. “No one on our list is on record as taking anything that could do that, either. I correlated everyone’s medical records on the entire ship.”

  “Well, what does that mean?” Lutobo asked.

  “It means,” said Wallis, comparing her list with Shannon’s, “that one of the people on this list will have such a substance in his bloodstream now—so in a worst-case scenario, we can simply draw blood from all of them until we find our probable murderer.”

  “The probable murderer?” the captain muttered. “Wouldn’t that be conclusive proof?”

  “No, because more than one person could have taken such a drug. What would be conclusive proof is that our man also has at least one force-blade wound and probably several cat lacerations. He’s likely to move a little carefully; the wounds may even be infected, Lehr cat claws being what they are. Our type A-positive accomplice is also likely to have a cat scratch or two, but he may be more difficult to spot, since he probably didn’t get scratched as badly, judging by the amount of A-positive blood we found.”

  The captain’s face had gone stony with suspicion as Wallis spoke, and now he glanced from her to Mather to Shannon and then back to Mather; he scowled as one of the Rangers brought Wallis another computer printout. “Seton, if this is some kind of clever cover-up or stall tactic—”

  “And just what am I supposed to be covering up or stalling for, Captain?” Mather demanded, setting his fists on his hips. “Granted, the cats are very important to us. You checked with our superiors, and you know the scope of our authority, so you can imagine the value the Imperial government sets on the cats. But if you think, even for a minute, that I would deliberately jeopardize the lives of innocent people aboard this vessel, just to complete my mission successfully, then you are very much mistaken.”

  “Well—how do you plan to proceed, then?” Lutobo replied, a little taken aback at the newest turn of events.

  Wallis, who had been scanning the second list with Shannon, raised an eyebrow as she glanced up at him. “As a matter of fact. Captain, Doctor Shannon and I talked with a man on each of these lists, only yesterday. They both have some knowledge of Lehr cats—and, therefore, a conceivable connection with what’s been going on. Not that this necessarily makes them any more likely suspects than anyone else on the lists, but they’re a good starting point.”

  “Who are they?”
>
  “Vander Torrell, the historian who sat at your table the other night,” Wallis said, “and a man called Reynal. He helped us track the cats on B-Gem.”

  “Who would have thought Torrell has good old A-positive blood?” Shannon murmured. “I thought it would be blue, to hear him talk. I guess we do have something in common, after all.”

  Lutobo glanced at her suspiciously. “Then you’re on the list, too, Doctor.”

  “And so am I, and so is Mather,” Wallis interjected, “along with a good third of the human population. However, it does leave Torrell right near the top of the list—though I’d guess that our B-positive suspect is the more dangerous of the two. I think I’d like to have blood samples from both Reynal and Torrell, for starters, to check for that odd drug—and see if either of them has any wounds he can’t account for. It we come up cold, we’ll start working our way down the rest of the lists.”

  “Well, I can have Doctor Shannon call them in to be checked, if that’s all it’s going to take,” Lutobo said.

  “True,” Wallis agreed, “but I’d rather do it myself, if you don’t mind. I’ve had more training in this sort of thing than Doctor Shannon. I’ll take along two Rangers as well. That way, if one one of these men is our murderer, we can deal with him. You’re welcome to come along, though, Captain.”

  Lutobo still looked doubtful, but finally he snorted under his breath and folded his arms resolutely. “Very well, we’ll try it your way for now, Doctor. Not that I’m totally convinced, you understand.” He pointed at Mather. “I still don’t trust those cats of yours—and I want to leave some of my own security here, inside this hold, while I go with Doctor Hamilton.”