Black Jaquar

by Vijaya Schartz

  First Anthropologist bowed slightly to Straal. “I analyzed the biology of the explorers, My Lord. They seem sturdier than our chosen natives. The taller ones in particular have a very robust anatomy and better longevity.”

  First Scientist emitted a clucking sound. “Should we reconsider our choice of race for the project?”

  Suppressing a nasty retort at such wavering, Straal only raised one delicate hand in disagreement. “Negative. Our preliminary observations of the tall ones in their original city of Kassouk revealed a highly developed brain and a very rational mind... too difficult to manipulate.”

  First General shook his head gravely, the rainbow shower making his smooth skull glow. “And if they ever turned against us, they have powerful galactic friends, and technology that could destroy us.”

  The iridescent shower stopped, but all remained seated, waiting for Straal to rise. Straal, however, wasn't finished. He laid his hand on his slim armored chest, a sign of empathy, feeling the beat of his heart echoed by the pulsing surrounding glow. “Believe me, we chose the right breeders for our future generations.”

  First Scientist sighed and his skinny shoulders dropped in relief. “Good. It's rather late to switch anyway. The hybrid eggs are almost ready, and the explorers cannot mind-talk.”

  First Anthropologist shook his large head. “Except for the Lost Daughter. Should we include her in the project as an experiment?”

  “Absolutely not.” Straal bristled at being challenged, but he restrained from broadcasting his frustration. “The Lost Daughter is an abomination, a tall hybrid with technology, and I do not trust her. She must be eliminated along with the explorers, and then we shall proceed exactly as planned.”

  First Meteorologist batted the lids of her wide aquamarine eyes. “Again, I apologize for my failure to terminate the explorers, My Lord.”

  “Do not fret.” Straal wanted to touch her angular cheek for reassurance but stopped himself. It became more and more difficult to hide his attraction, even in front of his officers, but he must. “Our faithful chosen will terminate the unwanted, using organic ways undetectable by the planetary defenses.”

  When the door opened, Straal rose and exited the decontamination compartment into the welcoming darkness of his vessel. Multiple floating musical spheres gathered in midair around the team, offering comfort. His team followed him through the high triangular door, into the blue luminescence of the corridors. “You are dismissed. Send the new information to the captains of the main fleet.”

  The team nodded and dispersed to their various areas and duties. He watched First Meteorologist leave with a pinch of regret. Then Straal ambled briskly toward his personal quarters. The more concrete this project became, the more it scared him. But he had no other choice.

  How he wished their own offspring could live, instead of the cross-bred abominations meant to thrive on that heavy world. But the Estrell, too long confined to space, had lost their ability to adapt to a planet's gravity. With their ships breaking down and their inability to build more, they needed to interbreed with heavyworlders, and populate their planet with a hybrid race, to start the new Estrell civilization... the New Generation Project.

  And Straal must sacrifice his personal feelings to ensure the future of his people. His offspring could only be clumsy heavyworlders, with brute strength and graceless bodies… not the product of his blood with the lovely First Meteorologist, delicate, ethereal, intelligent, and sophisticated.

  In the secret recesses of his beating heart, however, he grieved the gradual disappearance of the original Estrell, beautiful specimens like himself, like First Meteorologist. But even in the best of circumstances, his dream could never be.

  * * *

  The unexpected presence of natives on the isle kept the sentries at the edge of the camp even more vigilant. Kahuel ordered to keep the fires burning despite the balmy night. His warriors understood the dangers involved in invading inhabited territory. Anyone would feel threatened by a band of armed warriors.

  The Mutants had retired to their makeshift tents, while Kahuel's contingent of sailors and warriors preferred to sleep under the stars in the moonlight.

  Kahuel reclined on the soft sand, hands under his head. The warm night breeze carried the sweet, heavy scent of jungle blooms. A horse snorted nearby. Hyenas laughed somewhere on the distant slopes, silencing the night birds. Around Kahuel, the familiar snoring of warriors and cats sleeping on the beach created a semblance of safety... a dangerous illusion.

  Diablo returned late from his courtship with the young panther. In a good mood, the jaguar sprawled next to Kahuel with the total abandon of a satisfied cat.

  Kahuel chuckled and scratched the purring feline's exposed belly. “Lucky beast. At least one of us is happy.”

  Diablo emitted a short, contented snort and stretched. The jaguar yawned, baring pink gums and sharp white fangs to the moonlight. Then Diablo rolled over, rested his head on his front paws, sighed deeply and closed his furry eyelids on deep emerald eyes.

  After the spine-chilling call and baleful chant that had disrupted the evening hours, sleep eluded Kahuel. Despite these ominous signs, and Princess Esperana's misgivings, he couldn't imagine the native woman he'd glimpsed near the waterfall could be his enemy. She'd embraced Diablo with such love... She'd gazed upon Kahuel with interest in her clear turquoise almond eyes... But something had frightened her, and fear often triggered aggressive reactions.

  And what about Princess Esperana's many secrets? She'd shared a few tonight, but how much did she still hide from him? Many unknown dangers lurked around this disastrous mission. Eyes wide open, Kahuel stared at unfamiliar stars. The Galleon had traveled southeast, and except for the moons, the night sky looked different.

  The clicking of weapons alerted him to the change of the guard. Kahuel sat up to watch the sentries at the edge of the tree line greet the fresh guard and return to the beach to sleep. Then the cicadas resumed chirping, along with the night birds.

  The Grays standing guard around the Mutant tents didn't change guard. They could sustain long shifts without moving or even blinking, like statues frozen in time. How did they do it? Was it genetic, or pure discipline? Despite his Goddian blood, Kahuel had no such stamina.

  Finally, after hours of restless wake, Kahuel fell into an uneasy slumber.

  The loud cries of seabirds prompted him awake at dawn. Diablo was nowhere in sight, probably gone to feed. The tide had withdrawn far, baring the shellfish-studded sand. The Galleon protruded from the surface at the end of the rocky spine, a dismal reminder of their dire situation.

  Kahuel rose and sailors and warriors gathered around him. “Where is my shellfish picking party?”

  The old cook waved and pointed to his five drudges, armed with buckets and pans. “On our way, Black Jaguar!”

  “Remain in full view of the camp, understood?” Kahuel dismissed them with a wave of the hand.

  The cook nodded, and they spread out, gaze fixed on the expanse of wet sand, bending down to pick the best shellfish, shrimp and crabs for the breakfast pot.

  Kahuel addressed the rest of his people. “Get to the tasks we designated last night. Everyone has a job to do, so get to it.”

  Men and women nodded.

  “And whoever has a weapon, keep it ready at all times!”

  As the various parties scrambled about their chores, Kahuel led his best swimmers and divers on the wet sand. They stopped and stripped at the waterline, keeping only their loincloths.

  “For now, we desperately need to salvage tools, weapons, anything made of metal. Also rope, planks we can use to build shacks and pens for the animals. Later, we'll dismantle important pieces of the Galleon that can be re-used to build another boat.”

  The divers ran into the white-crested waves then swam toward the end of the natural jetty of black, jagged rocks. Diablo came trotting and splashed into the waves with the divers. Unlike most cats, jaguars loved water. Kahuel wished he could join them, but
he had a camp to organize.

  A female warrior ran toward him. “Black Jaguar!”

  “What is it?” Kahuel sighed. The day had barely started, and he knew there would be challenges.

  “We are gathering the farm animals, but the pigs are hungry, and the forest is not safe for them to forage.”

  “For now, feed them the soggy cornmeal that washed ashore in leaky barrels. It's no good for Human consumption.”

  She saluted. “Will do, Black Jaguar.”

  Kahuel watched the woman run toward her party, then he walked the length of the cove, surveying the progress of the camp. He addressed a group building a bamboo shelter. “Move the goat pen farther away from the tree line. The predators won't dare crossing through sleeping felines and warriors to get to them at night.”

  The men acquiesced and dragged the partial bamboo frame further away from the forest.

  A woman approached Kahuel and pointed to a gnarled, leafless tree sticking out of the sand, bleached by wind and sea-spray. “The chickens roost on that dead tree at night.”

  “If they like that tree, build their coop around it. And give them a soft place to nest and lay eggs.”

  Kahuel scanned the edge of the forest and called a sentry's attention. “The horses are grazing too close to the jungle. Wild predators might see them as food.”

  The warrior saluted and dispatched the order.

  “Black Jaguar!” A young beastmaster, holding his side and out of breath, approached Kahuel. “What about feeding our felines? They need fresh meat.”

  “Let them hunt freely. Prey is plentiful in the forest. They'll enjoy the exercise, too.”

  The young man smiled with relief. He cared about his animals.

  Cries of excitement rose when the first divers returned to shore with their booty.

  Kahuel ran back to the water's edge as a diver deposited two swords on the wet sand. Then he pulled three dirks from the belt of his loincloth.

  “Good job.” Kahuel grinned. “That's what we need.”

  Another diver stepped out of the waves with two spears, another with a bow and a fourth with a handful of arrows. Another man brought an axe and dropped it next to the other treasures, all soaked in salt water but otherwise in perfect condition.

  “There is plenty more. The heavy metal sank with the ship.” The proud Zerker smiled. Kahuel knew him well... a hothead for sure, but a courageous man. He winked and returned to the water.

  Diablo emerged from the surf with something in his jaw. He capered around Kahuel. In his mouth, Kahuel recognized his favorite drinking mug.

  “Thank you, my friend.” Kahuel took the mug with ceremony and patted Diablo's head, but Diablo shook himself like a wet dog, showering everyone around.

  Warriors and sailors laughed goodheartedly and so did Kahuel, thankful for his lack of tunic. Diablo promptly returned to play and jump in the waves.

  More divers returned at a steady pace, bringing more weapons and tools from the sunken carcass of the Galleon. Soon a decent collection lay on the sand.

  When the warriors returned for further orders Kahuel motioned to the loot. “Pick your favorite blade. Only one each to start.”

  In twos and threes, men and women knelt to inspect the various weapons and tools and selected the best suited to their particular skills.

  “Do not wander outside the camp alone, and always take felines with you. Hold your weapons ready at all times.” Kahuel remembered being watched. “The natives do not seem hostile, but they are watching us.”

  A bearded warrior planted his feet in the sand, hands on his belt, chest forward. “What if we come face to face with natives?”

  “Run.” Kahuel stared the man in the eyes. “Do not make contact.”

  “Run like cowards?” The warrior frowned in disbelief. This kind of behavior didn't sit well with Zerkers.

  “Anything less could be considered hostile. We do not know our enemy well enough yet.” Kahuel couldn't tell his warriors the natives could read minds. They may not believe him, but if they knew, if might sap their confidence. Who wanted to fight an enemy that could anticipate every move?

  The smell of cooking shellfish reminded Kahuel of breakfast. “Once you have a weapon, go eat, then we'll organize the hunting and fishing parties.” He shook his head. “We also need fruit harvesters, and workers to dig a ditch from the river to bring fresh water.”

  Men and women murmured their approval.

  Kahuel took the axe and weighed its heft. “Tomorrow, we'll cut a few trees to make space for our settlement, maybe erect a log wall. We could be here a long time, so we better build our defenses and make ourselves comfortable.”

  “What about the high and mighty?” The tall female warrior pointed her chin toward the end of the cove and the cluster of white tents made of torn sails. “Can't they pull their weight? Work like everyone else?”

  Kahuel glanced at the taciturn Grays guarding the tents. He couldn't afford freeloaders, but he doubted they would respond to his request. “I'll talk to the princess later. For now, we can manage without them.”

  Over the next hour, an atmosphere of intense activity took over the camp. The divers retrieved brand new sails from the submerged storage hold, coils of rope and yards of rigging. Others brought back sharpening stones, oil lamps, razor blades, and flint. More tools now adorned the wet sand, including hammers and chisels. When two divers stepped out of the waves, rolling in front of them a barrel of oil and one of mead, the warriors cheered for the mead.

  Eventually, the divers tired and others took their place. A variety of recovered utensils lined the beach, including cooking pots, ladles, and even a stove from the kitchen. It would make life easier for the cooks. Eventually, some lard and an entire smoked ham, with the string that hung it to the ceiling still attached, showed up among the salvaged goods... but no dry flour or edible grain.

  An old sailor with a dark, weathered face, walked up to Kahuel. “Me and my shipmates can weave fishnets by unraveling and twining some of these coils of rope.”

  Another sailor stepped forward. “And I can build a fishing raft with planks and twine.”

  “Your help is appreciated.” Kahuel suspected his brother had somehow taught these men by example, to be loyal and kind, like him. How he missed Basilk. He would know exactly what to do.

  As the tide slowly rose, sharks circled the wreck, dangerously close. Kahuel wondered whether they were curious, or hungry. Sharks rarely ventured so close to shore in the middle of the day. So, he ordered to stop diving until the next low tide.

  But one of the swimmers ran back into the rising waters and dove through a wave. Blast the Zerker for acting so recklessly. Did he not hear his orders? The other divers shouted warnings, calling for the man to return to shore, to no avail.

  As the swimmer drew closer to the barely protruding pin rail of the Galleon, gray fins skimmed the surface and converged upon him.

  Warriors and sailors assembled on the beach yelled warnings.

  Kahuel watched, helpless. The swimmer's screams of agony etched themselves upon his mind. The waters churned and turned red. As more sharks joined the fray in a feeding frenzy, the snap of formidable jaws shredding flesh filled the calm between breakers.

  Men and women around him gasped, others muttered curses.

  Blast the man for disobeying. Kahuel felt responsible for his gruesome death... In order to avoid more fatal mistakes, he would have to strengthen his authority over his people.

  But another unsettling thought surged through his mind. If the natives communicated with felines, like the girl did with Diablo, could they also command sharks to attack? The realm of possibilities frightened even Kahuel.

  In an attempt to erase the dreadful images from his mind, he ordered a minute of silent prayer, then addressed his men and women. “If you want to live, you must follow orders. I don't want to see any more prideful boasts of this kind. Understood?”

  Grave faces stared back at him. A few nodded in ag
reement.

  “And no one leaves the camp alone, or ventures into the forest for any reason, except for an authorized armed foray.” Kahuel dismissed them.

  Warriors and sailors disbanded.

  Kahuel approached a group of riders. “We need to send a mounted party with felines to explore the Isle, find out how large it is, and figure out what we are up against, or what useful resources are readily available.” Kahuel hoped they'd bring back good news.

  “What kind of resources?” The rider broke into a wide smile and winked. “Could there be river gold?”

  “Nothing so fancy.” Kahuel grinned at the man's eagerness. “We need suitable timber for a boat, edible plants, grain to sow a first crop, whatever can help us survive here or get off this island.” Kahuel also hoped his riders had enough survival skills to return alive and well. “Keep your eyes open for a possible location for a permanent camp.”

  “A place to build a fort?” The rider nodded emphatically at the prospect.

  “Exactly.” Kahuel slapped the man's shoulder. “Be on your guard. Remain as invisible as you can.”

  “Aren't you coming with us, Black Jaguar?” The rider's jolly mood faded into a frown and his shoulders sagged.

  Kahuel shook his head. “I wish I could... but I'm needed here.”

  * * *

  In the Yalta palace complex, Galya prepared the Great Hall to receive the High King, Dragomir of Kassouk, and his Queen, Tora, once known as White Tiger.

  Galya fussed with the servants scurrying in and out around the monumental columns of white marble that lined both sides of the vast rectangular hall. “Rearrange the chairs for more seating. Get a few more rugs and flowers to liven this cold marble. And burn a few candles to the Great Engineer. We need all the help we can get.”

  “Yes, My Queen.” The servant girl bowed and hurried away.

  Galya couldn't wait to learn the fate of her precious sons. She hoped a cheery decor might lift the spirits of her royal guests. Her two other sons and two daughters flocked to the large table with their entire families, including Basilk's wife and children. But Galya suspected no one would eat the lavishly arranged food unless King Dragomir's flyer pilot brought them joyful news.