Anne gasped.
“I doubt this is radiation injury, though. The second is infection by a parvovirus. There are many parvoviruses, often species-specific, but not always. Parvoviruses are minor problems in humans, but major problems in Terran dogs and cats. In cats, the disease is feline panleukopenia, also called feline distemper. It’s contagious and deadly.”
Anne asked, “Could this be a natural disease here on Cennesari?”
“Something akin to parvovirus could be natural, but I thought that this disease was never seen here until recently.”
“That’s true,” Anne said. “Importation of Terran domestic cats stopped because of concern over possible dangers to the Hunters. There are no Terran-stock felines on the planet and haven’t been for several hundred years.”
Fur waved a piece of paper. “Look at the blood work. Leukocyte counts are severely depressed.”
I nodded. “Parvoviruses attack rapidly dividing cells that have constant replacement, like the intestinal epithelium and the stem cell precursors of the white blood cells. The loss of the leukocytes causes inability to fight bacteria that invade the tissues from the compromised gut.
“It’s a double whammy.
“My guess is that this agent, whatever it is, is acting much like a parvovirus, but it might be a different organism. Let’s run the isolations and the genetic scans. We’ll get back to you when we know more, Anne.”
***
I faced Anne and Fur across the table, a cup of coffee cradled in my hands. My forefinger tapped out a staccato beat against the mug. Levi had declined to join us. His concern for the Hunters was nonexistent, despite what I had told him of our discovery.
“There’s no question. This is a Terran parvovirus, not some new alien bug. The antigenic profile is identical to feline panleukopenia—the Terran version.”
“What does panleukopenia mean?” Her face screwed up in perplexity.
“The word simply means that all the leukocytes counts are very low.”
“A Terran disease? Are you sure about this? Absolutely sure?” Anne asked.
I nodded.
“How could that be?” She was dumbfounded.
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Fur said.
Silence hung in the air like a shroud.
“It’s no surprise that this disease is so deadly in the Hunters,” I said. “They’ve never been exposed to this or any similar virus. They have no resistance. It could destroy the vast majority of the population.”
“Will it kill them all?” Anne’s voice was soft. Her horror sent a frisson down my own back.
“That’s hard to say. If the population numbers drop too low, it might collapse completely, wiping them out. It’s also possible that there will be enough animals that survive to save the species.”
“Why is that?” asked Anne.
“There’s usually enough genetic variability in a population that some percentage is resistant to any particular disease. Back on earth, immigrants to the continent of Australia imported rabbits and, with no natural predators, they multiplied to become a plague. A viral disease, myxomatosis, was imported to control them. It killed off ninety-nine percent of the rabbits. But that resistant one percent repopulated the continent in short order, so the effort came to naught.”
“Ninety-nine percent.” Anne exploded. “Is that what will happen to the Hunters?”
“That I can’t say. We don’t know their immune response, whether all who come in contact are susceptible, what the fatality rate is. Too many unknowns.”
Fur added, “We can’t treat all the cats, and the treatment is only supportive anyway. There is no cure.”
“What we can do is supply the Cennesari government with stock virus for the panleukopenia vaccine,” I said. “The Hunter population must be vaccinated.”
“Do you have enough for that?” asked Anne.
“No. This will take a concentrated effort on the part of your medical community. I have enough of the modified live virus vaccine to serve as a culture stock. You will have to produce enough vaccine for the Hunters. The cats can’t do it themselves.”
Anne shook her head. “I don’t know. The current government is anti-Hunter. It won’t be easy to get that kind of commitment. I’m afraid many of them would be happy to see the Hunter population thinned out...or worse.”
I did not voice the thought that the disease had to get into the Hunter population in the first place. And there was only one way for that to happen.
“Is there anyone to talk with besides the Yahoos we saw before? We got nowhere with the bureaucrats in Cennesari City.” I described our interactions with Chief Clerk Floof and Captain Snedecor.
“Yahoo? An interesting word. Obviously derogatory. Does that come from your home world?”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “No. Way back before, from earth. An ancient novel. But what about other help?”
“I’m afraid that’s the tone of the Cennesari bureaucracy right now,” she replied.
“There must be people on the opposing side in government.”
“Yes, but our political system does not afford them much power if they don’t control the government.”
I gritted my teeth and ran my hand through my hair. “Anne, can we keep this quiet for a while? Until we figure out what to do next?”
“I’m not sure I can do that. As a military officer—”
“Please. If you care about the Hunters, we need to do something. If the anti-Hunters get hold of this, they might suppress what we have learned.”
“Are you suggesting they are involved in this?”
“Yes. I am. This epidemic didn’t start on its own. I think it was deliberately planted.”
“Good Lord. I can’t believe—”
“I’m sorry, Anne, but I can believe. And I intend to do something about it. I know you can’t, in your position. All I ask is silence. We didn’t tell you any of this. You can’t be held responsible.”
She was quiet for a long time before she responded. “For the Hunters’ sake, I’ll keep my silence. But I can’t do more than that.”
***
Charl Cooper sat across the table from Fur and me. Her lips were thinned, her face pale. I knew that her sympathies were with the Hunters; she was the only person I met before Anne Stannard who would discuss the human-Hunter conflict openly.
“Yeah,” I said, “there’s no question that this is a Terran disease, and there’s no way it could have gotten here without help.”
Fur added, “It’s unconscionable. We’ve got to catch the bastards.”
Cooper’s mouth turned down at the corners before she spoke. “Let me talk to some people. If this is a deliberate attack on the Hunters, we must learn who is behind this—and how high it goes. Based on your experience with Captain Snedecor, I fear this might go much higher. If nothing else, we need to move the medical community to work on the vaccine.”
She paused and looked me straight in the eyes. “I warned you once before and it’s even more pertinent now. You are sticking your head into a hornet’s nest.”
CHAPTER 14
Fur and I stood at the door of a tavern in a seedy part of town. Half of the arc lights in the street were broken. The sign said, The Skinned Cat, accompanied by an illustration of what could only be a flayed Hunter.
“Cy, this isn’t a good idea.” Fur’s glance bounced around like ping-pong balls. “Cooper said pro–Hunter people aren’t welcome here. She said a couple of activists disappeared last year and have never been found.”
He had a point. I recalled Cooper said there was no solid evidence of foul play, only suspicion about what happened.
My reply was a bit too emphatic. “Hey, it’s not a problem. No one will recognize us. We might have been celebrities out in the sticks for the cenoxen business, but no one in the cities knows about that, much less cares. We may be able to glean information that the locals can’t. The authorities obviously won’t help.”
Fur
tugged his beard. He had no lack of courage, but he was more circumspect than I was. I stepped through the door and he followed. A miasma of thick smoke hung in the air, and the place had a sinister mien. Or, perhaps that was my own preconception.
Eyes swiveled toward us like laser targeting systems. As we moved toward the bar, I felt those eyes as if they locked onto my soul. We ordered a couple of drafts from a surly bartender and made our way to a table.
After a few moments, a body detached itself from a nearby group and approached us. The man was middle-aged with grizzled hair and beard. His burly body rolled as he walked, but he was light on his feet despite his bulk. His broad, blunt hands clenched, and the muscles of his arms corded as he stood over us.
“New here. Who be ye?” He was as blunt as his hands.
“In from Crescent City,” I responded. That city on the opposite continent was a safe place to be from, I hoped.
He nodded. “What brings ye here?” He pointedly looked around the room.
“Looking for a friendly place. Told this was one.”
He nodded again. “For some.”
Fur raised his mug and examined the dark reddish-amber beer. He took a big swallow then finished the very large mug. “I like that. The malt and hops are well-balanced, and it’s got a smooth, creamy head. Served at the perfect temperature, too. Think I’ll get another.”
The man raised his eyebrows. I wondered if he was impressed by Fur’s knowledge of beer, or more so by his capacity. I had seen the latter before and it was prodigious.
When Fur returned, the man said, “Cal Brooking,” and stuck out his hand, his thoughts suspicious and dour.
Fur shook it and introduced himself and me with fictitious names. I let Fur lead.
“Good beer,” he said. “We were told to come here for it. Brewed locally?”
Brooking nodded. “Yah. Anselms. Brewed over by the river.”
“Can you only get it here?” Fur asked.
“In a few places. For the right people.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Right people?”
“Two other taverns. Like this one.” He paused. “Again, I ask. What brings ye here?” He glanced at the mug in Fur’s hand. “Not the beer.” This guy was as mistrustful as a raven eyeing a scarecrow.
Fur launched into our fabricated story. “We’re professional hunters. We have contracts from people who desire certain types of trophies. Good money. Wealthy clients will pay for bizarre or dangerous creatures to display in their houses. Some even claim they collected the animals themselves.” Fur chuckled.
Brooking, poker-faced, did not ask any questions. Fur knew when to stop—not like me—and the silence grew oppressive. Finally, Brooking stalked off.
I looked at Fur. “Do you think he bought it?” I asked in a low voice.
He shrugged. “My guess is we’re about to find out.” He motioned with his head.
Brooking returned with another man, a head taller than Brooking, slender, with sandy hair and beard, and a weather-lined face. His ice blue eyes glinted as the two men sat across from us.
Brooking said, “This is Kev Strindberg.”
Strindberg nodded to us. “Cal says you be hunters. Tell me about that.”
Again, Fur took the lead. We had done as much research as possible for our cover, and he launched into a description of trophies we had bagged and sold.
“We’re just at the start of an expedition, so we don’t have anything yet,” Fur said, “but past hunts have been profitable.” He described a hunt for the nonsentient cousin to the dragons of Dragonworld. Since we had been there, he could add touches of verisimilitude.
Strindberg asked, “Interesting creatures. Sound dangerous. What about others?”
Fur pursed his lips before speaking. “Well, there’s the Jinxian Bandersnatch, a slug-like behemoth with crystal teeth as hard as diamond and just as valuable.”
“You have to see them to believe it,” I added. “Those teeth can slice a land drone in half. The crystal is like a prism and glows with every color of the rainbow. We got good money for that.”
Fur continued. “The Rigelian hyperbeasts are even more impressive. They’re invisible while they’re moving, they’re so fast.”
“Then how do you hit them?” Brooking asked.
“You wait,” I said. “You set up on a known trail and wait. If they move by, you never see them. It took us ten days until one paused long enough to get a shot.”
“What weapon do you use?” Strindberg asked. He was still skeptical, one eye squinted at me.
I said, “We use tranquilizer darts. We can’t mess up any part of a trophy or the value is less than the cost of the expedition.”
“How do you know what will work?” Brooking again.
“We research each species—what’s known about the physiology of each world. We can run tests on related species and come up with an effective tranquilizing agent.”
Strindberg cut in. “What if it doesn’t work and it’s a dangerous animal?”
Fur answered. “One of us always carries something more lethal—a laser.”
“Which model?” Strindberg was not easily convinced.
“General Dynamics XXV,” Fur said.
I added, “I use a Beretta Slingshot gas carbine for the darts. I think it has better long-range accuracy than the Win-Rem. The Beretta costs a lot more, but it’s worth the money.”
Strindberg nodded and continued the questions on worlds and hunts. After a half an hour, he grunted, got up, and left.
Brooking stood. “I be going. What do you two do now?”
“We’ll be around here for a few days. We’d like to see the country a bit. The grasslands, the animals.” After a moment’s silence, I added, “Maybe see some of the local wildlife? You know?”
He nodded. “Perhaps we’ll meet again.”
I put out my hand, which he ignored.
Fur and I made our way back to the GCVS. We made sure no one followed.
***
We sat in the commissary and dissected the evening.
“Do you think they bought it? Was I too obvious about the ‘local wildlife’?”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” Fur replied.
Levi glared at me. “What do you think to accomplish by such behavior? Gott in Himmel, you’re acting like spies.”
Even he had the grace to blush after that statement. He cleared his throat—a couple of times—before he continued. “This is too dangerous. Miss Cooper said that two people were murdered by these anti–Hunter people.”
“That’s not what she said,” I replied. “Two pro-Hunter types went missing. No one knows what happened to them.”
“Bah. You mince words. This does not further our mission.” He grunted. “We have gone as far as we should now. It is time to return to Dovid’s World.”
With that pronouncement, he sat back and nodded his head as if he would brook no disagreement. His yarmulke shifted and he readjusted it.
I looked at Fur, then back at Levi. “We have two more worlds we agreed to visit. We can’t back out of those commitments.”
“Those stops will add little useful information to what I have already collected. It has been long enough. I cannot send my, er, data by hyperwave—it is not secure. I must return home.”
Fur stepped into the breach once again. “Reb Levi, I can understand your impatience to return home, but if we don’t keep our commitments, our veterinary service could lose all the goodwill it has attained in this sector of the galaxy. It could even impair Dr. Berger’s success in recruiting new students for the Academy.”
Levi grimaced at that, but couldn’t argue. I had made good contacts on Cennesari, and we would likely pick up a dozen or more students here.
“We shouldn’t throw that away. You might want to use the GCVS again in the future, right? As it is, Dr. Berger is welcome on every world—”
At Levi’s snort, Fur hesitated. “Well, except Beta Cygnus. But isn’t the service’s reputation
important to maintain? It could be an invaluable resource for the Rebbinical Council and Dovid’s World, whether it was you or another Rebbe on board.”
I silently thanked Fur as I waited for Levi’s response.
“I suppose you have a point, Mr. Cohen.” He fixed me with his black-eyed glare. “Berger, Cohen’s argument has merit,” he repeated, as if I hadn’t heard it. “I will agree to complete the commitments we have made. That is all. There will be no other stops. None.
“Now, I think you would benefit from some tutelage in the finer points of Torah interpretation. You have been lax in your studies, of late.”
I watched a slight smile bend the corners of Fur’s mouth as I rolled my eyes.
***
Fur and I sat in The Skinned Cat across the table from Cal Brooking, Kev Strindberg, and a new acquaintance, Ryle Landsman, a wilderness guide. The talk wove a circuitous path around and through a number of subjects, including the flora and fauna of the Cennesari grasslands, trophy hunting, local beer, and the Cennesari tigers. These people would not use the term Hunters.
“Yes, I can guide you through the grasslands,” Landsman said. “Would you be interested in anything in particular?”
“Well, the tigers are fascinating,” I said. “Could we see them?”
“And your interest would be?”
“You know of our business, right? We get, um, vid images of exotic animals to sell to collectors and vid companies.”
He nodded. I did not need to hit him over the head with more. Brooking and Strindberg would have clued him in.
“Can you meet me at this address in two days?” He handed me a piece of paper.
“What time?” I asked.
***
Charl Cooper introduced us to a man and a woman who represented the Pro-Hunter faction in the legislature. The man was my height, with carefully coiffed, wavy silver hair, and a phony smile. The ultimate politico. The short, slender woman wore a no-nonsense business suit, had shoulder-length graying brown hair, and a quick smile. She radiated sincerity.
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