The Galactic Circle Veterinary Service

by Stephen Benjamin

  She spoke in a gruff voice. “You realize there is considerable danger. These are not people to be trifled with. Are you certain you want to do this?”

  “Yes,” I said. “We think the epidemic was introduced into the Hunter population. It’s nothing less than attempted genocide.”

  “This is not new for humans, you know.” The man’s voice was as smooth as his appearance. “Back on earth, settlers in the Americas deliberately introduced diseases like smallpox into the native populations to clear the land for themselves.”

  As a student of history myself, I knew this was not totally true. Yes, disease brought in by the European explorers devastated the Native Americans, but the earliest introductions were not deliberate. Later, in the westward movement of the United States’ frontier, there were incidents of intentional introduction of disease, but these were isolated. The real damage had occurred hundreds of years before.

  He continued. “In the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, earth countries developed chemical and biological weapons to be used on their fellows, who differed only in ideological or religious beliefs. Is it any surprise that we would inflict such a thing on an alien species?”

  “Perhaps not,” I replied, trying to keep any hostility out of my voice, “but that does not make it any less abhorrent. Criminals like this must be brought to justice.”

  The woman broke in. “That’s all well and good, but this does not help the Hunters with their affliction.”

  “No,” I replied, “but the issues are tied together. The government claims that it’s not responsible for the panleukopenia epidemic, and it can’t—or won’t—intervene. Cennesari has the capacity to mount a vaccine program for the Hunters. This could blunt the epidemic and prevent effective genocide, but the government won’t do that unless forced to. The powers want the epidemic to succeed.”

  Smoothy interrupted. “I wouldn’t go that far. I cannot believe—”

  “I can. I do. Someone deliberately introduced this disease. The fact that your government refuses to help is proof-positive that they don’t care if the Hunters are decimated.”

  “Those are harsh words, Dr. Berger.”

  “Then why won’t they even let me go out and help where I can. The sons-of-bitches we met with stymied us at every turn. They don’t even try to hide their interference.”

  The woman countered, “But how do you expect to get proof of this genocidal intent?”

  “If we are seen as willing to kill a Hunter as a trophy, then maybe they’ll be willing to talk about what is happening to the cats. We’ll be sympathetic listeners. We’ve got to try.”

  “Well, if you can bring back proof,” she said. “I believe we can reverse this stand—at least at the political and bureaucratic level.”

  “If you do that, I can get your medical infrastructure started on a mass vaccine program. It won’t be quick, but we can save the majority of the Hunters.”

  “It does not seem likely to me you can get that information out of the anti-Hunter extremists.” Smoothy shook his head and frowned as he spoke.

  “I’ll tell you this,” I said, “I’ll do my damnedest. Humans created this disaster, and we need to fix it—soon.”

  ***

  Landsman glared at us over the steering wheel of the land drone. A small, wiry man with dark brown hair and a handlebar mustache below a long nose spoke only when addressed directly. He made no pretenses about being a nature guide.

  “You have the equipment you need?”

  I looked at Fur and then nodded to the man. “Yeah. Everything we need to... sample the wildlife.”

  He nodded and pointed to the back seats of the land drone. “Get in.” His aura was hostile, even though we were “paying customers.” I wondered if he ever got repeat business.

  An assistant, introduced as Ric, was more garrulous. He hopped in the copilot’s seat. “You guys are going to bag a—”

  Landsman slapped Ric on the shoulder—hard—which shut him up for all of two minutes.

  Ric chattered on and took the role of nature guide that Landsman refused. He pointed out herds of grazers and named shrubs and trees scattered among the grass. He did not refer to the Hunters again.

  “How long will we be traveling?” asked Fur.

  “We need to get beyond the regular patrols,” Landsman said. It was as close as he would come to acknowledging the illegality of what we were doing.

  “We’ll set up camp at Three Buttes tonight,” Ric said. “Then we’ll head up the Carrion River.”

  “Quite a name,” Fur said. “Where did it come from?”

  Ric laughed. “Early on, some settlers wanted to clear the area of tigers, so they decided to wipe out their food supply. Slaughtered thousands of wild cenoxen before they gave it up as impossible—just too many. Carrion birds, big and little, blackened the skies for weeks. That stuck the river with its name.”

  The guy actually thought it was funny. I shuddered at the image. These people haven’t changed all that much, they just used a different method now.

  We set up camp at the mouth of the river canyon, a lovely place with the rocky stream spreading out among tall umbrella-like trees as it left the canyon’s confines. I had to fight to keep down cenoxen stew and Anselm’s beer when I thought about what Rick had said about the site, and what had been done to the sentient cenoxen. Never again would I eat anything from those animals, but I could not give myself away here. As the beer worked on our thirst, Fur broke out our ace in the hole, a bottle of fifty-year-old Rigelian whiskey. Famed for its spirits, this particular Rigelian vintage was a gem.

  Even Landsman’s dour façade lifted when Fur handed him a generous portion. “Very good. Thank you.”

  “Hopefully, we’re just celebrating before the fact.” I smirked at him—at least what I hoped was a smirk.

  Fur refilled the glasses. I sipped at mine, while Fur made a point to down his in one gulp.

  He smacked his lips and poured himself another. “More?” He motioned with the bottle to Landsman and Ric.

  Both downed what they had and held out their glasses. It was futile to try to keep up with Fur, so I sat back and watched the fun.

  Halfway through the bottle, Landsman quit and staggered to his tent. Ric was young enough and foolish enough not to know when he had enough. While Landsman had gotten quieter, if that was possible, Ric got giddier and even more garrulous.

  “Whatcha got t’do the job?” he asked in a low tone, now that Landsman was gone. “Can I see it?” He belched.

  “Well...I don’t know,” I answered. “I’m not sure your boss would like—”

  “Shcrew that. I wanna see it.”

  I motioned with my head to Fur, and he stood and walked to the equipment cache. He lifted a long case and brought it back to the fire.

  Ric stood, then staggered backward. I caught him before he fell. We wanted him conscious and unharmed—and talkative.

  Fur uncased the gas-powered rifle. It gleamed in the firelight. I had to admit that in the darkness on the wild grassland, it was an impressive instrument. To me, it was an implement of my profession—used to tranquilize animals when needed...and an occasional fat asshole. The barrel and the receiver were titanium alloy, the latter topped with a torpedo-shaped gas cartridge and a laser targeting scope. The stock was dark gray composite with a bipod mount below the forearm. A pistol-grip trigger completed the piece.

  Fur handed the unloaded gun to Ric.

  “Wow. That’ll do it for sure.”

  He wobbled a bit as he sighted down the barrel. “Those damn cats won’t have a chance.”

  Until now, nothing had been said about the real—what they thought was real, anyway—reason for this little jaunt. The closest we had come was the issue of payment. We had agreed on a price ten times the cost of a nature tour. Far more than we could afford if we were not to sell our “trophy” for an obscene sum. Although the pro-Hunter movement bankrolled us, we haggled enough to convince them of our roles and make us
look pecuniary.

  Ric looked down at the case again. His eyes surveyed the hypo darts in their clear cartridges. Even to me, they looked evil in the firelight.

  “Do you think I...burp...I could shoot one?”

  “I don’t think we’d better, Ric,” I countered. “We can’t waste them. Each dart is worth three hundred credits. Unless you can pay for one.”

  Even at his advanced stage of inebriation, the thought of shooting off a week’s pay was out of the question. He settled for another half glass of whiskey. I figured that we’d better cut him off soon. We wanted him drunk—not dead.

  We had fitted both Fur and me with the microrecording devices that the Rebbinical Council had foisted on us. I could not think of a better use for them. It was pure luck that Ric had showed up. I realized now that we had no chance of getting anything out of Landsman.

  Ric blathered on for a few minutes about the rifle. Then he moved on, with some prompts, to the subject of the Hunters.

  “You’ll get one of them fuckin’ cats, for sure. They’re easy. Not expecting to be hunted. Just stand there and look at you. Pick ‘em off like that!” He tried to snap his fingers, without success.

  “You shoot them often?” I asked.

  “No. Got t’ be careful. Bad stuff, if we get caught. But kill ‘em all, I say.”

  “Don’t like the tigers, Ric?”

  “Hate ‘em. Take our space. Ours.”

  “What can you do about that? Besides killing one or two with a rifle?”

  “We can do something. Kill ‘em all.”

  Fur and I exchanged glances.

  “How could you do that, Ric?” I asked. “There are a lot of the tigers, aren’t there?”

  “Kill ‘em off. Doin’ it now.” His head wobbled on his shoulders as if it were fitted with a loose ball joint.

  “How, Ric? How are you killing them off?”

  “Sick. Got ‘em sick. Droppin’ like...like flies.”

  “How did you do that, Ric?”

  “Cat dishease. We brought in cat dishease. That will kill ‘em all.”

  At that, his eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed backward to the ground.

  I suppose I should have been elated. We had the proof we set out to get, but the vileness that exuded from the young man nauseated me. It was time to put the next part of our plan into action. Unfortunately, this would take my nausea to a whole new level, but we did not intend to kill, or even scare, one of the Hunters.

  ***

  The next morning I knelt behind our tent with nothing left to throw up but bile. At least I had gotten rid of the cenox stew. Fur and I had argued about who would have to endure this indignity. He claimed that he had to maintain his image as a hard drinker. As I usually did when I argued with Fur, I lost. A drug cocktail that would make me sick, but not so sick as to run the risk of dehydration and electrolyte imbalance, induced the vomiting.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Landsman asked Fur.

  “I don’t know. He complained of a stomachache early this morning. Then this started.” Fur motioned to me with his massive head.

  “Did he drink too much?” Landsman’s mouth turned down as he glanced at Ric who sat by the small breakfast fire, his head in his hands. Landsman had chewed out the young man when he saw his condition this morning.

  “No,” Fur replied. “He didn’t drink that much. Must have picked up some local bug.”

  At this, I ran for our latrine. The second half of my affliction came right on schedule. I cursed Fur silently as I crouched. The pain had now become all too real.

  That was enough for Landsman. I heard him say, “Whatever it is, I don’t want it. We better cancel this. Get him back to Cennesari City. Be hard to explain a dead offworlder out here.”

  Fur argued to continue, but Landsman was adamant. It worked as we planned. Too much so, from my point of view.

  ***

  I picked up the microchip on Senator Schwab’s desk. The woman we had met with before now had a name and she did not hide her position or inclinations. After she listened to Ric’s drunken statements, her face became beet red and her dark eyes smoldered.

  She was silent for long minutes. I did not interrupt her thoughts. I had left Fur at the GCVS to placate Levi. The rebbe had been vehement in his demands that we leave for our next stop when we returned from what he viewed as a frivolous sightseeing trip. He did not care what we had learned.

  Schwab waved her hand and a woman’s voice issued from her desk.

  “Yes, Senator?”

  “Get Scott in here. Reesling, too.” Now she turned to me. “You have done our world a great service, Dr. Berger. I’m not sure how we can repay you. I know you said you want no remuneration, but there must be something.”

  I shook my head. “Senator, routing out these assholes and saving the Hunters is reward enough. I apologize for my crudity, but there are few other words that fit.”

  She smiled. “No apology needed.”

  “We still have a lot of work ahead before the Hunters are out of danger. When can I start work with your microbiologists to mass-produce a vaccine? Every day brings more deaths.”

  “I understand your impatience, Dr. Berger, but it will take some time to convince the right people that there is a problem. That’s my job and I assure you—”

  At a knock on the door she called, “Enter.”

  A woman and a man came in. The man looked to be in his forties, the woman about ten years younger.

  “Scott, Rees, this is Dr. Cy Berger. He’s just leaving, but keep in mind that he has given us the opportunity I’ll tell you about. Scott,” she motioned to the man, “is my chief of staff. Rees is my scientific adviser. She’ll work with you to accomplish your goals.” She stood. “Dr. Berger, again I find it difficult to thank you enough. We will be in touch.”

  I stood to leave then stopped. I looked at the Senator and bit my lower lip. “Senator, you know, there is one more thing you can do for me.”

  I gave her a capsule summary of my relationship with Reb Levi, of the situation on Dovid’s world, and mine in particular. Her face grew even darker as I spoke. I sensed it partly related to my briefing, but something disturbed her beyond my own personal problems. I shrugged that off. “Can you keep Levi happy if we stay on Cennesari? He’s chomping at the bit to move on. I can’t delay him forever. My parents and I are still at his mercy.”

  Schwab frowned, then said, “Scott, get General Poulous here first thing in the morning.” She looked at me. “If he likes military intelligence, we will give him all of that oxymoron he can handle. It sounds like your world could use some help, too.”

  “Yeah. Feel free to tell Levi that I set this up for him. That will help.”

  “I can do better than that. Tuesday is the first night of Passover. How about if you, Mr. Cohen, and Reb Levi join us for our community Seder?”

  I was speechless, not a condition I found myself in often.

  ***

  Turned out that Cennesari had the largest Jewish community of any of the worlds we had visited. Levi knew that but had not mentioned it. Traditionally, many of the locals had a communal Seder in a banquet hall in Cennesari City.

  Levi was happy as the proverbial clam. He could not believe his good fortune. Not only would we have a real, live Seder—no vid chip congregation here—but also his new connections to the military had him gushing with good will.

  As we traveled to the hall, Levi said, “Berger, sometimes you surprise me. Your efforts will stand you in good stead. You may take whatever time you need here, at least until I am done with my...research.”

  The Seder is the Jewish ritual feast that marks the beginning of the holiday of Passover, and commemorates the emancipation of the Israelites from slavery in ancient Egypt. But the Seder did not go exactly as Levi would have it. The descent to lunacy began when we walked in the door.

  Senator Schwab greeted us accompanied by another woman. “Welcome. Captain Berger, Mr. Cohen, Mr. Schvartz, l
et me introduce Rabbi Pearlman.” She nodded to the tall, gray-haired woman beside her.

  Pearlman smiled and put out her hand. Fur and I shook hands, but Levi took a step back.

  His thoughts were black. “Unacceptable. A woman cannot preside over a holy day service.”

  I knew the Test-Lit brand of fundamentalist orthodoxy did not recognize women as suitable to make a minyon, much less be rabbis, but I did not expect this.

  “Excuse me?” Pearlman frowned and looked at Schwab.

  The senator said, “I’m not sure I understand, Mr. Schvartz. You have a problem?”

  Levi nodded emphatically. “Women cannot be rebbes. I will conduct the service.”

  I cringed. Oh, God. What is he going to do next? My stomach did a flip-flop.

  Pearlman laughed, but there was little humor in her voice. “I’m afraid that will not be possible. And what gives you the right to make such a demand?”

  Levi caught himself in his own trap. If he admitted he was an ordained rebbe, he would blow his cover. If not, how could he justify his demand? He threw his caution to the wind.

  “I am Reb Levi Schvartz, a leader of the Rebbinical Council on Dovid’s World.” He puffed out his chest. “That gives me the right. My standing is higher than anyone here on Cennesari, especially women.” The last word dripped with contempt.

  After a few gasps, there was silence in the room as all present watched the confrontation.

  Rabbi Pearlman’s face reddened, but Senator Schwab spoke first in a firm, but calm voice. A politician, for sure. “Reb Schvartz, you may have your beliefs and traditions on Dovid’s World, but on Cennesari we follow our own traditions. We will begin our Seder shortly. If you would like to leave, you have my blessing.”

  Levi grumped and grumbled, but after a large number of people gave him dirty looks, he backed off. But not for long. He next protested when he saw the shortened Seder, a consideration for the many families with children present. There are many versions of the Haggadah, the Jewish text that sets forth the order of the Passover meal. I remembered the interminable, very traditional Seders at my grandparent’s home. By the time we got to the meal, the younger kids were sleeping under the table. There is an apocryphal story of the Rabbis whose deliberations at the Passover table lasted until their students had to tell them that dawn had come and the holiday ended. Levi did not believe in the short version, but he shut up again after sharp words from Rabbi Pearlman.