by Dixie Lyle
ZZ took her seat at the head of the table. There was an electronic tablet on a silver stand there, and she used it to summon a device a former guest had built for her: a robotic drinks trolley, a machine that resembled a vacuum cleaner perched on a four-wheeled cart. She explained that there was a button beneath the edge of the table at each place setting that would summon it, and then it was simply a matter of choosing what you’d like in your glass by tapping a touch screen.
“Very clever,” said Rajiv. “Most ingenious.”
“I’m having it upgraded to a voice-recognition system,” said ZZ. “How’s that coming along, Foxtrot?”
“Avery’s still tweaking programs,” I said. Avery Shubert was our tech guy, a freelance software-and-hardware genius we had on permanent retainer. “He says they’ve made amazing advances in the last few years, but he’s adding some refinements of his own. Something to do with regional accents and cross-language hybridization, I think he said.”
“Ah, here’s the soup course,” ZZ said. A maid—Astoria, a bright young woman with short brown hair—brought out steaming bowls of lentil soup and set one down before each of us.
Which is when I heard the scream.
I gasped, an automatic reaction that I immediately regretted—because nobody other than Whiskey and me had heard it. Heads around the table turned in my direction. “Wow,” I said, trying to cover. “Lentil soup always makes me a little nuts.” I paused. “Because I love it.”
The scream had been Tango.
[Foxtrot. Should we be alarmed?}
I don’t know. Go check on her, okay?
Whiskey immediately got up and whined plaintively. “Uh-oh,” I said. “Excuse me—got to let my dog out.” I got up and hustled out to the front door, Whiskey right behind me.
Tango! Tango, can you hear me? No response, but I wasn’t worried yet—I was still new at this braincasting thing and wasn’t sure what my range was. That’s the thing about telepathic conversations: You never quite know how far your “voice” will carry, or if someone else is within earshot—I mean mindshot—or if you’re “speaking”—braintalking?—too loud or too quiet, or even if you should be “braintalking” within “mindshot” of somebody who can “hear” you and that’s it, I’m done putting little quotes around every other word.
Whiskey, go find her. Don’t bother coming back inside to report, just do it from the field if you can.
[I shall.] He galloped off toward the zoo. I rushed back inside and sat back down.
Dinner was delicious, but I was too preoccupied to enjoy it, all my attention focused on trying to pick up either Whiskey or Tango’s voice in my head. I heard nothing but my own worried thoughts.
Ben had prepared duck in an orange sauce, with wild rice on the side and sautéed baby vegetables. There was crème brûlée for dessert, along with coffee or tea, and ZZ waited until all of us were finished before announcing that it was time to begin the presentations. “You’ll be going in random order,” she said. “I picked names out of a hat this afternoon. Rajiv, you’ll be going first.”
Rajiv nodded. He pulled a smartphone out of his pocket and began tapping on the screen. “Just let me link to your system … ah. Very good.” All the wall-mounted flatscreens changed to a bright red, with a large corporate logo resembling an embossed gold coin in the center.
“I represent a limited-liability company called Goldenwheel,” Rajiv said. “We are based in the state of Goa, which is per capita the most prosperous in all of India. Other than the state of Sikkim, it is the only area in the whole country where gambling is legal. Sikkim has a single casino, whereas Goa has twelve. Of these, five are aboard boats on the Mandovi River. We are planning to be the sixth.”
“The thirteenth casino?” said Jaro Karst. “Good luck selling that.”
Rajiv scowled at him. “It is not a matter of luck. It is a matter of good planning. We have prepared extensively, purchasing and retrofitting a cruise ship in order to offer the maximum number of amenities.” He tapped his phone and the flatscreens shifted to a shot of an opulent casino. “As you can see, we have spared no expense. The tiger is a powerful symbol to my people, and a casino featuring a liger would be irresistible.”
“I understand why you want him,” said ZZ. “Now tell me why you should have him.”
Rajiv spread his hands expansively. “Is it not obvious? Augustus would be our most prized asset. As such, we would be fools not to take care the most scrupulous care of him. But do not take my word for it; study these plans and see for yourself.”
The screens showed us concept drawings and blueprints. “The environment we have designed will be Paradise for him. We have incorporated a river, as opposed to a pool, which is self-cleaning and often a tiger’s preference. The tropical vegetation is lush and thick, the internal temperature and humidity precisely controlled. We have recorded sounds from both the African veldt and the Indian jungle to provide a naturalistic sonic environment. Augustus’s living quarters will take up an entire deck, with the upper half of the top deck removed to provide a maximum of sunlight.”
“And viewing opportunities,” Karst murmured.
“Yes, of course,” said Rajiv. “But Augustus will be almost entirely unaware of those watching him. The glass will be double-paned and vacuum-sealed—completely soundproof. It will also be one-way, lit so that Augustus will be visible but his admirers will not. He will be fed nothing but fresh meat, and his health will be scrutinized by a team of experienced and qualified veterinarians.”
I could see ZZ considering it. Money is always a factor, and putting this much into keeping Augustus happy and healthy meant Rajiv’s bosses considered him a major investment. Major investments get protected.
“Thank you, Rajiv,” ZZ said. “You make a good case, as far as practicality goes. But Augustus is more than just a commodity; he’s a living, breathing being. How does that figure into your calculations?”
Rajiv was silent for a moment. I thought he was at a loss, but it turned out he was just gathering his thoughts. When he spoke again, his voice was different; he didn’t sound like a man delivering a sales pitch anymore. He sounded like someone in a church.
“I am a Hindu,” he began. “As you no doubt noticed during dinner, I do not eat meat. This is due to the concept of ahimsa, which means non-violence. It is not merely a dietary restriction; it is the underlying principle by which I live my life. To do violence to any living thing is wrong, even to feed yourself. I hold all life to be sacred—and to be entrusted with preserving a most singular life is a tremendous responsibility.
“Because of my beliefs, the liger means a great deal to me personally. Both the lion and the tiger are important figures in my religion. The fourth incarnation of Vishnu was half lion, while the tiger is ridden by the Goddess Durga.”
He gazed at ZZ solemnly. “I promise you, should you choose Goa for Augustus’s new home, he will be treated as more than simply a valuable object. He will be treated with respect, and with reverence.”
“Thank you,” ZZ said softly. “That answers my question nicely. Next up is Zhen Yao.”
Zhen blinked. “Ah. Yes, of course. I have my presentation with me.” She fumbled at her feet for the black briefcase she’d taken with her from the sitting room, and put it on the table. In the process she knocked over a water glass.
“Ai-yah!” she exclaimed. ZZ signaled for Astoria to wipe it up, but I was already there with my napkin.
“Take it easy,” I whispered to Zhen as I wiped. “You’ll be fine.”
She gave me a half-embarrassed smile, then nodded—more to herself than me.
Once the spill was dealt with, I sat back down. Zhen opened her briefcase, took out a file folder and a laptop, and fiddled with both for a minute. Oscar took the opportunity to signal the drinks trolley for a refill.
“I do hope you’re going to show a movie,” Oscar said. “Two sermons in a row tend to put me to sleep.”
Zhen ignored him, which was often the bes
t choice when it came to Oscar. “Ms. Zee-zee Deer, esteemed colleagues,” Zhen began. “I am here representing the Wuhan Zoo. We are a prestigious organization with a long and honorable history. We believe our organization is best suited for the care and housing of the liger Augustus.”
I tried not to wince. Her stiffness made Rajiv’s formality seem as casual as a T-shirt and flip-flops.
“As you can see, our facilities are impressive and very clean.” She tapped a key on the laptop and all the wallscreens turned a bright blue. The panic in her eyes got a little brighter, but she soldiered on. “There is some trouble with the interface. I will fix.” She bent over the laptop and started typing rapidly, muttering under her breath in what sounded like Cantonese.
“A bit slow starting,” said Oscar, “but this shows promise.”
“Oscar,” ZZ said, a warning note in her voice.
[Foxtrot. I’ve scouted around Augustus’s cage. Tango is not here.]
Is Augustus okay?
[He appears to be fine. Would you like me to find her? I can track her easily.]
Which way did she go?
[Deeper into the menagerie. And from the residual scent I’m picking up, she was quite upset.]
How upset?
[Ready-to-rip-someone’s-throat-out upset. In my professional opinion.]
Go.
The wallscreens had changed to a shot of a large building—Wuhan Zoo, one would assume.
One would be wrong. Zhen stared at the screens and said, “That’s my high school.”
“I understand, love,” said Karst. “My high school was a zoo, too.”
“Beastly places in general,” said Oscar.
“Oscar!” ZZ snapped.
“No, no, no,” Zhen muttered. She hit more keys and the school was replaced by a shot of a meadow filled with tall, yellow grass.
“I say, the sports field needs a bit of tending,” said Oscar.
“Wouldn’t want to lose a ball in there,” added Karst.
“This,” said Zhen grimly, “is part of our current liger enclosure. It covers two acres of land, has three pools, a wooded area, and several dens.”
“A den is always a good idea,” said Oscar. “But only if it comes with a well-equipped bar.”
Karst nodded cheerfully. “You’d need a drink or two if you went to a school like that.”
ZZ glared at Oscar, then at Karst. “Mr. Karst. You are not doing yourself any favors by mocking the other applicants. Oscar, you can keep your clever remarks to yourself or you can forget about that George the Second mahogany wing chair you’ve been coveting.”
“My apologies,” said Oscar, raising his glass to Zhen. “The sharper the wit, the harder it is to sheathe. Consider it scabbarded—at least for the duration.”
“Wait,” I said. “Several dens?”
“Yes,” said Zhen. She tapped another key.
Two ligers—one full-grown, one smaller—stared at us from the wallscreens. The larger one was clearly a male, with the distinctive half mane. The smaller one was female, and had spots on her forehead and legs. Neither was the snow white of Augustus, being more of a blond-tan shade.
“We can offer Augustus something no one else can,” said Zhen. “The company of his own kind.”
Silence. For the first time, Zhen smiled.
“The Wuhan Zoo has acquired two other ligers. We would like to add Augustus to our pride.”
Rajiv cleared his throat. “Excuse me, but lions live in prides. Tigers do not. Two animals do not make a pride—what makes you think that one is even possible, let alone desirable?”
“Ligers share the characteristics of both parents,” Zhen countered. “Our research has shown that, given the choice, they prefer to be social rather than solitary.”
“So you’ll have three of them,” said Karst. “That’s hardly a pride, either. And since ligers aren’t exactly easy to come by, I doubt you can increase that number by much.”
“We do not plan to increase it by purchasing other ligers. We plan to breed our own.”
Karst laughed out loud. “What? Ligers aren’t fertile, love—not the males, anyway. Everybody knows that.”
“The Wuhan Zoo believes the evidence to be insufficient. But whether our breeding program is successful or not, Augustus will no longer be alone. Is that not a compelling argument?”
“It is to me,” said ZZ. “Some species like to be left alone—but even those seek out their own kind when it’s time to mate.”
Zhen beamed. “I’m glad you think so. Augustus will be very happy at the Wuhan Zoo—”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” said Karst mildly. “She hasn’t heard from all of us yet.”
“Mr. Karst is correct,” said ZZ. “This time. Is there more to your presentation?”
“Yes, of course,” said Zhen. She hit several more keys in quick succession, but the on-screen image didn’t change. “Just give me a moment,” she said, tapping even more furiously.
Too bad. I thought she’d been doing fairly well. Good point, too: It’d never occurred to me that tigers live alone and lions live in groups. I wondered what Augustus’s preferences were. I could always get Tango to ask him—but how could I let anyone else know what he said?
Zhen was still trying to get her laptop to unfreeze. Oscar was refilling his glass. Luis—
Luis was staring at me. With a smile on his face that made me distinctly uncomfortable.
I quickly looked away, trying to seem like someone waiting patiently as opposed to someone listening for voices in her head.
At the table, Zhen finally gave up. “I will present the rest of my material later,” she said. “I need to make some adjustments, anyway.” She sat down, looking frustrated.
“Mr. Navarro?” said ZZ. “You’re next.”
Luis Navarro smiled. It was an easy, confident smile, without any malice in it. “No,” he said.
CHAPTER FOUR
“I’m sorry?” said ZZ.
“I’m not quite ready, I’m afraid,” said Luis Navarro. “But I will be shortly. In the meantime, I have no objection to someone going before me.”
ZZ sighed and said, “Mr. Karst is next. Is that all right with you?”
Jaro Karst shrugged. “Makes no difference. I’m ready and raring to go.”
ZZ nodded. “Then please, go ahead.”
Karst stood up. He looked around the table, meeting everyone’s eyes squarely for an instant before moving on, an old politician’s trick. “Well,” he said, spreading his hands, “I don’t have a slick presentation. I don’t have slides or handouts or any of that. What I have is a single idea. Just one. But before I get to that, I do have a story I’d like to share with you.
“I’ve been out in the bush my whole life. I grew up in Australia, but I’ve spent time in Laos, India, and Africa. I’ve heard my share of tales, and lived a few of my own. The one I want to tell you I can vouch for personally, because it happened to me.
“It was a few years back, when I doing safaris for this luxury resort up near Johannesburg. I was off on me own, just doing a little exploring and enjoying the solitude, when I came across the tracks of this lion. Considering where the tracks were and their size, I thought it was probably a young male, on his own. I thought I’d track him, see if I could lay my eyes on more than just his paw prints.
“Well, I followed that fella down to a wide river, and that’s where his tracks vanished. Lions don’t like to swim, so I was a mite puzzled. There was an island in the middle of the river, and a few big rocks in the water between the banks and it. Not much of an island, though—just a glorified sandbar with a few bushes on it—but I guessed it was possible that a lion could get there by leaping from rock to rock. Why a big cat with an aversion to water would bother, I had no idea.
“But it turned out that was exactly the case. When I moved upriver a bit I could see around the bushes, and sure enough there was a young male lion there, lying right beside the water. It didn’t seem like a terribly
comfortable spot, and I wondered at first if he was sick or injured. I watched him for a while, and every now and then he did something strange: He sort of stuck his head down between these two rocks that jutted out of the water, and leaned to one side. Couldn’t figure it out for the life of me.
“Eventually he stops what he’s doing, gets up, and pads over to the rocks. I was upwind, so I knew he hadn’t smelled me yet, and I stayed well hidden. He makes his way back over the river, jumping from rock to rock, but slips on the last one and falls in. Water’s really shallow at that point, so he doesn’t do more than get his belly wet, but I can tell he’s not that happy about it. Won’t be doing that again soon, I think, and watch him head off down the bank.
“But I was wrong. I was in the area again a few weeks later, and thought just for a laugh I’d go take a look. There he was! Same lion, same island, doing the same thing. I watched him for a while, then moved on.
“I came back again, of course. The lion wasn’t always there, but often he was. He wasn’t trying to catch fish, if that’s what you’re thinking; he never did anything but that funny business with his head.”
Oscar gestured with his glass. “If this is the prelude to a dreadful pun, I may have to shoot you. Just a friendly warning.”
Karst grinned. “Nothing so predictable, mate. In fact, I couldn’t figure it out at all; it didn’t seem to be a good place for sun or shade, and there certainly wasn’t anything to hunt. Was he waiting for something? I finally had to see for myself.
“So the next time I went there and he wasn’t around, I went out to the island myself. It was a bit tricky; I couldn’t leap the distances a lion could, and in places the water was deep and fast enough to be treacherous. I had to wade from rock to rock and hope I didn’t slip.
“When I got to the island I went straightaway to the lion’s regular spot. I looked around, but other than a few tufts of lion fur there was nothing to distinguish the area from anywhere else. The view was nothing special, just the riverbank opposite. So I did the only thing I could think of: I lay down just like he did, and stuck my head between those two rocks.”
