The Colony Ship Conestoga : The Complete Series: All Eight Books

by John Thornton

  “What?” Bigelow stood in the wagon and put his hand up and shielded his eyes from the sky tube’s light. “Strange, that.”

  “You said a big cat was after it. Did it get caught?” Jerome questioned as he watched the nyala floundering along the ground. The nyala will let out a resonant, throaty cry of pain and anguish.

  “No. It tripped, or something.” Bigelow’s voice held a strained edge to it. “Legs are broken. What a shame.”

  Something dark and silent came stalking out of the cover of the bushes. “That is the big cat.” Bigelow pointed his finger.

  “Oh!” Jerome said, and his eyes grew wide.

  The cat was very dark, with a reddish hint to its flanks. It was roughly two meters long with a slender tail. Its head was as black as deep space, and its eyes were bright yellow. It glared at the wagon, men, and horses. Its eyes reminded Jerome of Earth’s sun as he had seen it from the FTL scout ship; bright, intense, and yellow. The big cat looked back to its prey. There was a hint of some kind of spotty pattern over the cat’s dark sides and legs. It moved slowly and with muscular precision. Its rippled strength visible in its taunt body.

  “This is a rare sight for us both,” Bigelow said with a wide grin. “I have only heard about melanistic leopards. I have never seen one myself. Yes, en ferocité, not at all en douceur, that big cat is. That is for sure.”

  “What? I do not understand what you mean,” Jerome said as he peered at the big cat.

  “Rube, of course you do not understand. How can you understand the ways of a leopard? You do not even understand the way of water, how would you comprehend the ways of a melanistic leopard on the prowl?”

  “Leopard? Really? I read that a leopard cannot change his spots, but this magnificent animal looks almost all black,” Jerome commented. “It is not spotted, like the tobianos.”

  “Oh the spots are there all right. You just better hope and pray that you never get close enough to see them. Even with your fancy weapon, a big cat could sneak up and get you. Pounce on you from a covert spot, one bite to your neck, and you are dead. Be thankful it is after the nyala, and not after the horses or us.” Bigelow took a long drink from his bottle, but his eyes never left the scene. “Most all the other big cats are the typical buff color with their distinctive black and brown spots. Only rarely is a melanistic leopard born. But with the weird multiple births, maybe that has changed as well. This big cat will probably carry off the nyala to climb a tree. They like to take their prizes up high and feast. Skilled hunters, sneaky trackers, and expert predators.”

  “That cat is not big enough to haul away that other animal, is it?” Jerome asked in awe. “That nyala is at least half again as heavy, and it is still alive.”

  The cat stalked carefully toward the nyala, which was still struggling.

  “The nyala will not be alive long.” Bigelow sat back down and watched. The horses were watching as well, fidgeting with their legs, tails swishing fast, ears laid back, nostrils flaring with each breath, eyes intently staring at the cat.

  The dark cat approached the grunting and flailing nyala, but it moved in a wary, deliberate, and calculated manner. It carefully set its front foot down, as if the ground itself was uncertain. Then finding its footing with that paw, the cat raised its other front leg and stretched it out to the front. When that was done, it brought the rear legs up, setting them down gingerly as well.

  “I know nothing about these big cats,” Jerome said, and rested his hand on the holstered Willie blaster. “Are we in danger here?”

  “No. With an easy meal like the buck nyala, the big cat will not give us a second thought. Unless we would be stupid enough to approach it, which we will not be doing.” Bigelow looked at the horses who were anxiously pulling at the harnesses. “Anika, Agnes, Arabella, be still my fine associates. I am here.” His voice was gentle and serene. The horses only partially settled down. “After it takes the nyala away, we will continue onward.” He took a deep drink from his bottle, and then licked his lips.

  Tenderly stepping toward the nyala, the big cat suddenly stopped. Its right front paw was in the air stretched out before it. It pulled that leg back. It sat down on its rump and cocked its head to the side as it looked at the nyala.

  “Why is it letting that poor beast suffer?” Jerome asked. “The animal’s legs are broken, and it is in agony. Do big cats like this just watch and wait?”

  Bigelow fingered his lips for a moment. “Oh that dark cat could outwait either of us, that is for sure. Sometimes they will hide in trees and wait for a meal to walk by. Most often they ambush their prey at night. A quick race from cover and take it down with a death bite to the neck.” Bigelow was contemplative for a moment. Then he said very quietly, “Cats do sometimes play with their prey, but this is different.”

  “How so?”

  “Rube, just watch and learn.”

  The cat took a few tentative steps around the nyala, again placing its front paws out before it and then hesitantly putting them on the ground. In this manner it circled the nyala entirely, but did not get closer than about three meters. It sat down and resumed watching.

  “What is it doing?” Jerome asked.

  “I am not sure. I do not watch big cats every day, and as I said, this is the first melanistic leopard I have personally seen.” Bigelow took another swig from his bottle. “It may be assessing the status of the buck. Something is wrong with that buck’s legs, and the cat may be observing that.”

  The cat then went prone. Its tail was flicking ever so slightly back and forth. On its belly it reached out a paw toward the nyala. The poor beast tried to slide away, but its broken legs did not move properly, and its head slumped to the side onto the ground. It made pitiful grunts.

  The big cat reached out farther, doing so in a very slow and suspicious manner. Its hind legs were tense, and its rump muscles wiggled just a bit while the tail flicked.

  “Hieeerra!” the cat snarled suddenly, and drew its paw back. It jumped, landing a meter behind where it had been. Then it sat down and licked its paw.

  The nyala struggled valiantly to stand, nearly reached its knees, but fell hard to the ground. It let out a deep moan and whimpered. The horses rocked in their harness, and Bigelow pulled hard on the reins to keep them from running off. He muttered a few obscenities as he kept the horses in check.

  Once more the big, dark cat crept forward taking sidling steps while it stretched out its front paw. Reaching a certain point, it again hissed, snarled and yowled. Then suddenly, the cat leap away. It stopped about three meters from where it had been, then glared back. With a final sputter of anger, ears flat to its head, its wide jaws open, fangs exposed, it hissed. Then it ran away in a blur of motion. It was gone.

  “What was that?” Jerome asked.

  “I am not at all sure.” Bigelow stepped down from the troika’s seat, and walked to the front where the horses’ heads were struggling back and forth against the harness, bridles, and tack. “Calm now my associates. Calm and gentle. I am here.” He stroked their long noses while he watched the nyala as it writhed on the ground.

  “Where did that big cat go?” Jerome asked.

  “That, my dear rube, is an excellent question. You will not see many sick animals in the habitat’s wilds. You will not see many lame animals in the wilds. That is all because of the big cats, and other predators. The smaller scavengers will clean up most messes after them. But this nyala…” Bigelow paused. Then he looked at Jerome. “Come down here.”

  Jerome climbed down.

  “That poor beast over there is in misery. Shoot it with your fancy weapon and end its suffering.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me rube. Shoot that buck nyala. You can hear its groans and anguish. Put an end to its distress. Its legs are broken, and it will not recover. Better a quick and easy death, than a slow lingering and painful death all alone in its agony.”

  Jerome placed his hand on the Willie blaster, but remembered Cammarry. He saw
in his mind’s eye Cammarry shooting the old woman in the back. He bit down on his lip as he recalled seeing that death. It had happened along the road as they traveled at a place not too dissimilar from where he stood now. He looked down at the pavement, and tried not to think of the woman’s destroyed body. He then thought about Cammarry wildly shooting at the central memory cores. He saw the explosions, and the destruction. He smelled the smoke, and felt the heat on his face, just as if he were reliving the horrors of the incidents in terraforming. A few tears fell from the corners of his eyes as he remembered Cammarry being dragged away by the white automacubes.

  “Hold this then!” Bigelow thrust a lead strap into Jerome’s hand. The strap led right to the center horse’s bridle. “Anika you stay still. No problems from you Agnes or Arabella either. Run over this rube and I will never give you treats again.”

  The horses eyed Jerome as Bigelow marched angrily away. He was muttering vulgarities as he stomped off.

  “What am I supposed to do with this?” Jerome held up the short lead strap.

  “Pretend it is your fancy weapon, or your Dome 17 technology,” Bigelow snorted and added some colorful profanities. “And do nothing at all with it. Nothing!”

  Jerome’s mouth dropped open, but he held the reins.

  Bigelow walked briskly out toward where the nyala was lying on the ground. He scanned the area for any sign of the melanistic leopard. “As if I would see that cat before it took me down, What a worthless, meaningless, and waste of time.” He looked back and then walked to the side a good distance. He wanted to be able to see both the nyala and the horses where Jerome was standing. He got to a place where the trees, and bushes were more exposed, yet where he could still see the nyala and back to the road. His eyes scanned the brush and the trees, but there was no sign of the dark leopard. He did spot several fist sized rocks. Picking up two of them he continued toward the nyala. He could hear its labored breathing as he approached. Its eyes were wide with fear and pain. Its nostrils were trumpeting its ragged breath.

  “Well, old buck, I do not understand what happened to you. It is a shame, with your legs as they are. I will put an end to this quickly.”

  Bigelow took the smoothest and roundest of the rocks he had found, and rubbed it in his hands. He tossed it up and down a few times, gauging its weight and size. He tossed it from hand to hand and loosened up his shoulders. He then set his feet, and measured the distance with his eyes. Lifting his opposite leg, he pulled his arm back and flung the rock as hard as he could. “Sorry old buck.”

  The rock flew in a straight line, right toward the head of the nyala. As it neared, it dropped to the dirt just in front of the animal, kicking up some mud which showered into the eyes of the nyala. The beast jerked a bit away from where the rock impacted. It was blinking and shaking its head, its broken legs trying in vain to gallop it away to safety.

  “Huh?” Bigelow said. His eyes were wide, and his mouth hung open.

  “What are you doing?” Jerome called.

  “The rube asks what I am doing.” Bigelow muttered under his breath while adding expletives about Jerome’s character, his friendship with Cammarry, and generally cursing the fact they had ever met. “Missed in front of a rube. I will need an alibi box to face a mirror again.” He then took the other rock, and stepped toward the nyala. He studied the animal as it lay looking at him with terrified eyes. Its broken legs were crumpled under it, and the grass around it was lying flat to the ground.

  Bigelow did some more stretching. He then did a wind up and drew back his arm. He pitched the second rock. As his hand released the rock, he knew it was a perfect throw. The pitch would cause the rock to strike the nyala right between the eyes, just below the horns. That would render the beast unconscious, or maybe even kill it. Bigelow was already planning to pull out his knife to slit the beast’s throat to ensure an end to its suffering.

  Plunk. The second rock fell to the ground just short of the nyala, very near where the first rock had hit.

  “No way in the universe. Beta be boiled! Inconceivable.”

  He began to walk toward the nyala. “Old buck, I do not know how to help you. With your horns, I fear you would injure me before I could easily kill you by hand. But if I do not help you pass, you will die alone, slowly and in great pain. That is a cruel end. Dying alone in pain should be no one’s fate, ever.”

  Piff. Piff. Piff.

  Bigelow turned and saw Jerome aiming the Willie blaster at the animal. The nyala was struck a single time in the chest. The blast splattered blood and body tissue out behind it. The nyala was dead.

  “Do not go near it!” Jerome yelled. “Beware!”

  “The rube tries to warn me about danger.” Bigelow spit. “He finally mans-up and thinks he knows it all now.” He turned back and stepped toward the nyala.

  Jerome came running up to him. “Stop! Bigelow stop! I think I know what is happening!”

  “You, like the idiot you are, left the horses alone is what is happening,” Bigelow said and looked over to the troika. He rushed past Jerome toward the frightened horses. “Anika! Come here girl, bring all the associates here.”

  The horses slowly walked off the road toward Bigelow and Jerome.

  “No I mean with that wild beast. I saw you throwing the stones. I think gravity is different here.” Jerome put the Willie blaster away. “That is what fits all the observations, especially how my first two shots missed.”

  “Gravity does not change.” Bigelow snorted. “What a buffoon.”

  “Of course it does! Gravity manipulation methods have been known for over a hundred years.” Anger bubbled on Jerome’s face. “I thought of it when I saw you throw those stones. The launch speed, air friction, and flight path should have allowed the stones to hit the animal. They did not fly in a true trajectory as would be found in a consistent gravity field. The flight path altered when it entered an alteration in the gravity manipulation density. That is why the animal’s legs buckled, and why that big cat did not approach. Gravity manipulation is different by that animal.”

  Bigelow grabbed the lead strap of Anika as the horses walked up to him. They were eying the dead nyala. Bigelow patted them on their noses and soothingly spoke to them. “That is my good associates. Just ignore that rube and his babbling nonsense. You are my good ladies, and I am here.”

  Jerome yelled at him. “Do not let the horses get any closer. No way to tell where that aberration in gravity manipulation is, but that cat seemed to sense it.”

  “Nonsense.” Bigelow snorted again, but he held tightly to the lead. He did recall some of the studies he had made years ago when he worked in Terraforming and Restoration. His specialty was not in the gravity aspect, but he did remember hearing that Zalia’s gravity was much greater than that in Beta Habitat. Something like twice normal. He snorted again. “That old buck nyala was sick with some bone disease, and its legs gave out from the demands of the chase. Big cats always go after the sick, lame, or weak. Just a sick old nyala’s legs giving out.”

  “Then why did the cat run away? Would a predator leave a meal behind? And why did your stones not hit it?” Jerome asked. “I am pretty good at ricochet ball and I can tell you are a good pitcher. Your throws should have landed. Or am I wrong. Are you just a poor thrower of stones?”

  “Yes, I missed today. So what? I have an off day and you invent some ridiculous notions. And just to let you know, I can pitch a rock accurately, I almost never miss.” Bigelow looked down and around. He then took a big drink from his bottle as he considered what to say next. “Rube? Did it ever occur to you that I may have missed today to give you a chance to find your courage and do what is right? Huh? Oh, I never heard of ricochet ball. Is that from the dead dome too?”

  “What?” Jerome was confused. “I saw your throws, they were not normal. Admit it, you missed twice today.”

  “That I did,” Bigelow admitted. “And you finally used that fancy weapon of yours. It took you three shots and my acts to convince
you to do what I suggested at first. That animal suffered while you dithered around. None of that means there is some nonsense about gravity changing.”

  “Well, shall we test my theory?” Jerome asked. He picked up a couple of loose rocks and a handful of dirt and pebbles. He tossed them toward the now dead nyala. They flew in a smooth and steady arc, and then suddenly dropped. “Did you see that? I could also spit over there to further test it. Maybe you want to walk over to the nyala and test it personally?”

  “Or maybe you could urinate in that direction and we could watch where your yellow stream falls as well.” Bigelow rubbed his hand over his eyes. He refused to look at Jerome. “Much as I hate to say it. I think the rube has a point. Yes, I think you have a point.”

  3 Revisiting Seron

  The road looked normal, but Jerome kept thinking about the scene with the nyala. He had killed the animal, which was disturbing in and of itself, but the unknown gravity manipulation field was even more troubling. He was convinced that gravity had been altered there, and was reminded of the Gravity Alteration Gimbaled Spheres Sandie had mentioned, as well as the weird ways the upper levels were canted away from alignment with the gravity. Knowing he could not currently speak to Sandie, or to Cammarry made him feel more alone than ever. Anger, frustration, and confusion rumbled in his thoughts.