They entered the Briefing Room, Tracker again deferring to Scott. Colonel Carfield, Director of Field Operations, seated behind the conference table, looked up. Scott spun one of the chairs around and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the back. Tracker slid his bushy tail through the opening in the back of his chair, ears erect as he waited for instructions.
”Good morning, gentlemen,” Carfield said. “The Chattanooga Police have reports of a tiger loose near the Yards. They have seen evidence of the tiger and apparently have some eyewitness sightings, but they haven’t been able to locate it. They want our help before a panic erupts. This is primarily your mission, Tracker. Find that tiger, if you can. Scott, I want you to interface with the police and coordinate things there. Any questions?”
Scott frowned. “Why us, sir? I don’t mind being sent on an easy mission, but I would think that the police could handle a simple animal-retrieval mission without us.”
Before the Colonel could answer, Tracker asked, “Could the tiger have some sort of enhanced ability to conceal itself, sir?”
”I don’t know,” the colonel admitted. “And neither did the police when I asked them. But they can’t find it, so it seems likely. That’s why I’m sending you two.
”Captain Jones is your driver. He’ll monitor communications for you and serve as backup, if you need it.” The colonel leaned back. “Collect what you need and get on it, gentlemen.”
Scott stood up. “Can do, sir.” He glanced at Tracker, who looked expectantly at him. “At the hangar in ten minutes, Tracker?”
The fox rose and nodded. “I’ll be there, sir.”
#
Half an hour later the hovervan whispered through the Yards on its cushion of air. Looking through the van’s darkened windows, Tracker saw boarded-up warehouses and unkempt streets. Once a bustling rail yard, the tracks now held antique, graffiti-covered rail cars rusting away on equally rusted rails while the life of the railroad flowed through an automated yard at the edge of the city away from the vandalism and interference caused by its proximity to people who had little better to do. Bars and rooming-houses struggled to stay afloat and even through the van’s closed windows, he could smell the rotting garbage, stale beer and general misery of the residents. Just now, however, the streets lay deserted.
They pulled up beside the police Mobile Command Center. Scott climbed out of the van and walked over to an officer who appeared to be in command, Tracker following close behind. Tracker saw the policeman’s stare as he approached. His muscles tightened, as he was reminded yet again about how much obvious mutants were despised by the general populace. He could scent both hate and fear in the man.
”Good morning, Captain. I’m Scott Nolan and this is Tracker, from the Defenders. What can you tell us about the tiger?” Scott said as he extended his hand and moved to partially block the officer’s view of Tracker.
The officer shook Scott’s hand. “Captain Andrews,” he replied, introducing himself. “Glad you could help out.
”The sightings began about two months ago. Early on they came every couple of nights. We increased patrols in the area, but never saw anything. About three weeks ago the sightings stopped, but now they’re starting up again. Most of the older sightings were vague at best — glimpses of a tiger, dogs disappearing under markedly unusual circumstances, a roar in the night, that sort of thing. Some came from other parts of town, but most seemed to be centered on the yards, here. Three reports, however, were more definite.
”First, a punk from one of the local gangs was found dead in an alley just off the Yards, half-naked. The experts say he was mauled by a big cat, possibly a lion or tiger. We grilled his buddy, who reported the incident. He claimed they were just walking along, minding their own business, when they were ‘jumped by a giant cat what came outta nowhere.’ He ran. That’s all he’ll admit to.
”The second came from a man who raises Doberman Pinschers about two miles up the Yards in a little better neighborhood. He heard a commotion in his kennel one night and went out to investigate, carrying a shotgun. He saw a tiger attacking two of his dogs and shot it twice with 12-gauge buckshot. Knocked the tiger down, he said, but it got up and batted him into a wall, breaking three of his ribs. It killed both dogs, grabbed one and jumped a 10-foot chain-link fence, disappearing into the darkness.
”The most recent one was yesterday, about noon. The tiger ran across O’Neil Street in front of a car. The driver swerved to avoid it, lost control and plowed into a telephone pole. The car’s Obstacle Avoidance camera got a blurry picture of it, confirming his report. We’ve been hunting for it since but haven’t been able to find a thing.
“We called in a specialist from the Knoxville Zoo with a tranquilizer gun, but he’s about ready to head back. There have been no reported escapes of tigers from any of the zoos or private owners anywhere near here and even though we were able to show him the image from the car’s camera, he says we’re just looking at a too-close encounter with a tiger-striped Tabby cat rather than a 500 pound tiger.
”One of my own men, a reliable officer, claims he spotted the tiger in one of the deserted warehouses just over yonder. It was dark in there and he lost it almost immediately, but he is positive of his sighting.”
”What about infrared searching?” Scott asked.
”Already tried it. This place is full of derelicts, feral cats and stray dogs. Often we’d find a mover that turned out to be one of those, but there have been a few times we’d spot something which would soon vanish from our scopes as we tracked it. We finally gave up, we’ve had better luck with visual searches.”
”Sir,” Tracker interjected, “this tiger. Could it be a mutant?”
The policeman’s face tightened, “I don’t know,” he replied. “I have no proof that it is, but we can’t find it with thirty men and all of our technology after more than a day, and that seems odd.” Captain’s anger at his own failure caused Tracker’s tail and ears to sag as he tried to make himself appear smaller and less threatening.
Scott spoke up, pulling the Captain’s attention back away from Tracker. “I’d like you to draw your men back into a cordon; keep the sightseers out. We’ll try to track down the tiger for you and corral it until you can get your trank-gun-toting specialist to take it down. If it turns out to be something else, we’ll take care of it for you.”
”All right, Mr. Nolan. Keep us updated and we’ll do the same. Luck.” He turned back to the MCC van.
