Tracker tensed. Someone with a heavy tread approached the door. With a rattle, the key unlocked the armored door. A man stepped in and switched on the light, then closed and locked the door again behind him.
”General. You’re a fool, a blind fool.” Tracker swivelled the chair around to face the General.
The General spun, drawing his Colt Model 1911. His eyes locked on Tracker. “You’re dead, animal!” he said, squeezing off two rounds at him. Tracker sat relaxed, the bullets pushing him deeper into the cushions, but was otherwise untouched by the heavy slugs that should have torn ragged holes in his chest. He smiled at the man, a feral grin that revealed needle-sharp fangs and ears laid back, ready for battle.
”I knew you were a fool, General, and you just proved it. If you had stopped to think, you would have known that pistol couldn’t penetrate my force field. The one you had installed in me. Or did you think I was still wearing that damned drain-box of yours?” He chuckled, shaking his head.
The General stepped back, stunned and speechless. “Have a drink, General,” he said, motioning to the credenza. “You seem to need it.”
Shaken, the General turned and opened a decanter of whisky. Laying the .45 down, he poured a generous glassful and set the decanter down, still open. He tipped the glass up and tossed back the entire contents in one shot. Shuddering, he slammed the glass back down and refilled it with whiskey, then picked up the pistol again, holding it loosely in his right hand.
”You’re blind, General, a blind fool. You see only what you want to see, not the truth. Never the truth. The Valani are a warrior-bred race. They have built an empire out there that has subdued any number of attempts to resist or subdue them, and beaten all attempts to use them. You see, I know more about them than you ever will. I’ve studied them, without your prejudices. I’ve learned a lot more about the Valani society than you want to know. I personally know the Ruling Clan and their Clan Mother! They are using you. The same way you think you’re using them. The only reason they haven’t attacked Earth yet is that they’re fighting a massive civil war on their home planet and their ‘allies’ are sitting back to see who wins. You had better hope the rebel government loses! If they win, you’ll get what you want with a vengeance, assuming you live to see the end of it.
”I’d love to kill you right now. You took me from my father. You treated me like an animal until I came to believe it. You’ve spent hours torturing the woman I love. And all for this stupid Plan of yours! A plan that could never have worked in the first place. I lust to kill you, but I won’t. In the two years since I escaped … yes, escaped,” Tracker repeated, noting the General’s look. “I escaped from you before and I’m doing it again. In the past few months, I’ve learned humanity. In the past two years I’ve learned justice. In the last two months I’ve learned to care.
“You are going to stand trial for everything you’ve done, General. To me and to others. Even you have rights, although you don’t deserve them.”
As the door to the lab burst open, Tigresse snarled, a sound like ripping canvas, and launched herself, crashing into the first soldier. He screamed, then her teeth clamped down, ripping out his throat. She whirled, slashing at the next man. Blood spurted from his chest and arms. Rifles barked and she felt three bites of pain in her flanks and shoulder. She snarled once more, crushing in a man’s chest with her paw. Kill! her mind sang. Kill all who take my mate from me! A grenade hit the floor next to her and she leaped straight up, going insubstantial and passing through the ceiling. Beneath her, the room exploded.
She stood a moment on the rooftop, tail lashing. She could see two more groups of soldiers running towards the lab. She roared, a mocking challenge, then dropped on the rearmost man beneath her. She sank her fangs into his shoulder and shook him, then turned and fled across the compound amidst a volley of riflefire.
A laser bolt scorched her flank as she ran, heading towards the third barracks building. She phased through the wall of the building, ran down the empty corridor, and out through the other wall. She paused, looking around. No-one was in sight. She doubled back, staying in the stark shadows and under cover as best she could, heading for the administration building. Get Tracker. Leave evil place.
Sergeant McCarthy shut the door to the kitchen and ran heavily through the night. I’ve got to tell the Major, he thought, breathing hard. He cursed his extra weight as he slowed to a fast walk.
As he rounded the corner of the building, something cannoned into him. He staggered and fell, his pistol flying from his hand. A large, blood-streaked tiger faced him, paw raised, motionless. They watched each other for a moment, unmoving, then the tiger lowered its head, jerked it towards the mercenary barracks, then bounded away.
The sergeant got to his feet and hurried on to the barracks. He met the major in the ready room. There were armed guards at the door and at the windows.
“Major Samms,” he said, panting as he saluted.
The major returned his salute. “Sergeant McCarthy. Do you know what’s going on?”
“I’m not sure, sir. Something tore up the Castile barracks and is now rampaging around outside. On the way over here, I met a large tiger, covered with blood. I think that was what was killing the Castilians. It knocked me down. I thought it was going to savage me, as well, but it just looked at me for a moment, then jerked its head towards the barracks here, and left. It was like it recognized me, sir.”
“Last night, the perimeter was penetrated by a lone woman,” Major Samms mused, tapping a calloused finger on the table. He was an intense man with flaming red hair and beard. “Next day, the General has Mr. Redd escorted to the Security building. The woman turns out to be Redd’s woman. She’s been tortured. Redd is rebellious, but knuckles under to the General. Now this tiger appears to be attacking the Castilian barracks. Redd’s cell is in the storage barracks next to the Castilians.”
He turned to Captain Swanson. “Captain, by squads, have the men pack. My guess is, Redd’s making his break. If so, good luck to him. We’re blowing our contract and following him out.”
The administration building was lit up. She took a deep breath and phased into the ground, coming up in the corridor in front of the General’s door. The door was closed. Concerned, she phased through into the room.
Tracker now stood by the desk. The General stood across the room by the liquor cabinet, holding a pistol loosely, eyes locked on Tracker.
Tracker’s eyes flicked to the door, his ears lifting. Her shoulder brushed a bookcase as she moved away from the General, causing a small brass figure to rattle on one of the shelves.”Get him!” the General cried, pointing at Tracker and turning to the door.
The General froze for an instant. Then he swung his pistol up and fired point-blank. She jerked and fell, blurring back to human.
Moments later, Antoinette struggled to her hands and knees, shaking her head to clear her blurred vision. Her chest just above her right breast burned with pain where the bullet had struck. Forcing herself to her feet, she looked for Tracker. He knelt beside the credenza, the one called the General across his knee. Tracker’s right hand pressed down on the General’s chest, the fingers of his left hand gripping the man’s forehead, pushing his head back and down, exposing his throat. Tracker’s fangs were pressing into the skin, his ears flat against his head in animal rage, every tooth visible. The General lay only the thickness of his skin away from death.
She took in the whole scene. Time hung suspended, a frozen snapshot. The muscles of Tracker’s neck and jaw were knotted, and she knew, with sudden clarity, that he was fighting with himself, poised on the verge of killing the General as he lay helpless. “Tracker, non!” she cried.
”You! Surrender, or die!” she shouted at the man.
”All right. All right. I surrender,” the General gasped. “Get him off me!” Slowly, Tracker raised his head, relaxing his grip. With a convulsive twist, the General lunged for his .45, lying just out of reach on the floor. Tracker’s muzzle dipped, fangs flashing as he ripped the General’s throat open. Blood fountained, spraying Tracker’s face and chest, then he stood, dropping the twitching body.
He stepped blindly over to the credenza. Grabbing the tumbler that the General had filled, he tipped back his head and threw the contents into the back of his throat. He gulped, fire burning down his throat to settle in his stomach. He stood for an instant, paralyzed, his eyes watering as the glass slipping from his numbed fingers to bounce on the carpet and roll under the credenza. Moving like an automaton, he carefully turned to the General’s chair and sat down, his eyes glazing in shock.
”Tracker, let us go now. Please,” she said. Tracker did not respond. Alarmed, she stepped up to him. “Please, mon amant. Let us go. Now,” she begged, taking his hand. Again, she got no response. “Non!” Dread clutched her heart.
”Tracker! What have they done to you?” she whispered despairingly. “The liquor you drank. Poisoned with some sort of mind-destroying drug.” She stepped to the cabinet and picked up the decanter, sniffing it. She couldn’t smell anything unusual, but that meant nothing. She whirled and flung the decanter at the door to shatter against the armor plate. In a blind rage, she caught up the other bottles, hurling them at the door as well. Then she slumped against the wooden credenza. So it ends, she thought numbly.
Dragging herself over to the desk, she took the radio from his belt and checked that it was on and set for Emergency beacon. The Defenders might arrive first, she thought dully, if we are lucky. If so, medical care might restore Tracker’s mind at least partly. More likely, the guards will break through the door. Then I will defend Tracker, killing them until I am killed. Until that time, there is nothing to do but wait. She climbed into Tracker’s lap, clinging to him. He put his arms around her, holding her mechanically. She buried her face in the hollow of his shoulder and wept desolately.
