The Pet Plague Page 7

  While the animals were getting acquainted, Jamie made his way to the other three scientists, still carrying his pack rather than wearing it. They shook hands then stood together in a little isolated group, uncomfortably aware of their neophyte status in the presence of a dozen competent, confident rangers. The rangers were the nearest thing to a military force that the Enclave supported. They began their apprenticeship as perimeter guards and gradually progressed through training and experience to full ranger status, able to travel and survive in the wilds, talents other citizens felt no necessity for and desired even less. Nevertheless, the rangers had such a mystique and reputation for toughness that the romanticism of youth enabled them to keep their ranks full; they were able to recruit from an overabundance of volunteers.

  A familiar figure broke from the ranks of the rangers and came towards them. Kristi seemed to have regained a couple of sizes in her more familiar gear. She carried a small bundle in her arms. Jamie noticed then that Fuzzy Britches was tagging at her heels.

  Kristi stroked the bundle, which proved to be a beautiful gray Persian cat. “I wanted you to meet Princess. When she heard that another cat was coming with us, she insisted on going, too.

  “Hello, Princess,” Jamie said, admiring the chest the cat was cuddled against. He picked up Fuzzy Britches and let the cats sniff noses.

  “This is Fuzzy Britches,” he said to Kristi's pet, noting with amusement that Fuzzy Britches had already begun purring. He always did prefer Persians.

  Kristi deposited Princess on the ground and Fuzzy Britches squirmed out of Jamie's embrace and hopped down to join her. His purring changed to a low rumble as he preened and displayed his multi-hued coat. Princess seemed to approve and they padded off side by side.

  “Are you all set?” Kristi spoke to Jamie but included the other scientists with a glance. “We'll be leaving in a few minutes."

  “I guess we are,” Jamie said, speaking for all of them.

  “Good. Jamie, I'll see you later.” Kristi rejoined the other rangers and spoke briefly to a small, lean darkly tanned man with completely white hair. He separated himself from the other rangers and came over to where the scientists were standing.

  He spoke in a pleasant, baritone voice while his startling ocean blue eyes roved over the group like a mother hen counting her chicks. “I am Captain Troy Masters, commander of this expedition. If you're ready now, we will march from here to the Agsection gate and pass through it. We'll stop a moment there for you to make any necessary adjustments to your packs and footgear. Also, each of you will be inspected there by Lieutenant Carson or Sergeants Mathews and Costa.” He pointed to Kristi and the two sergeants. Each of the sergeants was as deeply tanned as their captain, with weathered faces and crinkled eyes. Jamie was surprised to hear Kristi named as a Lieutenant; he didn't think she was that old. On the other hand, he admitted to himself that he knew nothing of the promotional criteria within the ranger force.

  Captain Masters continued, “While your gear is being looked over and for a short while after that, I will have some other information to pass on to you, and you will have a chance then to get acquainted with the rest of our force. For now, though, let's get started."

  They moved out in a column of twos, a ranger unobtrusively edging in to walk beside each scientist. Jamie found himself moving along with a female ranger almost as tall as himself. She had short brown hair and a face that would never be called pretty, even after all the years of genetic selection, but she did have long lashed dark brown eyes that gave her face character, and her slim form was curved enough in the right places, as near as he could tell under all her gear. She introduced herself as Corporal Judy Neilson. Jamie told her his name.

  “I thought that must be who you were. You have a beautiful cat. I've never seen one quite like it. We've never gone out with cats before, and here we have two of them with us. Isn't Lt. Carson nice? She said she had already met you. She's real good in the wilds, too. Of course, no one is better than Captain Masters. He's been going out for years, and he always comes back. He said we would all get a chance to meet that dog with the strange message. Is he the large one or the small one that came out with you?” Judy chatted on, not seeming to notice that she hardly ever gave him a chance to answer her questions or enter into the conversation. After a few minutes, Jamie only half listened while he concentrated on settling his pack into a comfortable position and adjusting his pace to that of the rest of the column. Directly in front of him, Donald Martinez seemed to be struggling with a larger than normal load, constantly running his hands under the straps and even stumbling once or twice. He maintained the pace, however, and they soon arrived at the barrier gate.

  As they passed through, some of the rangers moved out in a protective semi-circle while others held back, then brought up the rear after the gate closed. Masters led the column over some rough ground, then up onto a stretch of old concrete highway slabs, tilted into odd positions by weather and time. Only when they were out of both sight and hearing of the gate guards did he call a halt for the promised inspection. Jamie looked around curiously, but there really wasn't much to see; a morning fog limited visibility to no more than a few score yards.

  Captain Masters propped himself on the rust-streaked hood of an old abandoned ground vehicle while Kristi and the two sergeants began the promised inspection of the scientists’ packs and boots. Kristi helped Jamie make some minor adjustments to his shoulder straps and waist belt and inspected his laser gun. She admonished him for not having a round chambered and fixed it for him while he blushed, then reset the safety and let him re-holster it. Donald was made to open his bulking pack. He displayed some instruments which he had obviously felt were necessary but had not been authorized. They caused Sgt. Costa to frown and run over to consult with Masters, causing some of the load to be redistributed between two of the huskier rangers. Jamie was glad that his own small collection vials hadn't caused the same problem; he noted that the rangers assigned to carry the instruments didn't appear to be very happy about it.

  Masters waited patiently until the inspection was complete and the gear was as comfortably arranged as it ever would be, then spoke to the group as a whole. “I want each of us who has not yet had an opportunity to experience the message which you've all heard of to do so now. It is the only reason for this expedition, so we may as well begin with it. Conan, come!"

  Conan trotted up to the captain and sat back on his haunches. Masters sprang lightly from the hood of the old vehicle and grasped Conan's neck disk tentatively in his hand. The familiar surprised look flickered across the lines of his face, but like Kristi, he didn't flinch, nor did he speak again until the rest of the rangers and scientists had repeated the process, ignoring the bursts of excited exclamations. He reseated himself on his perch and scanned the open area around them. He moved a couple of rangers with his eyes into more protective positions until he was satisfied with the security, then began addressing them in a conversational, yet commanding voice. Jamie couldn't place his accent and finally decided that it must be simply a result of his age. His white hair certainly indicated that he must be older than anyone else present.

  “I am told that Conan, the dog, traveled about two weeks in order to arrive here. If we include his hunting time, and the fact that he was traveling through unknown territory, I think we can expect to take approximately the same amount of time on the return journey. Wolfgang—” he pointed to a large black German shepherd “—has already talked with Conan. He says we will be traveling in a generally northeasterly direction, along the route of what used to be old highway 59. This route will involve several river crossings, according to him, although no large ones, and some of the bridges are still intact.

  “We rangers and dogs are present solely to provide security for you scientists, and Conan in particular. The order of march will reflect that. Conan, you will always travel at the center of the column, as will you scientists. We are expendable; you aren't. Sergeants Matthews and Costa wi
ll arrange the forward and rear guard, and of course, the dogs will be ranging out on all sides as well as ahead and behind. Wolfgang will coordinate their duties.

  “Now, as to conditions; we are more or less familiar with the area within a radius of twenty or thirty miles of the Enclave, and we don't expect any real surprises the first couple of days. After that, though, it's anybody's guess. Let me warn you, though: even this close, always be wary of the unexpected—this is not our territory."

  Speaking now to the scientists, he continued. “I know that you've heard all kinds of stories about conditions on the outside, so let me disillusion you on a couple of them: there are not wild packs of ravening dogs just itching to tear you apart beyond every bend of the trail. You needn't expect to be eaten alive by swarms of rats, either, at least so long as you obey instructions and don't aggravate them or get separated from the group. You may see packs of dogs and you may see gangs of rats out hunting, but for the most part, these will be territorial groups; so long as they know we're only passing through, they will generally let us alone. It's only when humans try to settle down or start hunting out here that the animals get agitated. There are big cats in the area and they may attack, especially if you let yourselves get separated from the group and vulnerable. They might attack anyway if they are new to the area and have never run across armed humans in their lifetimes. Even though they pass word among themselves about how dangerous humans can be, some of the young ones don't always believe it, and some of the old ones might attack, regardless, if they get hungry enough.

  “The feral animals will range in intelligence from near human to that of the original stock, and you can expect to see that range in almost any species you can name, especially the larger ones.” He gestured toward the dogs and the two cats. “What I'm saying is that dogs and cats and rats aren't the only enhanced animals out here, and the further we get away from the Enclave, the less likely we are to know what to expect. In the direction we're heading, it's a long, long way to the next Enclave, and the territory hasn't been explored for years.

  “One more note, and I'll repeat: don't let yourselves get separated from the group for any reason, not even to relieve yourself. If you have to go, let one of the rangers know, but try to do it in groups so we don't waste time. We'll have a morning meal starting tomorrow, a mid-day break if possible, and an evening meal. Guard duty at night will be in four shifts of three rangers and one scientist. Lt. Carson will arrange your shifts. We don't expect people new to the outside to be effective guards, but we want you to get familiar with the duties in case we lose someone and you have to fill in. Keep your weapons by you when you sleep, and we prefer that you not sleep alone. You can make your own arrangements, or we'll do it for you."

  For the first time, Jamie noticed that the contingent of rangers was almost equally divided between males and females. He wondered if that were a standard practice, or whether Whitnmire and Masters had arranged it that way. He suspected it was probably a little of both. He wondered who he would be sleeping with, but left the question for later.

  “Any questions?” Masters asked. There were none.

  “OK, let's move out."

  * * *

  CHAPTER 9

  In the underground warrens of Moon City a meeting was taking place, chaired by mayor Roscoe Bascombe. He was attended by Rob Passing, chief of the Moon City police and security forces; Selene Brown, resources allocation director; and Randall Craig, commander of space transportation. Each position had originally been an elected office, but as the deteriorating situation on earth cut into critical supplies the space environs were still unable to manufacture or locate, their tenure had advanced to the status of permanency. Elections had already been postponed many times, and now their firm grip on the reins of power in Moon City and the space stations made elections in the future even more unlikely. Just as had happened so many times before in the history of the race, adversity had bred in the human heart a yearning for the man on a white horse, a problem solver, one who would uplift the downtrodden, smite the wicked, and lead them on to an idealized utopia where intractable problems were as easily solved as a child figuring out the mechanism of a cookie jar. The citizens of Moon City were neither worse nor any better than others in the past who had given over their participation in government in return for an assured stability, and compared to some despots of history, their present rulers would be considered as benign as Sunday school teachers. Nevertheless, they were meeting with the intention of exercising their powers in whatever manner necessary for the benefit of Moon City. Cooperation with the Enclaves of earth was not even under consideration in this instance. Moon City was their home, their power base, and they intended to see that it survived, no matter the cost to earth.

  Mayor Bascombe queried Rob Passing, who had just finished explaining the import of Cadena's coded message. “Then you think this intelligence you've received is really important enough, and believable enough, for us to mount an expedition ourselves?"

  “Whitmire, the Houston security chief, evidently thought so, and he had to have more information than we do. The fact that he is sending a ranger expedition out into unexplored territory so quickly substantiates it,” Passing replied in a crisp, matter of fact voice. He appreciated the mayor's hesitation. Any prolonged operation on earth would of necessity have to draw upon already scarce transport facilities and personnel, they being the only ones able to tolerate gravity six times that of the moon. Perhaps he could entice Randall into going, he thought, then recruit mercenaries there. If the expedition should fail, that would put him one step closer to the Mayor's chair, and if not, he wouldn't be any worse off. He sat slumped in the thinly padded rock chair. The slump was habitual because of his height; he was taller than even most third generation inhabitants of the warrens and always felt as if his head was scraping the ceilings, especially in the older sections of the warrens which had been constructed on the basis of normal height.

  “We have some information I doubt they have,” Craig Randall said. He still carried the heavy musculature of his days as a pilot, and was constantly flexing and pulling at fixtures in an attempt to retain his strength. “I remembered the circumstance after Rob talked to me this morning. When he mentioned the possibility of spaceships, I pulled it from the datanet to be sure. About a month ago, one of our landing control satellites picked up an anomalous object which was at first thought to be an uncharted meteor or some old debris in a long orbit. This was subsequently questioned when it slowed as it entered earth's atmosphere but failed to burn. It was tracked to a point about 200 miles northeast of the Houston Enclave, but by the time control realized it wasn't acting exactly like a meteorite, it was already down. It showed a deceleration pattern somewhat like our own craft, but much faster. As a matter of routine, we checked the transponders on all our craft, both inbound and outbound, and of course, they were all accounted for. We never came to a decision on what the object was."

  “Didn't you get any pictures?” Bascombe asked.

  “Yeah, but nothing definitive. The area includes the ruins of an old city, split by a river. Maybe it went down in it, or is concealed under the forest or is sitting right by some old structure of similar metal that masks it. Who knows? All I can give you is the approximate spot where the object landed."

  “Could it have belonged to one of the Enclaves?"

  Selene Brown answered this time. “What Enclave on earth would be foolish enough to put resources into building a spacecraft when there's no place to go? We control immigration to Moon City and the satellites and they know how strict we are. Whatever it was, it didn't come from earth.” She was as emphatic with her statement as she would have been in denying a childless couple an extra room for their hutch. She was younger than the three men, but no less competent. She was sure enough of her own talents and confident enough in her own position to even forego the semi-nude dress conventions of most women her age, more a paucity of material rather than a cultural style. She wore a tailored sl
eeveless tunic over thigh length shorts and kept her straight brown hair at a longer length than the customary cap-close cut. She was handsome, rather than pretty, which she felt befitted her position nicely.

  “Well, let's grant the possibility of an unknown spacecraft, anyway,” Bascombe said. “But suppose we can't recover it? Is there anything else worth the expense and risk of an earth mission?"

  “For my money, there is,” Passing said, looking down at his notes. “Our contact reports some sort of a message from the area carried by a feral dog. According to him, it's from a possible alien, and the technology implied by the means it came by is nothing short of phenomenal.” His long face tensed with expected skepticism.

  “This contact of yours, Don Cadena isn't it? How reliable is he? A feral dog carrying a message from some sort of alien being sounds more like a hallucination than an intelligence report.” The mayor splayed his hands out on the polished rock surface of his desk. His conscious mind was trying to deny the possibility of an alien excursion into the solar system, while at a lower level, he was already considering committing resources that Moon City could ill afford to lose.

  “I count him reliable enough, since we're promising him that we'll trade Houston some imports in return for them allowing him to emigrate when the time comes. The excuse is, we need his talents.

  “Do we really?"

  Passing raised a cynical black eyebrow. “No, we don't even want him here, let alone need him; that just keeps him in line. Besides, it's not his believability I'm basing my assumptions on, it's Whitmire's reaction that convinced me.” That statement got their attention. The old Englishman was well known to their intelligence branch. He had stymied many of their activities over the years.