Eye of Cat Part 5

Things that flee and things that pursue have their seasons.

Each of us hunts and each of us is hunted.

We are all of us prey; we are all predators.

Knowing this, the careful hunter is wary. The prey, too, learns boldness beyond its normal reach.

And then there is luck, and then the G.o.ds.

The hunt is always uncertain.

We skinned the wolf and in the morning a human hide hung there.

At night, it became again the pelt of a wolf.

There is no certainty, there is no law in the hunt.

Talking-G.o.d be with me.

Black-G.o.d be with me.

Luck and boldness be with me, too.

The First Day

WITHOUT SLOWING, HE ILLU-.

minated the dial of his watch and checked the time. An hour.

He smiled, because it seemed that Cat had overlooked the obvious. He could get far in that time, and all was fair....

He maintained the steady pace which he could keep up for most of a day. To give in to fears and sprint now would be to leave himself exhausted in the face of possibly necessary exertions later.

The wind whipped by him, and deeper patches of shadows took on an ominous character, hiding eyes, fangs, move- ment....

Dead. The Stragean was dead, A being able to cause fear in the highest circles. Dead. And Cat had slain her. Soon Cat would be bounding along, coming this same way. Cat's enormous, faceted eye could, he believed, see into the infrared, distinguish polarized light. He was still not certain as to all of the senses Cat possessed. He could see Cat now, like a giant chindi, not even slowing as he followed the trail.

Beads of perspiration formed on Billy's brow. A part of him saw the beast's powers from a completely rational standpoint. He had fought Cat before when Cat was much more naive. But Cat had had fifty years in which to become sophisticated in the ways of this world. Cat suddenly be- came phantomlike at another level, no longer the -beast that had been, but something returning, as from the north....

He fought back a renewed desire to increase his pace.

There was ample time, he told himself, a sufficiency in which to make good his getaway. And why should there be fear?

Bare minutes ago he had been ready to die. Now at least there was a chance. He strove to contain himself within the present instant. The past was gone. He had some say in the making of the future, but this was contingent upon his behavior now. It was going to be all right. Long before the hour had run out, he would be totally safe. It was only a matter of minutes, really....

He jogged on, his mind fixed upon his goal. At last it came into sight, the trip-box station which would place him be- yond Cat's reach in the barest twinkling. He saw the lights of the small building at the crossroads beyond the field he was now entering. Something about it, though...

As he moved nearer, he realized that the front window of the place was broken. He slowed his approach. He could see no one about.

He halted and looked inside. There were three units, lined against the far wall. All of them were wrecked. It was as if a piece of runaway heavy equipment had pa.s.sed through, snapping or twisting the gleaming standards, upsetting the control units. The power banks, he noted, were untouched.

Cat...

That last time Cat had gone out, ranging far to scout the area... Cat had foreseen a possible escape on his part with flight in this direction, had acted to remedy this means of retreat.

He looked about. The damage should have registered itself at the area control center. But the hour was late. No telling when a repair crew might be by.

A map. There would be a line map inside for the area. He moved to the doorway and entered.

Yes. On the wall to his right. He studied the disposition of the red dots representing boxes in the area, located his own position, looked for the next several.

Four miles to the nearest one.

Would Cat know its location? Would Cat have bothered to look at this thing on the wall, realizing it was a map? And even if this were the case, would Cat have gone to the trouble to wreck another? True, he might have wanted to cover all bets....

But no. Cat's surprise at his failure to flee had seemed genuine. Cat had expected him to run. While it might be

possible for him to elude the beast and make it this far, it seemed unlikely that he could reach the next one under these circ.u.mstances. So even if Cat did know about it, chances were that the next box remained unmolested.

Still, a map and the land itself were two different things.

He was not exactly certain as to the disposition of that next red dot. Even with the grace period, he could be cutting things short.

He departed the wrecked station, took his bearings and recommenced his steady stride, cutting through a skeleton- limbed orchard that rattled about him as he pa.s.sed. A rabbit sprang from behind a clump of gra.s.ses to veer across his path and vanish into the shadows to the left. The gra.s.ses were damp, and soon the lower portions of his trousers were soaked through. Somewhere a dog began barking. He sud- denly felt as if he were being watched, from no particular direction. Again the fleeting shadows writhed images.

For a moment, he wondered what time it was, and then the desire to know this thing fell away. Abruptly, he found that he was happy. A part of his mind was almost cheering for Cat, hoping that even now the beast was on his trail. Let it be close. Let it be very close and clean, he felt. Or else what the joy in such a context? This was the most alive he had felt himself in years. There was a new song inside him now, accompanied by his drumbeat footfalls.

He did not try to a.n.a.lyze the shifting of his mood. The clutter of circ.u.mstance was far too dense for introspection, even had he felt so inclined. For the moment, it was suffi- cient to ride with the beat of his flight.

There were times when he felt certain that Cat was right at his back, and it did not seem to matter. Other times, he felt that he had already won, that he had far outdistanced his pursuer, that there was no chance of his ever being overta- ken. All of his senses now seemed touched with an unusual acuity - the tiniest night movement was instantly identified, from the faintest rasp, thump or crackling; shadowy forms grew far more distinct, and even odors took on a new significance. It had all been this way once, yes, long ago....

It was before everything that the world had been this way, that he had been this way. Running. Into the east. Vision as yet unclouded by veils life was later to drop upon him. He had been eight or nine years old before he had learned to speak English....

But after all of this, he wondered, what traces really

remained of his shift from a near-neolithic to a high-tech society? He had lived more years under the latter than under the former, if these things were to be measured solely in years. The shift had been made successfully, and both ends of his personal spectrum were available to him.

But it was the primitive which ruled as he ran. Yes. And this part preferred the day to the night. Yet the joy remained.

It was not that there was an absence of fear. Instead, the fear was contributing something to that peculiar species of ela- tion which had risen within him.

As he pounded along, he wondered what the situation was back at the mansion. What had Walford, Tedders, the de- fenders and the Strageans made of that sudden attack fol- lowed by the death of the adept - with no explanation as to what had occurred? Naturally they would suspect his part in it, but they must be puzzled by his absence. Even now they must be trying to reach him - though this time he was not even wearing the paging unit.

Would they ever learn? He wondered for the first time what Cat might do later - if things were all over and he, Billy Singer, had walked into the north. Would Cat retire to some wilderness area and spend his days pa.s.sing as some garden variety predator? It seemed possible, but he could not be certain. He could not tell whether Cat's hatred was.focused upon him solely or whether he might hold all of humanity responsible for his captivity. Images moved within Billy's mind - crouching in a cage day after day, year after year, being stared at by pa.s.sing knots of people. If their situations had been reversed, he felt that he would hate all mankind.

A sense of irritation began to grow. Why shouldn't Cat consider him a sacrificial lamb and let it go at that?

He shook his head. No real reason for a.s.suming that Cat would run amok later. He had given no such indication.

What was he doing thinking these thoughts, anyway? Look- ing for trouble? It was him that Cat wanted, not him plus everybody else. And after he had gotten him, it would all be over with....

Sacrificial lamb... He thought again of the sheep he had herded as a boy. Long, slow days under skies hot and cool, big skies... Lying on a hillside. Whittling. Singing. Foot- races with other children. His first tumble with that girl from over the ridge. What was her name? And later with her sister. Hard b.r.e.a.s.t.s under his hands. The sheep about them

unconcerned. Clouds like sheep on the horizon. Sheep.

Lamb of G.o.d. Dora in the sky with turquoise. Running...

Cat. Running. How will you track me, Cat? Do you follow the same signs I would? Or does your alien eye trace different marks of pa.s.sage? Either way, there is no time to mask this trail. Escape first. Hide afterwards, Speed now is all. Speed, opportunity. Chance. How. near might you be, anyway? Or are you still waiting for the time to run?

Turquoise in the sky with Dora to the drumbeat footbeat here below. On the hillside, far ahead, lights. Night air comes in, goes out again. Stride is steady. Veer left, beyond the death-shaped boulder. Up then. Cat come. Into the black bag. Full entropy is all. But first.

Minutes melting, one to the other. In the distance, the hum of a super battery-powered vehicle above the cleared trail which had once been a roadway, lights raking tree trunks. Heading for the station perhaps. Ay-ah! We live.

Unless Cat even now...

Drawing nearer, he slowed. This would be the place for an ambush. Why not check the time? Because Cat might have lied to gain this much of a chase. Once through the box and the beast would be baffled. Wouldn't he?

Walking now, he examined a new proposition. What had Cat said about understanding the boxes?

No. Even if he could black-fare his way, he would not know where to go....

Cat is a telepath.

But of what sort? He had estimated Cat's ability as a hunting/locator thing, refined, to be sure, during his long confinement, but basically quarry-intensive, at about a quar- ter of a mile. Still, there were human telepaths he knew of who could send and receive around the world and through outer s.p.a.ce. Yet, again, such sophisticated ones he felt he could block to some extent by slipping back to boyhood thought patterns. But Cat, too, was primitive. It might not serve to hide him from the beast. In which case.

The devil with you, Cat! - on all fours now, carefully clearing the way before him of anything which might give rise to the slightest sound, his jewelry wrapped in a handker- chief and stuffed into his pocket, hands moving deftly, knees and toes advancing into the cleared area in total silence.

Find me if you can. Fight me if you-do.

No response. And nothing between here and there that he

could conceive of as a transformation of his adversary. The car drew up before the building and hovered. No one de- parted it.

He was on his feet and sprinting across the final meters of the field, through a fringe of trees, over the road-bed trail. A glimpse through the station window: the units were intact.

Almost laughing, he thrust the door open and crossed the threshold. Empty. Safe. Breathe easily. He straightened from his half-crouch, removed his hand from the handle of his knife. Closed the door. All right. Five paces to liberty.

The unit to his far left was humming in preparation for a transfer. Curious, he watched it. It was an odd hour and a fairly isolated station; he wondered who might be coming through. Shortly, the outline began to form. It was that of a woman, somewhat stocky, with close-cropped brown hair.

She wore a dark suit and carried a recording unit bearing the insignia of a major news service in her left hand. Her eyes fixed upon him as she took on solidity.

"h.e.l.lo," she said, studying his garb.

She stepped out of the unit.

"h.e.l.lo."

"Coming or going?" she said.

"Just going. I only waited to see if you were someone I knew."

"You're a real Indian, aren't you? Not just someone dressed that way."

"I am. If you called ahead for a car I just saw one pull up out front."

"I did. That must be it." She started forward, then hesi- tated. "Do you live in this area?" she asked him.

"No. Just visiting."

He moved toward the nearest unit.

"Just a second," she said. "I've come here on a story, or what could be a story. Maybe you'd know something about it."

He forced himself to smile as he took another step.

"I doubt that. Haven't seen anything newsworthy."

"Well," she persisted, "there have been reports of pecu- liar security measures being taken at the Walford place for some time now. Then suddenly -this evening there was apparently a power failure and some disturbance. Now they've gone completely incommunicado. Would you know anything about this?"

He shook his head, moved forward and stepped into the unit.

She followed him and took hold of his arm just as he inserted his strip into the slot, effectively blocking his tran- sit.

"Wait. There's more," she said. "Then we learned that the trip-boxes nearest to the place had been damaged. Are you aware that the next station to the east is out of order?"