«Me?» said Karina, while the Little Friends held her in check. “ Meattack a True Human?» Her eyes stared into his.
Her eyes like hummingbirds, amber and alive.…
«You people.…» Now he was unsure of himself. «You eat meat. That’s your problem. You use the Examples when they suit you, but you eat meat.» His expression changed as he watched her, and he blinked. He realized he was holding her breast and he let go, ashamed. Suddenly she was a girl — a very lovely young girl, whom he was bullying. He wondered what had got into him; whether some of Captain Herrero was rubbing off on him.
He turned away and left her standing there. As he went, he mumbled something that sounded very much like sorry.… The Urubu rumbled on down the slope. Karina stood trembling with rage and disgust while the morning sun began to warm the deck. Another crewman approached her and said, «Don’t mind Antrez — he takes his responsibilities seriously. He’s in charge up here. And let’s face it, girl, your father has no love for True Humans. And a lot of sailcars have been raided recently.»
«The good ones are never attacked.» But the Little Friends were soothing her and this True Human meant well. She tried to smile.
«That’s better.» He grinned at her. «Friends?»
Then the voice of Captain Herrero rasped from the pipe.
«Stand by for South Stage — and if any of those animals try to steal a ride kick them right off the deck. Pay out the mizzen sheet and brake for the curve — now! Watch out for that brute to starboard — looks like he has a rock in his hand. By Agni — it’s El Tigre! Right — haul in all sheets now and away we go!»
Karina leaped from the deck, rolled in the dirt, and stood.
The Urubu gathered speed, sailing rapidly away across the coastal plain in the bright morning sunlight.
«And just where in hell have you been, girl?»
El Tigre towered above Karina. In one hand he clutched a rock. In the other he held a mule whip, which he slapped ominously against his thigh.
Meeting of the revolutionaries
It was a bad morning for El Tigre and it had been a bad night before. He’d called a meeting for sundown in the big community hut at the north end of the camp near the bachelor vampiros. It had not been well attended. He’d suspected this would happen, because people had been avoiding his eyes during the day.
At sundown he stood alone in the hut, waiting for the others. It was quiet outside, and the last wisps of cooking smoke faded away; nobody can cook in the evening, when the sun is gone. It was a moment of peace which the anticipation of the coming meeting could not destroy. As he stood there. El Tigre thought: I love this place. I love the people and the things, the bright sun and the ever‑cooling winds. I love the tall, slow men and the noisy vicious bands of fighting girls. I love the sounds and the peace, the day and the night. I love the women.… His mind dwelt kindly for a moment on the women he’d known; the grupos he’d fathered. There had been Belleza and Tanaril, Amora and Serena.… And others. His musings slowed. Serena, the mother of Teressa, Karina, Runa and Saba. Serena, who was gentle in an unusual way, and very loving, and strangely devoted. Serena, who was dead.…
And his whole being rose up in a moment of supreme, overpowering hatred for the True Humans, who had killed Serena.
«El Tigre! Is anything the matter?»
His lieutenant. Torch, had arrived and was regarding him in concern. El Tigre’s face was corded with veins and his fists were clenched in the air. He looked murderous, and somehow doomed.
«No, I’m fine.» The voice, after a moment’s pause, was deep and slow. «Where is everybody?»
«I saw Ligero and Manoso on their way, and others. Maybe,” suggested Torch with deference, «maybe it’s not the best time for meetings. El Tigre. The Festival is near. People have other things to think of.»
In the end there were about a dozen men in the hut. Big broad men, bigger than most True Humans, heavy of shoulder and haunch, with a slow, graceful way of moving. They were uneasy in one another’s company; felinos are solitary creatures. Only the powerful presence of El Tigre could bind them together; and tonight, even he was to have his difficulties. As Torch had said, it was not the best time. The sky darkened outside and the female grupos moved silently about their business, some of them slipping away into the bush, others gathering around the cooling sun-ovens to tell stories.
The grupo which bore El Tigre’s name because it had no mother passed by the door of the community hut, and Teressa called, «See you later, father!»
El Tigre growled, feeling embarrassed yet proud that his daughter had called to him, and began to address the meeting.
«Friends! I speak of revolution!»
«What, again?» came the audible comment and El Tigre, with that excellent night vision of his race, saw the lips of Dozo moving. Dozo, the elder sage, the fat bachelor who had never sired a grupo; the witty, lazy cynic who always seemed to be laughing at the ways of men.
Torch supported his leader, advancing on Dozo. «If you don’t want to hear of revolution, then get back to your quarters where the young bachelors are. You might find it more interesting!» This was a reference to Dozo’s rumored sexual preferences — a rumor which had never been proved. Or disproved, for that matter, since Dozo had an infuriating way of suggesting that the affairs of men were of little significance and that sex was possibly at the bottom of the list.
«I wouldn’t miss the sight of El Tigre making a fool of himself for all the tortugas in Rangua,” said Dozo, folding his arms across his ample paunch and lying back against the wall.
«Well, just be quiet, will you,” said El Tigre. Then he raised his voice again. «I have called you together to hear some important news which was brought over the hill today by one of our people from North Stage. He told me about developments in the delta which are a threat to us all. It seems — and our informant was sure of his facts — that a secret establishment has been set up. Now, this place is as closely guarded as the tortuga compounds themselves and the North Stage felinos have not been able to get through. However —”
«They have it on the word of certain howler monkeys,” interjected Dozo, mimicking El Tigre’s style perfectly.
«They had it from the tortuga guards — Specialists like ourselves —”
«What!» Dozo scrambled to his feet, seriously annoyed. «You compare us with the tortuga guards? Do you know what they are, El Tigre? Have you ever actually seen them, yourself?»
«Of course I have. They’re Specialists. All Specialists are brothers. We are all human beings of the Third Species, the Children of Mordecai.»
«They’re crocodiles, for God’s sake,” snapped Dozo. «They have crocodile genes in their make-up and by God, it shows. They’re untrustworthy, stupid and vicious. They lie instinctively. If you’re calling this meeting on the word of a crocodile, then I suggest you save your breath. Me, I’ve heard enough.»
Saying this, he lumbered out of the door and into the night. He left a silence behind him. His abrupt departure had had far more effect than any of his usual sly asides.
«Was it really the crocodiles who told your informant, El Tigre?» asked the tall, stooping Diferir.
El Tigre spoke with barely-suppressed rage. «They are not crocodiles. They are cai‑men. It is contrary to the Examples to refer to human beings by animal names. It is as bad,” he said slowly, «as calling us jaguars.»
«But that’s exactly what they call you ,” murmured Manoso, the tricky one. «El Tigre. The jaguar.»