And the brilliant flash of his antiarmor laser caught the spine leopard in the head... and this time the destruction was more than adequate.
Carefully Jonny got to his feet, wincing at the fresh bruises the battle had given him. His ankle felt warmer than it should have after only a single shot from the antiarmor laser—a heat-sensitization, he'd long suspected, due largely to his overuse of the weapon during the Tyler Mansion escape.
Even on Aventine, it seemed, he couldn't entirely escape the aftereffects of the war.
Taking one last look around him, he pulled out his phone and punched for the operator. "Ariel," the computer's voice said.
"Chin Reston," Jonny told it. A moment later the farmer's voice came on. "Reston here."
"Jonny Moreau, Chin. I got your spine leopard. I hope you didn't want it stuffed—I had to burn its head off."
"Hell with the head. Are you okay?"
Jonny smiled. "You worry too much—you know that? I'm fine; it never laid a spine on me. If you want, I'll put a beacon on it and you can come get the pelt whenever you want."
"Sounds good. Thanks a lot, Jonny—I really appreciate it."
"No charge. Talk to you later." Pressing the off switch, Jonny again punched for the operator. "Kennet MacDonald," he told the computer.
There was a moment of silence. "No answer," the operator informed him.
Jonny frowned. Like all Cobras on Aventine, MacDonald was supposed to carry his phone with him at all times. He was probably out in the forest or somewhere equally dangerous and didn't want to be distracted. "Record a message."
"Recording."
"Ken, this is Jonny Moreau. Call me as soon as you get a chance—preferably before this evening."
Switching off, Jonny returned the phone to his belt and unfastened one of the two tiny transponders from the underside of his emergency pouch. A flick of a switch set it in "operate" mode; stepping over the dead spine leopard, he dropped the device on its flank. For a moment he looked down at the creature, his eyes drawn to the foreleg spines. Aventine's biologists were unanimous in the opinion that the spines' placement and range of angles made them defensive rather than offensive weapons. The only problem was that no one had ever found any creature on the planet that a spine leopard might need such weapons to outfight. Personally, Jonny had no desire to be around when the first of that unknown species was discovered.
Reactivating his sensory enhancers, he began working his way back out of the forest.
MacDonald's call came in late in the afternoon, just as Jonny was looking over his pantry and trying to decide what to have for dinner.
"Sorry about the delay," MacDonald apologized after identifying himself. "I was out in the forest near the river most of the day with my phone turned off."
"No problem," Jonny assured him. "Spine leopard hunting?"
"Yeah. Got one, too."
"Likewise. Must be another migration; they don't usually find the territories we've cleared out quite this fast. We're probably going to be busy for a while."
"Well, things were getting dull, anyway. What's on your mind?"
Jonny hesitated. There could be a good reason why Challinor didn't want any word of his meeting going out on the airwaves. "Did you get any unusual messages today?" he asked obliquely.
"Matter of fact, I did. You want to get together and talk about it? Wait a second—Chrys's trying to get my attention." A voice spoke unintelligibly in the background. "Chrys says you should join us for dinner in about half an hour, at her place."
"Sorry, but I've already got my own started," Jonny lied. "Why don't I come over when I've finished eating?"
"Okay," MacDonald said. "About seven, say? Afterward, maybe we can all go for a drive together."
Challinor's meeting was scheduled for seven-thirty. "Sounds good," Jonny agreed. "See you at seven."
Replacing his phone, Jonny grabbed a package at random from the pantry and took it over to the microwave. He would have liked to have joined the others for dinner—MacDonald and Chrys Eldjarn were two of his favorite people—and if Chrys's father hadn't been out of town doing emergency surgery, he would have jumped at the invitation. But Chrys and MacDonald were a pretty steady couple, and they got little enough time to be alone together as it was. With only two Cobras to guard Ariel's four hundred sixty colonists from both Aventine's fauna and, occasionally, each other, spare time was at a premium.
Besides which, he thought wryly, spending more time in range of Chrys's smile would only tempt him to try and steal her away from MacDonald again, and there was no point in making trouble for himself like that. Their friendship was too valuable to him to risk messing it up.
He had a—for him—leisurely dinner and arrived at the Eldjarn's home at seven o'clock sharp. Chrys let him in, treating him to one of her dazzling smiles, and led the way to the living room, where MacDonald waited on the couch.
"You missed a great dinner," MacDonald greeted him, waving him to a chair.
"I'm sure you made up for my absence," Jonny said blandly. Half a head taller than Jonny and a good deal burlier, MacDonald had an ability to put food away that was known all through the district.
"I tried. Let's see your note."
Digging it out, Jonny handed it over. MacDonald scanned it briefly, then passed it to Chrys, who had curled up on the couch beside him. "Identical to mine," he told Jonny. "Any idea what it's all about?"
Jonny shook his head. "The Dewdrop's been out surveying the nearest system for the past couple of months. Do you suppose they found something interesting?"
" 'Interesting' as in 'dangerous'?" Chrys asked quietly.
"Possibly," MacDonald told her, "especially if this news is really only for Cobras. But I doubt it," he said, addressing Jonny. "If this were a war council or something we should all be meeting at Capitalia, not Thanksgiving."
"Unless they're passing the news out piecemeal, to the individual villages," Jonny suggested. "But that again drops it out of the 'emergency' category. Incidentally, who brought you the message? Almo Pyre?"
MacDonald nodded. "Seemed awfully formal, too. Called me 'Cee-two MacDonald' about four times."
"Yeah, me too. Has Challinor instituted the old rank system over there, or something?"
"Don't know—I haven't been to Thanksgiving for weeks." MacDonald glanced at his watch. "I suppose it's time to remedy that deficiency, eh? Let's go see what Challinor wants."
"Come back after it's over and tell me what happened," Chrys said as they all stood up.
"It could be late before we get back," MacDonald warned as he kissed her good-bye.
"That's okay—Dad's coming home late, too, so I'll be up."
"All right. Car's out back, Jonny."
Thanksgiving was a good twenty kilometers east-northeast of Ariel along a dirt-and-vegebarrier road that was, so far, the norm in the newer areas of the human beachhead on Aventine. MacDonald drove, guiding the car skillfully around the worst of the potholes while avoiding the occasional tree branch reaching out from the thick forest on either side.
"One of these days a spine leopard's going to jump a car from one of those overhangs and get the surprise of his life," MacDonald commented.