Judgment Day (55 page)

Then Mark came from the woods, rifle at his shoulder, pointed at the struggling animals, looking for a clear shot. Finding none, Mark held his fire, calling for Max to break away. Max was in it to the death, however, which came suddenly. The predator broke free and tried to run but one leg was crippled and it stumbled. Max was on the escaping animal instantly, jaws clamping on its neck, the snap of the vertebrae heard above Max's snarls.

While Max repeatedly shook his dead trophy, Christy ran to Squeaky, who lay whimpering in the grass, bleeding profusely. One leg hung limp, bloody slashes all along her sides. Mark knelt next to her.

"We've got to stop the bleeding," she said.

"It's no use, Christy."

"We can stop the bleeding and get her to a veterinarian."

"Even if she lived that long there's nothing a vet could do."

"She saved me, Mark."

"I know. Dogs are one of the best helpmates God provides us, Christy.

There was never any question of coming to America without them."

Irritated by his sermon, Christy said, "She's not just a used-up part ready to be thrown away, Mark."

"I know. Squeaky was a good dog."

"Can't we do something?"

"We can stop her stiffering."

Mark stood with his rifle. Christy wanted desperately to think of another solution, knowing there was none. Stroking Squeaky's head, she repeated over and over, "Good dog, Squeaky. Good dog." Still whimpering, the dog quieted, those simple words the best reward a dog could hope for. With a last stroke of the head, Christy walked away, startled by the rifle shot even knowing it was coming.

At the shot, Max came bounding through the grass, ready for trouble, jaws still red with blood. Prancing in a wide circle he searched and sniffed. Finding no danger he followed his nose to Squeaky, sniffing at her body, nudging her. After several tries he walked away and settled into the grass, licking his wounds.

Christy followed Mark to the carcass of the creature. Unlike other animals she had seen on the planet, this one resembled nothing on Earth. The shimmery skin looked slick, but like a snake was dry to the touch. The claws were three inches long, on both front and rear paws, an even row of fangs lined the upper and lower jaw.

"It changed color," Christy said. "It was reddish brown when it was against the bark, but was green when it came through the grass."

"Like a chameleon," Mark said.

"It changed faster than that," Christy said. "It was very hard to see it."

"I've never seen one of these," Mark admitted. "You were the first to see the lake, and the first to see this."

At Christy's request, Mark gathered rocks, covering Squeaky, then they left the lake, calling to Max. The big dog bounded through the grass, tongue lolling, as enthusiastic as ever, seemingly unaware of its fight for life a few minutes before, or of its fallen comrade. Christy envied the shallowness of its memory. When they reached the animal trail, Mark took her hand.

"I wanted today to be special, Christy. I wanted you and the others to feel what it's like to be an explorer. There's no feeling like being the first to see something, the first to understand something."

"I felt it, Mark," she said. "It was special to me."

"God meant for us to explore, Christy, to push outward. There is no boundary for the Christian—not physical or spiritual."

On another day she might have argued with him, pointing out that pushing outward often meant running over others—ask the Native Americans.

"You get to name the lake, Christy. It's your right as discoverer."

"Can we call it 'Squeaky's Lake'?"

"Sure," Mark said. "On Saturday night I'll have you tell Squeaky's story in the dining hall. It will become part of the history of this land and generations will know about you, Squeaky, and Max, and what happened here."

"I'm not good at telling stories."

"You'll tell it with feeling. That's what makes a good story." After a few yards he said, "You should name the animal that killed her too."

"Shouldn't it be named according to some sort of taxonomy?"

"We haven't had much time for working out genus and species. Just give it a common name,- let the scientists give it an unpronounceable name later."

A good name would inform, she thought. It would tell those who heard the name something about the animal and what to look for.

"Call it a 'leaper,' " she said.

When they rejoined the others, they immediately wanted to know what happened. Max was still bloody and Junior asked about Squeaky right off. The others sobered as Mark told them what happened, calling the creature a leaper as he told the story. All of them expressed concern for Christy, and remorse over Squeaky's death—except Meaghan who said, "Maybe if you'd given her the rifle it wouldn't have happened."

Mark reddened but Christy quickly stepped in, pointing out she had never fired a gun in her life. Roland took her side, pointing out that he'd had no problem getting to his hot springs and back, and there was no reason to believe Christy would either.

"What did you name it?" Christy asked to defuse the tension.

"Symes Springs," Roland said. "I liked the alliteration."

"What about you, Meaghan?" Christy asked. "What did you see and what did you name it?"

"I refused to participate in the exploitation of this planet," she said.

"We think there's a waterfall back there," Junior explained.

"You should have gone," Roland said. "You could have named it Feminist Falls."

Mark snickered, while Meaghan stomped off.

"Feminist Falls," Mark said. "You know, I bet that sticks."

"Why are you so excited?" Roland asked.

"Oh, Micah's safe return, of course," Mark said.

It was more than that, Christy knew, but they were entitled to their secrets, and even Roland didn't pursue it. Micah's return meant they would have to move. Shelly and Micah needed privacy and there was precious little with three children. Guests made the small living space intolerable.

They were packing to leave when they heard the sound of a shuttle landing. Junior opened the door and ran out with Judith. A minute later he came back with Ira Breitling, black eye patch and all. He was as severe-looking as ever, shaking hands with Micah, but not smiling. Christy hadn't seen or heard of him since they had arrived on planet America. They were told only that Ira was at "the lab." Then Judith came in, leading a little boy—three-year-old Luke Majors Breitling.

His eyes were black, his hair dark, his skin pale. He was a thin boy, bright-looking, eyes busy, taking in everyone and everything. He stayed with Judith, letting her mother him as if she did it often. Christy studied him, seeing his mother in his features, but not Ira. Ira came to her and shook her hand.

"Thanks for what you did for Ruth," Ira said.

"I wish I could have done more," Christy said.

Then Ira left with Mark, Micah, and Floyd, walking outside to stand by the shuttle and talk. Micah did most of the talking, his hands waving around excitedly. The others enjoyed the spectacle, even Ira managing a slight grin.

They used the shuttle to fly her and Meaghan to town, where they moved into an empty dormitory ready for new arrivals. They took bottom bunks in opposite corners, privacy being a rare commodity. Christy took the opportunity to shower and wash her things, hanging them in the bathroom to dry.

With time before dinner, she took a walk, tossing scraps to a couple of dogs so they would follow her. She walked toward the lake, keeping well away from the forest that ringed the clearing. Clouds were moving in, the temperature dropping. Too nervous to wander far, she was about to turn back when she saw a dog come out of the woods followed by two people who turned toward town. It was Tobias and Daniel and they were talking like old friends, Daniel laughing occasionally at comments Tobias made. Shelly had never seen Tobias in a jocular mood. After five months of living together on the voyage to planet America, Tobias had not become that close to anyone. Now here he was looking like Daniel's best friend.

Tobias and Daniel spotted her and suddenly the laughing stopped, the pair disappearing into the woods. The dinner bell rang and she turned toward the dining hall, worrying about the company Daniel was keeping.

Roland was at a table in the corner, pushing lamb stew around on his plate, trying to identify one of the local vegetables.

"It's called yellow stuff," Christy said, sitting opposite him. "Seriously. I asked the server what it was called and she said, 'Yellow stuff.'"

"It tastes like hominy," he said. Turning serious he said, "How are you doing? You had a terrible experience today."

"It turned out that way, but until that leaper attacked, it was one of the best days of my life."

"In what way?"

Embarrassed, she said, "I enjoyed being the first to see that lake. I felt like Columbus."

"A poor choice to compare yourself to," he said. "He discovered land that was already inhabited."

"But this place isn't like that. There are no Native Americans here."

"That's not what Tobias says. He's got evidence there are sentient beings on America."

"What?" Christy had never heard this from Tobias.

"They live in the equatorial region, but the Fellowship won't take us there."

"I could ask," Christy offered.

"Would you? They might do it for you."

Christy doubted Mark would have hidden the existence of an intelligent species, but knew the fact-finders wouldn't be satisfied until they had seen for themselves. Changing the subject she asked, "Didn't you enjoy discovering your hot springs?"

"Sure, but I'm not counting on it being called Symes Springs any longer than my stay here."

"Mark meant it when he said we had the right to name them."

"I think it will be Squeaky's Lake forever, Christy, because you named it. You're their kind of people."

"And you're not because you're African-American?"

"There's not a whole lot of color in this community, or hadn't you noticed?"

"They brought Grandma Jones and her people."

"And Grandma was smart to keep her people away from the Fellowship."

Christy preferred diversity to the homogenous community of the Fellowship, but knew—perhaps hoped—it wasn't racism that kept it mostly white. It was a commitment to a style of worship and cultural preferences.

"Are you going to stay, Christy?" Roland asked, buttering his corn bread.

"What? Here?"

"It's an open secret that Mark wants you to stay."

"He hasn't asked me."

"Will you stay if he does?"

Christy stirred her stew, sipped her coffee, thinking.

"It's a good life," she said. "I like the simplicity of the work and the food.

The problems here are basic; problems of survival—resolvable problems. I sleep better at night. Everything is new here, fresh, unspoiled. I could enjoy shaping the direction of this culture."

"I see," Roland said, then went back to eating.

"I take it you see it differently."

"I do," he said. "I see a racist society sprouting on this world. Dogmatic, rigid, fundamentalist, they and their ideas will spread across the planet. They'll cut down the forests, strip mine for ore, pollute the atmosphere until they lose the ozone layer around this planet too. If they're not stopped they'll do the same to planet after planet." Then after a pause he added, "They'll overrun Grandma Jones's enclave eventually. If she and her people are lucky their land will be set aside as a reservation, if they're not lucky slavery will be reintroduced."

"Slavery? You can't be serious."

"It will happen," Roland said. "History foretells it. Could you be a part of that kind of society, Christy?"

"It won't be that kind of society."

"Maybe so, Christy. Maybe."

They ate in silence after that, Christy considering her answer before Mark asked the question.

The fact-finders were invited to the ceremony that would unite Mitchell Wilson and Karla Kincaid. Only Tobias Stoop refused to attend. Mark Shepherd performed the ceremony, the music and vows traditional. After Mark pronounced the couple Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, he instructed the groom to kiss the bride. The church was packed with friends and family who cheered loudly at the newly wed kiss. Then the teenage couple left the church, pelted with a local grain, rice being in short supply. The weather was good and the reception was held outdoors. After the receiving line greeted every guest, the newlyweds were surrounded by other couples waiting their turn to be married. The brides-to-be were half of Christy's age, and in Christy's judgment too young to be married.

Meaghan Slater was irritated by paternalistic traditions that filled the ceremony and vows. After filling a plate from the buffet table, she stormed off to eat alone. Roland and Charlie Peng circulated, Roland asking questions, taking notes. After the cake had been cut, the bride and groom disappeared to prepare for the honeymoon. Mark found Christy then, inviting her to go along on the honeymoon. Mark laughed at her confusion, promising that he would explain on the way.