Turning Point Page 3

  Elise. Funny, thinking of her twin didn’t trigger off the waves of panic like last time. In a detached way she searched inside her mind in that place where Elise had been, and found ... something. What, she wasn’t sure, but something, or someone, was there.

  A noise from outside diverted her, and she turned her head toward the window.

  She had to get up. There was something she had to do if only she could remember what it was: if only the drug wasn’t clouding her thinking. The drug. She had to fight it and force herself to get up.

  With an effort, she pushed back the bedclothes and struggled to swing her legs round and over the bed. Thank God she was wearing her pajamas! All she needed to do was pull on her coat, then she could go outside.

  She struggled to her feet, forcing her mind to push back the woolly confusion caused by the remnants of the sedative still in her system.

  Her slippers were under the bed. They weren’t suitable for wearing outside, but at least they covered her bare feet. With each step she took, she found herself able to think more clearly and movement became a fraction easier. From her wardrobe she pulled out the first coat that came to hand and wrestled into it, the effort and pain causing her to swear profusely. Several times she thought of giving up and going back to bed, but the compulsion to go outside was getting stronger and her curiosity, if nothing else, would not let her give in.

  Mercifully, the kitchen was empty. Meg must be in the taproom, she thought, picking her way carefully round the large rectangular wooden table. The smell of cooking filled the air and she heard her stomach rumble in appreciation. She was starving!

  She hesitated, torn between the desire for a bowl of the broth she could smell cooking, and the knowledge she should go into the back garden. The compulsion intensified again, and she felt herself resolutely pulled toward the door.

  As she opened it, the cold air hit her like a physical blow. The snow was at least a foot thick. Again she hesitated, realizing how silly it was in her condition to want to go outside in a foot of snow clad only in her pajamas and slippers. Then a patch of black, partially concealed by winter greens, drew her attention.

  She stepped out, oblivious now to the cold and the snow, intent only on reaching what lay there. That was what she wanted!

  “It’s moving!” she said disbelievingly as she floundered toward it, her aches forgotten in her desperate need to reach the creature.

  She knelt down in the snow beside it, stretching out a tentative hand.

  As the amber eyes opened, she missed the brief flare of awareness in her mind.

  “You’re a cat,” she said, disbelievingly. “A forest cat!” She touched him, her vision blurring momentarily. She shook her head to clear it.

  “You’re hurt,” she said, leaning forward to touch his injured flank. The back leg was badly swollen, the wound covered with dried blood.

  “Carrie, don’t move,” said her brother’s quiet voice from behind her. “I’ve got the gun trained on him. Just get very slowly to your feet.”

  Carrie looked over her shoulder then flung herself across the cat’s body.

  “Leave him alone,” she said, her voice still hoarse. “I want him. He’s hurt and needs help.”

  “Carrie, he’s a wild animal,” said Richard. “He could attack you at any moment. Move aside.”

  “No. He’s mine, I want him. Get Jack Reynolds. He’s hurt, he needs our help.”

  “Carrie, for God’s sake, be reasonable! He’s a dangerous wild animal. Get out of the way!”

  Carrie looked up at him, eyes glaring. “You’re not killing him, Richard. Fetch Jack, or help me take him indoors unless you want me to spend the rest of the day out here in the snow.”

  Amber eyes flicked open again, a mute appeal visible in their depths.

  Richard lowered his gun. “Carrie!”

  “Carry him in for me, Richard,” his sister pleaded, clinging more tightly to the animal’s neck. “He hasn’t made a move or a sound that could be seen as violent.”

  Richard slung the gun over his shoulder and moved closer, looking down at the creature.

  “He’s huge, Carrie, almost as large as me. We don’t know anything about these creatures. Even the guerrillas, who see them fairly often in the forest, know very little.”

  “They’ve never said they’re vicious, have they? Only that they avoid people. Please help me take him in. He’ll die out here, and Jack has always wanted to study one of them. It’s not as if he’s even a real threat in this condition, is it?”

  “I don’t know, Carrie,” her brother said, scratching his bearded chin thoughtfully. “Dad won’t like it. The animal’s large, powerful, and wild. These cats are predators and likely to be vicious. It isn’t as if it was a kitten you could raise to be tame.”

  Carrie ignored the worried look on his face and pulled gently at his trouser leg.

  “Come on, skinny,” she urged. “I’ll handle Dad. You just get my cat into the kitchen, then fetch Jack Reynolds. He’ll know what to do.”

  Her brother sighed.

  “Well, move over. I can’t do anything with you wrapped around him like a blanket, can I?”

  Carrie moved back and her brother hefted the injured animal into his arms and headed toward the kitchen door.

  “And, Richard, please hurry,” she added, steering him through the doorway and over to the table. She swept the various cutlery and dishes aside for him. “I’m sure he must be in a great deal of pain.”

  “We don’t know these animals well enough to treat them with any success, Carrie,” Richard warned, setting the cat down gently on the table. He hesitated. “I don’t like leaving you alone with him. What happens if he goes for you?”

  “He won’t,” said Carrie confidently as she ruffled the creature’s ears.

  Richard looked down at him for a moment. His sides moved rapidly with shallow breathing, his ribs stood out against the tautly stretched fur. The eyes were closed now, and from between his teeth Richard could see the tip of a pale pink tongue. Unless he had help, very shortly, this cat would be dead.

  “I’m going,” he said, heading back outside.

  Fetching hot water and disinfectant, Carrie busied herself with cleaning Kusac’s wound, her own forgotten.

  “Carrie! What on earth are you doing down here, and with your coat on? You shouldn’t even be out of ... oh, my God!”

  “It’s all right,” said Carrie, turning round to look at Meg.

  “He’s hurt, and he isn’t dangerous. Richard’s gone for Jack.”

  “I don’t care! Get it out of my kitchen!” Meg said, her voice rising hysterically.

  “No,” Carrie said doggedly. “He stays. Don’t worry, it’ll be all right, you’ll see.” She turned her attention back to her inexpert swabbing.

  “Get him out of my kitchen,” repeated Meg, her voice rising a couple of octaves.

  “It isn’t your kitchen, Meg,” Carrie replied quietly, a portion of her mind taken aback at her newfound determination.

  A buzzer sounded, its insistent tone ignored by both women.

  “What did you say?”

  The silence lengthened till Carrie broke it. “I think that’s the taproom. Hadn’t you better see who it is?”

  The door closed too quietly behind her as Meg left.

  Carrie sluiced her cloth so energetically that water splashed everywhere. Damn! Why had she spoken to Meg like that? Since they’d landed on Keiss, Meg, also bereaved by the same malfunction which had killed their mother, had lived with them more as a loved aunt than a housekeeper. She hadn’t deserved that comment.

  I’ve got to save him, though, she thought. I don’t know why, but he’s important.

  She went back to cleaning the wound, finding it soothing to do something that required no thought.

  She had just about finished when her brother returned with the town’s medical expert.

  “Morning, Carrie,” Jack said, stamping the snow off his boots. “I hear you’ve got an i
nteresting patient for me.” He gave her a calculating glance as he took off his parka and gloves, handing them to Richard before moving over to examine her.

  Jack was a short man, almost on the tubby side, with a thatch of thick gray-brown hair crowning a face resembling that of a middle-aged faun.

  “I must admit I didn’t expect to find you awake yet, let alone running a rescue mission,” he said, taking her by the wrist to check her pulse. “But then, what should I expect of someone with your recuperative powers? Trying to sedate you is like felling an elephant, and you still manage to come round far too soon! How do you feel?”

  “Fine,” she said absently, her attention obviously not on him.

  “I’ll check your hands before I leave, my dear. You’ve got the bandages soaking wet.”

  He turned to look at the form draped across the table.

  “A forest cat, eh? I’ve never had the chance to examine one of these beasties before. Isn’t he a darker color than usual?” His brown eyes twinkled briefly at her before he bent his head and began examining Kusac thoroughly.

  “They come in all colors,” replied Carrie, clumsily trying to move her bowls and cloths out of his way. “Sorry to bother you, Jack, but he needed help.”

  “No bother at all,” he replied, “provided that you return to bed after I’ve finished. I suppose asking you to go now is out of the question?”

  Carrie ignored his sarcasm. “Can you help him, Jack? I think he might have a fever, too. He’s panting and he feels very warm.”

  “We should be able to do something for him,” Jack said, probing the livid wound gently with his fingers. “I’ll have to lance that gash though. The poisoning is certainly causing the fever. Pass me over some of that hot water and I’ll get started.”

  Two hours later, Carrie sat looking down at Kusac, waiting for him to come round. Jack had not wanted to risk an anesthetic of any kind, but luckily their patient had solved the problem by drifting off into unconsciousness.

  The injury had been quite deep and there had been a small piece of metal embedded in it. Jack had cleaned the wound thoroughly, but left it open to the air.

  “If he’s like Terrestrial cats, when he’s feeling better, he’ll want to lick the wound himself. Frankly, that’s the best thing he could do,” said Jack, preparing a syringe. “I’m giving him a hefty dose of antibiotics to help break the fever, but there’s a risk that the drugs might react unfavorably with his metabolism. However, in his present weakened condition, we don’t have a choice. If I don’t try something, he’ll die.”

  “He’ll live,” Carrie said confidently. “He’s fought the poison this long, he won’t give up now. He’s too much of a fighter. I have a feeling he won’t want to lick the wound, though.”

  “Another one of your intuitions?” Jack asked as he busied himself taking blood and tissue samples from his patient.

  “Now don’t get upset,” he added hurriedly, catching her frown. “I’m not doubting you. You’ve got a way with the animals on Keiss. You really are wasted here at the Inn, you know. You’d make a grand assistant for me when I go on one of my field trips. If you want, I’ll have another try at asking your father to let you come with me when you’re better.”

  Carrie sighed. “I think we’ll be out of luck, Jack. Father seems to think women are more suited to the domestic role than anything intellectual.”

  “We can but try,” he said, packing his samples away and going over to the sink to wash his hands.

  “Ah, the luxury of hot running water,” he sighed, letting the water course over his hands for a moment or two. “Half my problems in Valleytown would be solved if every house had an adequate supply of hot and cold water,” he said, drying his hands and returning to the table. “I wonder if we’ll ever have anything more than a subsistence level of existence.”

  “We will, if we can get rid of the Valtegans and if our second wave ship arrives safely,” said Carrie angrily, tears springing to her eyes. “And if Father actually helped the guerrillas, rather than ...”

  “Hush, Carrie,” said Jack, enveloping her in his arms and hugging her tightly. “Let’s not open that old argument again. Your father does a good job leading the civil disobedience, and that’s risky enough given the Aliens we’re dealing with. Not everyone can pull up roots and hightail it out to the forest to be a rebel, you know. He’s had you and your sister to think of. It’s not so clear-cut when you’ve got a family.”

  “Oh, Jack,” she said, tears running down her face, “why did it have to be Elise? Why did they have to catch her?”

  “That’s it, love.” he said, patting her back awkwardly as she began to cry. “You let it out. Have a good cry, it’ll help.”

  With Jack away tackling her father, and Richard out back trying to rig up something for Kusac to sleep in, Carrie was alone for the moment.

  Exhaustion was beginning to creep up on her. Her ribs had begun to ache as had her hands, but the latter could be due to Jack’s rebandaging them. From the glimpse she’d gotten of them before Jack had firmly blocked her view, it was clear that she’d lost most, if not all, of her fingernails and had a couple of broken fingers as well.

  He’d also insisted on giving her another injection for the pain, despite the fact that she’d assured him she was able to block most of it out. He had never trusted her strange abilities. They weren’t something he could study under his microscope, so he preferred to take no chances and had always treated both her and her sister with conventional medical remedies.

  She flexed her hands, aware of a small amount of pain. Well, she’d certainly never play the violin, not that she had ever wanted to! Feeling cold, she pulled her coat more closely around herself and carefully put her hands in her pockets. She winced as something poked into her injured left hand.

  With difficulty, she caught the object between her fingers and pulled it out. It was the piece of metal that Jack had taken out of the cat’s leg.

  A couple of centimeters long and irregular in shape, it was smooth on one side, dimpled on the other. Where had she seen its like before? Stranger still was how it had come to be in the cat’s leg. They had hardly any refined metals yet on Keiss.

  Their colony ship, the first wave, was mainly agricultural, with only minimal mining and blacksmithing personnel on board. The second wave would have a greater percentage of manufacturing skills among its personnel, the miners, smelters, and so on as well as a reasonable level of technology. The hope had been that their skills would be supported by their predecessors.

  The only metals on the planet this sophisticated either came from the remains of the Terran Mothership which had landed at the site they called Seaport, or from something belonging to the Valtegans.

  A moan from her patient drew her attention back to Kusac. Returning the sliver to her pocket, she leaned forward to stroke his head. He was making the most peculiar noises, almost as if he was trying to talk.

  He became quiet and still, his eyelids flickering open. Carrie found herself staring again into the golden yellow eyes. Almost hypnotically, they held her gaze until voices in the hall broke the spell.

  “It’s exactly what she needs, Peter,” Jack was saying. “Something to occupy her and take her mind off what’s happened. Take my advice and go along with whatever scheme she suggests. If looking after a creature as ill as he is will keep her in her bed, I’d go for it.”

  Carrie grinned slightly. Trust him to find an angle that would appeal to her father. Jack was almost as bad as him, though, the way he always fussed over her—and Elise. Another wave of desperate loss swept through her and tears stung her eyes.

  The door opened and her father came in, followed by Jack and Richard.

  In appearance her father and Richard were alike, but on him the dark beard and mustache—longer and bushier—were beginning to turn brindle. Though the years may have lightened his hair, they had not thickened the lean frame that all his offspring seemed to have inherited.

  “Well, my
girl,” he said, walking over to the table. “Let’s have a look at this latest lame duck of yours.

  “A forest cat? He’s some size, isn’t he? I haven’t seen one as large before.” Her father reached out gingerly to pat the animal. “He isn’t likely to bite, is he?” he asked, his hand poised in midair.

  “No,” replied Carrie, putting a hand possessively on Kusac’s head. “He’s quite friendly.”

  Her father hesitated. “You know he’s too old to tame, Carrie. A mature wild animal won’t take kindly to captivity, nor can they ever be completely trusted.”

  “I know, Dad. I only want to give him a chance for his leg to heal, then I’ll set him free.”

  “Very well. Get Richard to clear some space for him in the barn,” he said, giving Kusac a friendly but cautious pat on the side.

  As he did so, Kusac turned his head to look up at him, licking the man gently on the hand.

  “Well, he seems very friendly,” he said, mollified, before turning to look at his daughter. “What’s wrong?” he asked, seeing her frown.

  “If Kusac sleeps in the barn, the cold could kill him. There’s no way to heat that place,” she objected.

  “You aren’t seriously suggesting we bring a wild animal that size into the house!” her father exclaimed. “He could turn on you without warning. I’m sorry, but I’m not prepared to let you risk our lives. It’s out of the question.”

  “Then I’ll sleep in the barn, too.”

  “You’ll do no such thing! You’re far too badly injured to be anywhere but in bed now. There’s no question of you sleeping in the barn.”

  “If it’s too cold for me, then it’s too cold for Kusac,” Carrie interrupted calmly. “Kusac sleeps with me, either in the house or in the barn, I don’t care which.”

  “For goodness sake, grow up, Carrie! We’re talking about a wild animal, not some orphaned lamb!” Her father’s angry voice filled the room.

  Richard sighed and turned his back on them. He hated rows. Funny, but he’d always seen Elise as the argumentative one. It was unlike Carrie to cross their father like this.

  “How much older do I have to be, Dad?” Carrie asked quietly. “I’m hardly a child now, and I do know what I’m doing.”