Again, Alpha Centauri A was setting, though at this time of year Alpha Centauri B rose early, filling the sky with wondrous purple light, silver-cored. Two watchers took their ease on the scarp of the Hohe Kalkstein, admiring the splendour of evening as their system's twin star cleared the horizon in its diamond-brilliant glory, offset by the ruby point of Proxima. There were satellites in the near sky, and the frequent sliding and flash of meteors: the wonder-filled evening of Wunderland. Before them, the escarpment swept down into a great plain, with a view of distant mesas to the south-east and a few far scattered lights. From certain cave mouths in the cliffs below them flying creatures issued into the twilight—great leather-flappers, species of mynocks, and little flittermyce in clouds like smoke.
Nils Rykermann, Professor of Field Biology at Munchen University, lay back on a portable couch, punching a notebook's keys in a leisurely manner. His colleague and pupil Vaemar, sometimes known as Vaemar-Riit, Master of Arts and Science, doctoral student in several disciplines and son of the late Planetary Governor Chuut-Riit, recent injuries at his neck and shoulders sutured, disinfected and dressed, reclined on another.
"I think we've done all we can for the moment," Rykermann remarked. "Back to the city tomorrow." He had recently taken to smoking Wunderland chew-bacca and now he looked into his pipe's glowing bowl as an aid to thought. The pipe, an intricately-worked thing of wood and metal, was a gift from his pupil, who did not himself smoke.
"I suppose it has to be." Vaemar lashed his tail meditatively. "I enjoy the High Limestone."
"Even with your Morlock bites?"
"Yes. Stupid creatures to attack me at odds of only eight to one. And it's a few more ears for my trophy-belt. Honored Step-Sire Raargh will bawl me out about the scars but he'll approve none-too-secretly. So will Karan. And young Step-Siblings will admire. And Orlando."
"Raargh's got plenty of scars himself, and a lot of them from the same creatures," said Rykermann. "I got some with him. Anyway, it looks as if we won't have to breed a new Morlock population in test-tubes. We know now that they're living and breeding in the deep caves all by themselves. Lots of them, it seems. We'll have to improve security for our expeditions, though. And you've got other work to do."
"Yes, I'm afraid I tend to let my enthusiasm for field-trips bias me too much towards my biological studies."
"I'd noticed. But as the greeting goes, The Kzin is a Mighty Hunter. I don't want to discourage you. And your other grades and projects leave nothing to be desired. The physics, mathematics and history prizes were a good trio. And up here the formations grow well. You positioned the Sinclair Fields and the pumps cleverly."
The two were silent again for a time, contemplating the night and the majestic view. Vaemar pointed. "Visitors," he said.
Rykermann squinted in the direction of Vaemar's extended claw. A few moments later his eyes too made out the lights of an approaching car. Vaemar gave a churr of delight as it landed and his old friend and chess partner, Colonel Michael Cumpston, alighted.
Cumpston greeted them briefly, giving Vaemar a scratch under the chin in response to his grooming lick, but in a half-crouching position: in the past Vaemar's enthusiastic welcome had knocked him over more than once.
"I've got a message from Arthur Guthlac," he told Rykermann. "He would take it as a personal favor if you could meet him at your first convenience." He paused and went on in a different tone. "Early's involved."
"Why didn't Arthur just send me an e-mail? We're seeing him in a few days anyway, aren't we?"
"This isn't social, I'm afraid. Security," said Cumpston.
"Why couldn't he come himself?"
"Give him a break! He's been working round the clock trying to get his desk cleared before the big event. There's some secret business."
"What?"
"As I said, secret. He didn't confide in a humble colonel. Anyway, you're wanted back at the ranch. Now."
"I'm not a soldier any more. He can't order me round. In fact, since I'm a Member of Parliament, it could be a breach of Parliamentary privilege to do so."
"Nils, Arthur may be a friend of ours, but don't mess with Early. You know better."
"I thought he'd left Wunderland. That Montferrat-Palme or someone had put pressure on him to go—to get out of the system."
"He went—physically. Some have said it would be better if he was still under our noses."
"We're just about finished here for the time being, anyway," Rykermann said. "Vaemar can take charge of packing things up."
Cumpston nodded. Though he kept his expression blank, the former exterminationist's friendship for and trust in the young kzin pleased and amused him. "Another thing. Arthur says you should upgrade your security. He was vague about the details, but I gather there have been a few . . . problems in this area."
"I suppose we have let things get a bit lax." There were farms and hamlets dotted about the fertile tableland beyond the great escarpment and things seemed very peaceful.
They were silent for a moment. Then Cumpston stretched his arms and cracked his knuckles in a leisurely way. It had the effect of showing him the instruments on the forearm of his jacket.
"Don't look now," he said slowly, making an gesture that took in a heap of boulders to his left, and raising his hand to pinch his lower lip, "but I am getting a signal from the motion detector from behind that rock-pile. Something quite large and bipedal. The high probability is human."
Rykermann nodded thoughtfully, as if agreeing with the point Cumpston had made. He did not have a laser-ring like the ARM officer, but the ring on the hand that brushed his thigh activated his pistol. Vaemar yawned and also stretched, a feline's extravagant stretch that arched his back and dug his claws into the ground. He pulled up one forearm and then the other, in a lazy, breadmaking gesture. Then he leapt over the rock.
There was a human scream, and an angry spitting from Vaemar. He reappeared holding a human child or adolescent. Thrust into his belt was a gun it had evidently been carrying.
"Feral," he said, though the clothes it was wearing made it obvious. "And clever. Look at this." His hand with retracted claws touched his captive's cheek with surprising gentleness. "Rarctha fat. That's why I didn't smell him. No weapons."
"Who are you?" asked Rykermann. The youngster struggled and spat.
"Not a Wabbit," said Cumpstom. The Wascal Wabbits were the most sociopathic gang of ferals on Liberated Wunderland. Their facial tattoos were easy identifiers.
"Turn him round," said Guthlac, though the young feral's sex was not in fact obvious. With a single practiced movement he brought a tranquilizer-gun from his belt and fired a Teflon dart into its shoulder. The feral went limp.
"They don't hunt alone," said Cumpston, as the feral was put into his car.
"I know," said Guthlac.
"A gang of them, armed, can be a real danger," said Cumpston. "I'll report to security, of course, and get some proper people out here after them, but in the meantime, it wouldn't be a good idea for any of your students to be wandering about unsupervised or unarmed."
"Not all my students are helpless," said Rykermann. "And none of us are ever quite unarmed. All the same, I don't want anyone using weapons on children. I hope we have the resources to bring them all in soon."
"That's up to you. You're the politician," said Cumpston. "But as I say, I gather Arthur's had . . . reports. Disappearances. Within a few miles of here. Maybe this lot are to blame." He turned to Vaemar. "Don't leave your students here alone. I'd suggest, if I may, that you call them up now. Get them back to town as soon as you can."