Game Over

Chapter 13





THE BIRD-CAT DOVE amid the hulking reef of refinery towers, pipes, valves, hoses, tanks, and heat exchangers, searching for a place to hide, a spot to get its light-filled heart back under control.

Mahlerian bird-cats are unique in all of nature for having, deep inside their chests, an organ that basically functions on the principle of nuclear fusion. In other words, with the same intense energy that fires the sun.

It takes place on a more modest scale, of course, and with a few mere atoms at work, rather than the billions of tons of matter that make up a star. And the power source never fails, except when the animal—through illness, stress, injury, or other trauma—loses control of the self-sustaining life force.

You see, when a fusion reaction escalates past containment, there’s an explosion—an explosion that, though on a smaller scale, is still of the sort that occurs when you set off a hydrogen bomb. What could happen next was a big reason Mahlerian bird-cats had the intergalactic renown they did.

The bird-cat dove down, deep into the bowels of the refinery, into a dense forest of carbon-cracking tubes safely hidden from any sky-or ground-traveling passersby who might still be searching for it.

Could it have finally given the slip to its pursuers?

Unfortunately, not one, but seven other alien safari hunters—card-carrying, paying members of Number 7 and Number 8’s exclusive Hunt Club—were tracking the microfiber transponder that had been implanted in the bird-cat’s rear leg, and were even now converging on the refinery. And the safari hunters weren’t merely concerned with hunting down the bird-cat; they also wanted to beat each other to the kill.

The first two hunters on the scene saw a third streaking ahead of them in an unauthorized skycar. It was a flagrant violation of Hunt Club rules to use nonnative transportation, so they didn’t hesitate to atomize both skycar and cheating hunter.

The explosion attracted the attention of the four other hunters, who aimed and fired at the two who had first used their weapons. In a matter of seconds, an all-out alien war was taking place on the grounds of the refinery.

The bird-cat heard the explosion too—and then more weapon fire and shouting—and quickly fled east toward the Pacific Ocean. Perhaps its relentless pursuers would have trouble tracking it to the depths of the Mariana Trench.

But even as it readied itself to bound over the barbed-wire top of the chain-link fence and into the inky harbor beyond, two humanoid figures leaning against the hood of a limousine simultaneously fired high-intensity microwave ray guns.

Because microwaves travel at the speed of light, there was no escape this time. The rays converged, instantly incinerating the bird-cat, and thereby releasing all the raw galvanic energy the creature contained. A blue-white blast about thirty yards in diameter seared the eyes of anybody foolish enough to have been looking that way. A split second later, the entire refinery exploded in a mushroom cloud of superheated petrochemicals.

“That was unfortunate,” said Number 7 to Number 8, referring more to the loss of the priceless quarry than to the incineration of a handful of their high-paying club members. There were always more clients.

“But it had to be done,” replied Number 8 as they stashed their microwave ray guns in the trunk of the limo. “We can’t leave evidence around for the humans—or our Alien Hunter friend—just now.”

“So true, my dear,” said Number 7, getting behind the wheel and driving the limousine back toward Tokyo. “Surprise, after all, is the most crucial element in our plan.”

“Still, Colin,” said Number 8, “one can’t help but be saddened at being denied the chance to sample Mahlerian bird-cat kebabs.”

“I hear they don’t need much hot sauce, Ellie,” he replied, and they both broke out laughing.