Superluminal by Vonda N. McIntyre Page A

alive —”
    “No, you mustn’t!” Radu felt his face and
throat color with embarrassment. If she talked herself into keeping the animal
alive, what business was it of his? Yet he could not stand the thought that the
creature, who should be so magnificent, might be forced to stumble through its
life for another year, or two, or ten, because people wanted to absorb its
uniqueness.
    “I’m sorry,” Radu said.
    “No,” she said. “Don’t be.
You’re right.”
    The tiger stopped breathing. Radu and Kathell both stared at
it. Radu held his breath. All he could hear was the passing of the sea.
    The white tiger shuddered and convulsed, jerking its hind
feet up against its belly. Foam dripped from its mouth. Then its muscles
slackened and it lay motionless. It breathed only intermittently. Kathell did
not move or speak while its life was passing. Radu flinched every time the
creature gasped for one more straining breath. The intervals lengthened.
    The tiger took so long to die that Radu wanted to grab
Kathell and shake her and demand that she call a veterinarian, even a doctor,
to put the animal out of its pain. But finally, just when he thought he could
stand it no longer, Kathell felt for the creature’s pulse. She let her
hand drop; her shoulders slumped.
    “Poor damned thing,” she muttered. Her voice
shook. Her face was nearly in darkness, but tears glistened on her cheeks. Radu
laid his hand over hers in the comforting, asexual way by which one crew member
helped another wake. Kathell stiffened and pulled away. Radu drew back in turn,
a little hurt, but embarrassed, too, feeling that she must have mistaken his
gesture.
    “I’m all right,” she said.
“I’ve known long enough that this had to happen.” She looked
over at him, her movement abrupt. “I shouldn’t have let you
stay,” she said. “I shouldn’t have inflicted this on
you.” She sounded neither regretful nor sad, but angry and frightened.
Laenea had said Kathell never asked anything of anyone, but surely she would
accept sympathy freely given.
    “You’ve shown me only kindness,” he said.
“Staying was little enough for me to do.”
    “I didn’t ask you to do anything!” She got
up and loosened the tent’s heavy satin floor, detaching it from the
walls. Radu got up to help, but she motioned him back.
    “I’d like to help,” he said.
“I’ve taken things from you, it’s only fair —”
    “If you can’t take what I offer without
burdening me with gratitude,” she said, ripping the last corner from its
fastenings, “there’s no need for you to take it at all!”
    She took a vial from her pocket, opened it, and spilled its
contents over the tiger’s body. A thin film of dust dulled its coat.
    “It’s different where I come from,” Radu
said. “We have to depend on each other more.”
    She gathered up a corner of the satin. Radu stepped over the
edge of the floor and found himself ankle deep in crushed bracken.
    “I depend on no one,” Kathell said. “I
never accept gratitude.”
    “You’ll have to excuse an ignorant
barbarian,” Radu said with irritation.
    Kathell flung the thick material around the tiger’s
body.
    “Nor guilt.” Even her tone did not relent.
“I don’t want your gratitude and you have no right to try to make
me feel guilty.” She folded her arms. Head down, she gazed at the
tiger’s shroud.
    Speechless, Radu waited beside her, slightly hunched in the
low tent. He searched for something to say. The temperature began to rise.
    “Come outside,” Kathell said.
    She led him onto the deck, then turned back to face the
tent’s dark interior.
    Sudden intense flames erupted from the shadowed shroud,
spilling down its sides like liquid. The bracken ignited, burning with a dry,
harsh crackle. Radu stepped back from the heat, but Kathell did not move. Smoke
billowed out, and the tiger’s body imploded. The fire died.
    The heat faded rapidly; the night breeze dispersed the
smoke.
    The tent itself