The Fear In Yesterday's rings

'I'm sorry I can't offer you and Miss Rhys-Whitney a drink this time, Frederickson,' Luther continued, a hint of what almost sounded like genuine regret in his voice. 'You've created an impossible situation.'

'What's the problem, Luther? I don't care what hours you keep, and I've seen trainers work with, uh. . dogs before.'

Luther slowly shook his head. He knew, of course, that I knew the creature with the golden eyes, gaping nostrils, and saber teeth was no dog. I'd wanted to at least try to give him an out, but he obviously felt he couldn't afford to take it. 'You should have minded your own business, Frederickson. And you should have been more patient. I wasn't entirely truthful with you earlier this evening.'

'You don't say?'

'We're almost finished with the circus. It will be up for sale. You could have had it. But then, you haven't been entirely truthful with us either, have you? I can't help but wonder if you were ever truly interested in buying this circus.'

'If you're all getting ready to move out, does that mean you think you've killed enough people?' I nodded in the direction of the magnificent, bright-eyed animal in front of me. 'How many of these little cuties do you have?'

'A sufficient breeding stock.'

'All as well trained as this one?'

Luther shrugged, pursed his lips, ran his free hand over his shaved skull. 'I'm not sure 'trained' is an appropriate word to use with this animal. It's controlled.'

'By the promise of sex, the cocking sound and report of your gun.'

'Yes,' Luther said easily.

His response seemed to indicate that he didn't at all mind talking about what he had done and how he had done it, and I thought that was probably a bad omen. Still, I was curious, and I couldn't see how we could get into any deeper trouble than we already had. 'Interesting,' I said.

'More interesting than you understand, Frederickson. It's not just the sounds of the gun that control the animal. It understands that the gun kills.'

'What have you killed with it?'

'Chickens. Killing a chicken with a Magnum makes for a most effective demonstration.'

'I'll bet. You're saying that you think it understands death, that it can make a connection between the thing that was blown apart and itself?'

'Yes. It's very intelligent; it's probably the most intelligent creature on the face of the earth today, with the exception of humans-although I'm often led to question just how intelligent, as opposed to instinctual, humans really are.'

'Intelligent is one thing, true self-awareness is another. To understand death is to have self-awareness. You think this animal has that?'

Again, Luther shrugged his broad shoulders. 'I suspect so. Indeed, I'm quite certain whales and dolphins have a strong sense of self. I suspect all of the large mammals have more self-awareness than we give them credit for. Also language.'

'Well, we've seen the results of your successful training methods, Luther; they've been splattered all over the countryside. Innocent people.'

The trainer smiled thinly. 'Not so innocent, Frederickson. NRA members, super-macho types to a man, hunters who have slaughtered innocent animals, driving many of them to the edge of extinction, using high-powered weapons. Didn't you notice our discount sign outside the ticket window? I don't care, or have any sympathy, for people who kill other sentient creatures and call it sport. Human beings are the most arrogant and destructive species that has ever lived, and the idiots in the NRA are the worst of the lot. I consider it simple poetic justice that these men who've derived satisfaction from blowing out the lives of deer, elk, bears, or whatever, many using automatic weapons, should have a taste of what it feels like to be stalked and killed by a creature that is, in many ways, their equal as a predator.'

'You're crazy, Luther. You're right out of your fucking gourd.'

'Perhaps I am,' Luther said in a flat voice. 'It's certainly true that I don't have a high regard for human life; at least I don't have the regard for the lives of those men that you do. All of those victims, in all likelihood, have butchered dozens of magnificent creatures that had as much right to live on this earth as the hunters, and all so that they could hang a trophy in their den or feel sexual excitement. They're no loss, Frederickson.'

'But why?' Harper asked in a voice that quavered with horror. 'What's the point of training an animal to do that?'

'Assassination,' I said, watching Luther's face-and knowing I was right. 'This animal is a pitiless killing machine, virtually impossible to defend against under the right conditions. It's more accurate than a missile, or even a whole flotilla of bombers, and it's presumably cheaper. It can be fired-released-by a handler who's ten miles or more away from the site where a president, king, dictator, senator, or whoever else you want to kill may be living, speaking, or even simply passing by in a motorcade. And all you need to load up this assassination weapon is an object, preferably an article of clothing, that's been permeated by the victim's scent. Then you find out where the intended victim is going to be, just the general area, and you're in business. This thing tracks better than a bloodhound, and its natural instinct is to kill people. It's been trained to kill specific human beings through the manipulation of its sexual urges, fear of loud noises, and the possible knowledge that it can cease to exist. But this thing won't worry about the presence of Secret Service agents or bodyguards; it will just relentlessly go at its target. If it survives and returns, that's fine; if not, only the investment it represents is lost. Even if it should be shot or captured, and even recognized for what it is, there would be no way to determine what individual-or government agency- ordered its use. It's just a great assassin's weapon with brains. Right, Luther?'

He wasn't going to bother denying it. He was staring very intently at the lobox, which was staring very intently at me. I wondered if Luther was considering giving the lobox an order to kill-an order I had no doubt the creature would respond to immediately. Instead, Luther said in a soft voice, 'What you can't appreciate, Frederickson, because you've never seen it, is its tenacity in tracking a given subject. That tenacity seems to be a genetic trait that couldn't have been predicted. It seems that once this creature has taken it into its head to kill a particular subject, it won't be stopped by anything but its own death; it will eat and drink only sparingly while tracking spoor, refuse to return, and continue to stalk indefinitely until it has found its target. They are elusive, and far more intelligent than any other animal I've ever worked with. I'm not sure how much you knew before you came here, or what you've guessed, but I will tell you that the lobox is a creature from the past, in a manner of speaking. Before my father went to work on the problem, using a variety of reverse breeding techniques, this animal did not exist any longer anywhere on earth.'

'Do tell. The families of the men you targeted to train and test these animals might not agree that the deaths of their fathers and husbands was no great loss. Why did you have to kill so many, Luther? Why string the whole thing out for almost two years? You knew just what you had after the first killing.'

He dismissed my suggestion and questions with an impatient wave of his hand. 'I think you already knew what I just told you, Frederickson. I think you know a lot of things.'

'Some things aren't all that difficult to figure out. You chose the Great Plains of the United States as an area in which to field-test that thing because of the wide-open spaces, and you bought a midsize circus because it seemed a perfect cover-it gave you an excuse to move around, and you could keep the lobox breeding stock with all the other animals. You were probably telling the truth about the performers' countries of origin. Eastern bloc countries provided you with serious circus artists who wouldn't ask any questions because their families were being held hostage; in return, those governments would get the chance to purchase your new weapon. They want a piece of the action. I also have to wonder if people in our own government might not be involved somehow, maybe by making sure nobody inspects this circus too closely, in exchange for the right to bid on the finished product.'

'You're a fool, Frederickson,' Luther said softly. 'You're a fool for even allowing yourself to think such thoughts, much less to utter them aloud.'

'Why? What difference does it make? Some of the nastier power players in this country and I have been dancing with each other for a long time. What bothers me the most is that right now it looks like you're getting ready to sic this lobox on the man who was wearing that safari jacket, wherever he might be. You're the monster,