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.
Chapter 14
THE SHOCK WAVE from the exploding refinery rattled windows across Tokyo, and all of us in the dojo sat bolt upright in our sleeping bags.
“What was that!?” asked Emma, voicing the question in all of our sleep-addled heads.
“I believe,” said Eigi, his mind spinning with the quick and precise analysis that only an alien could have, “that the Game Consortium’s Hunt Club just managed to kill a Mahlerian bird-cat.”
“A Mahlerian bird-cat?” I yelled in surprise. “I thought they were extinct!”
“Now they are,” replied Etsuyo.
“The last specimen was being held in an intergalactic preserve for cloning purposes, but Number 7 and Number 8 stole it and brought it here. We saw it while we were being held captive.”
“He was my friend,” said Kenshin, choked up.
“Why would they bring it all the way to Earth just to kill it?” I asked.
“It’s all part of one of their video games—only, of course, they’re more than video games,” explained Eigi. “Number 7 and Number 8 didn’t just get into this line of work here on Earth. They’ve been at it for millennia, on many other planets, with many other races. And the final stage of their efforts is always extinction. They take great pride in being the ones to destroy the last vestiges of a species. This Hunt Club of theirs is actually a safari game they run for the best—that is, winning—players of past conquests. It’s something they do to test out their systems when they arrive at a new planet. And it also helps them tie up any loose ends from the planets they’ve left.”
“Their virtual hunting games have become real hunting games?” I asked.
Eigi nodded.
“But how?”
“Essentially, they’ve gotten their players so addicted that their habits force them to cross over into the real world,” continued Eigi.
“Like what we saw in that creepy theater,” Dana said quietly.
“In fact, these ‘winners’ are actually still willingly paying them for the experience,” Eigi went on. “They’re here to track quarry through the streets of Tokyo and all over Japan. That is, in fact, why we were brought here. We’re among the last of the Alpar Nokians—we’re close to extinction, too—so we qualify as prey.