GEBLICON    

			   Chapter One          



    On a nearby rocky outcrop, a large boulder inched 

slowly forward and then disappeared into the surrounding 

foliage.  Or so it seemed.  Minutes later, and several dozen 

yards further down the slope, a dark grey form cautiously 

raised its head and scanned the brush-line ahead.  A slight 

movement of the animal's mouth revealed a double row of 

neatly spaced teeth, dull black in color, and from one to 

three-and-a-half inches in length.  A swath of coarse black 

hair ran the length of his back and crested the top of his 

head, identifying the creature as an apthcat, the most fearsome 

predator known to man.

     His muscles rippling in anticipation, the apthcat crept
 
closer to his quarry's hiding place.  Now halting his 

forward motion, he hugged the ground, watching, waiting.  A 

sudden breeze touched the tree-tops above him, sending a 

cascade of water droplets to spatter on the forest floor.  

Startled, the "apth" tensed, half-expecting his prey to bolt 

before he was in position.  Slowly, he squirmed a few feet 

closer.  Then at last, satisfied that he was well within 

range, he bellowed a terrifying roar and launched his 

attack. 

     Caught by surprise, the mule deer resorted to a last
 
desperate defense.  Bursting out of its hiding place, it 

headed directly towards its attacker, leaping over him in a 

single bound.  Turning in mid-stride, the apth quickly 

recovered, pursuing his target with a speed that belied his 

great size.  In scant seconds he overtook his prey and 

knocked it to the ground; with one crushing bite he broke 

its neck.  Victim and attacker now lay in a jumbled heap on 

the forest floor.  The apth rested for a few moments and 

then with saber-like teeth bit deeper into the deer's flesh.  

Standing erect and grasping the deer in his forelimbs, he 

headed for home, a fresh kill for his master's table.
      
     Several miles away, a young lad of seventeen years 

labored to free a grain tank conveyor belt.

     "Damn," Steve muttered.  Using all his strength and hunching
 
his shoulders over for leverage, he wrenched on the jammed
 
rollerbar.  Suddenly it gave, and Steve, losing his balance, fell
 
backward bumping his head against the supporting framework.  

Slowly getting up and cursing under his breath, Steve quickly
 
checked the belt for its customary, smooth, forward motion and
 
then raced up two flights of stairs to the control monitor.  An 

expert glance told him all was well.  Abruptly, his ear
 
communicator crackled to life.  The rasping voice of Scratch, the
 
family pet, broke through and in eager tones told of his
 
successful hunt.  Barely two miles out, Scratch had dropped to 

all fours and now strutted along the cleared pathways between the 

farm's solar collectors, his valued prize in tow.  Steve called
 
over his communicator to his father, Robert Harlan, and relayed
 
Scratch's report.

     As Steve continued with his chores he considered how
 
fortunate they were that Scratch had made a kill.  Meat of any 

kind was a luxury these days.  Perhaps the family's luck was
 
changing after all.  Steve finished his four o'clock computer

check of grain hopper operation and noted with satisfaction that
 
the day's production of bulk nutrient would exactly match their
 
quota.  There would be no red-daubed warrants from the local
 
government purchaser this month.    

     Steve descended to ground level and queried Beethoven
 
regarding his schedule.  Beethoven, a super-sophisticated,
 
mechanical, Jack-of-all-trades, was an anomaly in an age of 

specialization.  A sometimes chauffeur, carpenter, metalsmith,
 
plumber and electrician, Beethoven handled a variety of tasks
 
around the farm.  Built by Steve's father from a war surplus
 
micro-tank and equipped with a computer brain, Beethoven 

resembled a spidery basketball hitching a ride on a scale-model
 
tank chassis.  His extendible arms were so versatile, that
 
Beethoven could secure and spot-weld with one pair of hands,
 
while removing, testing, and replacing electrical components with
 
another pair.  Steve spoke and activated his throat transponder. 

     "Beethoven, are you free for repair work on number one
 
elevator?"     

     "No, Steve, I'm still working on the electrical control
 
system on number twenty-eight collector.  I should be finished 

shortly.  Do you wish that I schedule for reassignment?"

     "No, I'll meet you at number one in, say...fifteen minutes,
 
that should give you ample time to test and re-link the first

quadrant field.  See you soon."

     The Harlan farm was located in the southwest corner of 

the State of Colorado, about 20 miles outside Montrose.  At 2500 

acres, it was large by today's standards, yet small in comparison 

to the adjoining Phillip's farm's 7000 acres.  It was, 

nevertheless, every bit as complicated and difficult to run.  It 

did not boast vast fields of corn or wheat however, only row 

after row of Brennen solar collectors.  The collectors served to 

power not only the farm but provided surplus energy for the 

region's power grid as well. As Steve left the farm's control 

center he stopped for a moment at the west feeder lock and peered 

towards the horizon for any sign of Scratch.  Yes, there he was,

running with his peculiar gait toward the main-house, living
 
quarters for Steve, his father, and Aargoth, the family's

mechanical house-docktor.   Steve boarded the three-wheeled 

tracked vehicle used as a workhorse power cab around the farm, 

switched the controls to manual, and headed towards the 'barn'.  

      The barn, actually a large automated factory, used grains
 
and other farm products to produce bulk nutrients.  These in turn 

were used by one of the world's largest food processing plants--

located in Denver--to produce supermarket-ready cereals and 

"meat-look-a-like" substitutes.  Each month, large tankers backed

up to the loading dock and took on their vital cargo.  Sales were 

made to the government through an agency called the Office of 

Agricultural Production and Planning (OAPPL), whose local repre-

sentative was one Jeremy Phillips.  Steve bore no personal dis-

like for Jeremy.  Rather, he felt a keen sense of frustration, 

for at the end of each month the family barely received enough 

from sales to cover expenses.  The free market of yesteryear was

but a dim memory.  Government regulation and ineptitude were 

rampant, particularly it seemed, in the agricultural sector. 
 
Steve had a visitor waiting for him at the first-level entrance 

lock.     

     "Hi, Jennie, I didn't expect you for another hour, but I'm
 
glad to see you just the same."

     "I'm sorry Steve, but Dad moved up my flight time for my

trip to Miami.  I think he did it on purpose, just because I said
 
I might come over to see you before leaving."  

     "I know your father doesn't like me, but he wouldn't go to
 
that extreme--or would he?"

     "You know he's never forgiven me for spending the night with
 
you at the island; that he will never do.  But anyway, I'm here.
  
Can you break from your chores?"      

     "Hmm, Beethoven's due here any minute.  Hold on a second--
  
Beethoven, are you receiving?"

     "There's no answer, he must be testing the grid.  Come on,
 
get on board and I'll drive out."

Steve hurridly drove in the direction of Quad One.  A
 
detectable shift in the field's orientation told him that
 
Beethoven was still at work testing the repaired circuitry.

     "He's switched off communications while fine-tuning the 

system," Steve commented.  "Hey, there he is."

     Beethoven came quickly towards them, tank tracks churning in

the soft loam.

     "Greetings, Ms. Phillips, Master Harlan, am I late, what 

brings you here?" 

     "No, you're not late Bee, Jennie and I are going out to the
 
ravine.  We'll pick up on number one elevator at 2100 hours--OK?"

     "Yes, Sir.  2100 hours.  I'm returning to the barn to assist
 
Harlan Sr. with tank three cleaning."

     With that Beethoven pivoted on his left track and proceeded

down the road in the direction they had come. 

     A short twenty minute ride brought Steve and Jennie to their 

destination.  The ravine was some forty to fifty yards across,
 
formed by an ancient cataract, and served to divide the Harlan 

and Phillips farms.  On the far side Steve could see a pair of
 
"shanths" grazing in the tall grass.  Taller by one-half than
 
conventional horses, shanths had been bred for service in the
 
forests of Siberia and Northern Canada where solar power is less 

abundant and heavy machinery too costly to operate.  Steve 

noted that things had changed radically from the salad days of 

the 20th century.  The convulsive nuclear war that gripped the
 
world in 2025 A.D. was followed by a decade of plague and 

radiation sickness.  Together, they had reduced the world's 

population to three billion.  Now fifteen years later, and 

closing in on the half-century mark, energy remained as valuable 

as gold.  Turning his thoughts back to his companion, Steve asks,

	"Jennie, what's your herd population these days?"

	"Hmmm--we have somewhere between 5600 and 5700 

right now.  Dad plans to ship four hundred out this 

weekend.  But why do you ask!?"	

     "Hmm, just thinking.  It had occurred to me that you might
 
double your herd size with better utilization of your grazing 

land.  Your father is so damned conservative at times--ah, no

offense intended." 

     "Steve, you don't know anything about breeding...shanths 

that is, and besides, Dad receives a cash bonus from the
 
government for keeping shanth production within quota limits."  

     "Yes, I know.  That gives OAPPL a stranglehold on the world
 
market.  What's good for OAPPL is good for you and me, hmm-hmm!"

     Jennie frowned and said, "Let's not fight, OK...?  I'll race 

you to the pool, last one in drives home!"

     With that Steve and Jennie jumped from the rig and raced off
 
across the meadow.  Soon they were lost from sight in the
 
thickets bordering the ravine.  As they ran, with Jennie in the
 
lead, Steve could not but admire her graceful athletic form and
 
with each twist and turn in the path fully realized why he found
 
her so attractive.  As they ran deeper into the ravine, its
 
remarkable beauty also became apparent.  The ravine was a
 
primitive paradise.  To each side of the trail one could see life
 
forms unknown one hundred years before.  Alongside tall oak and
 
thickets of willow grew geometrically patterned clayvole and
 
anyrth.  Dazzling varieties of four-winged birds flew amongst the
 
trees.  Just ahead could be seen the tranquil surface of
 
Garrison's pond.  Its cool inviting waters had become a private
 
playground for Steve and Jennie.  Over the past two years they
 
had become quite fond of each other and despite family

differences and opposition, had tentatively agreed to marry.     

Jennie reached the water's edge just ahead of Steve and

without further adue, dove straight in.                        
                                                       
     "Hey," said Steve, "that's not fair.  Since when do you swim
 
with your clothes on?!"                                    
                                                       
     "The bet was who got in first, silly!"
  
     Steve sat down and waited for Jennie to reach the bank.  As
 
he sat there, something on the far side of the pond floated into
 
his field of vision.  At first glance he thought it was a tree
 
stump, and then he did a double-take.

     Jennie called out to him, "Steve, what are you looking at?!"

     Steve held his hands to his eyes to block out the sun and
 
then clearly saw the object for the first time.  Almost as an
 
after-thought, he noted that the water around the "stump" was
 
tinged red. 
                                                       
     "Jennie, get out of the pool! ...Hurry!"               
                                                       
     "Steve, what is it?  What's wrong!?"                   
                                                       
     As she clambered up on the bank Steve pointed far down the

pool to the object at the water's edge.                     
                                                       
     "Come on," said Jennie, "let's take a look."          
                                                       
     They quickly made their way around the pond and then
 
stopped, horrified at what they'd found.  Half-submerged in the
 
pond were the remains of a shanth, its throat torn open and

unmistakable slash marks on its flanks.                                          
                                                       
     "God, what could have done that?" Jennie exclaimed.  "Look

at its side!"
                                                       
     As he stepped nearer the bank, Steve caught site of a fresh
 
trail through the brush.
                                                       
     "Jennie, stay here, I'm going to see where this goes."                  
                                                       
     "I'm not staying here, wait for me!"                   
                                                       
      Together they cautiously made their way through the tangle
 
of broken branches and trampled grass.  Steve held up his hand.

     "Look! ...Over there!  Two more!"
  
     Just ahead of them lay a mare and colt, cut down as they had
 
run.  Both had deep bites on their throats.  Suddenly, a loud 

crash sounded in the brush off to the left.                                           
                                                       
     "I think we'd better go back...now!" Steve said.  He took
 
Jennie's hand and together they sprinted for the cab on the
 
roadway above.                                         
                                                       
     Steve looked back as they ran, but saw nothing.  As they 

reached the cab, Steve paused for a moment, baffled.           
                                                       
     "Jennie, while we were in the ravine somebody tried to start
 
this thing!  Look at the sequence code on the console!"
                                                       
     "Steve, let's go, I'm scared."                                                                     

     "Ok, I'm sorry.  It just doesn't make sense."                                                       

     Steve punched in the start code, slammed the shift lever in 

gear and spun around on two wheels heading for the main highway.
  
As he drove, he flicked the switch on the cab communicator and

dialed local common.
 
     "Calling Jeremy Phillips.  Come in please."  No answer.  And
 
then abruptly...
                                                       
     "This is Michael Stern, Jeremy Phillip's foreman.  Who's
 
paging please?"
                                                       
     Jennie grabbed the mike.  "Michael, this is Jennie, where's
 
my father?"
                                                       
     "He's down at the OAPPL office, won't be back 'til dinner-

time...what's the problem?"
                                                       
     "I'm at the ravine.  Steve Harlan and I just found two dead 

mares and a colt by the pond.  Michael, their throats were torn
 
open...it was just horrible!  Please send someone for my
 
father...we'll meet you at the main gate at Harlan's farm."           
                                                       
     "Roger, we'll be there as fast as we can."
                                                       
     Steve drove wildly down the road.  None of this made sense,
 
he thought, and Michael's signal was very strong.  What's he
 
doing this far from his usual rounds?  

     When they reached the main gate, Michael Stern and two
 
ranch-hands were already there.  Michael spoke first, "Now what's 

this all about, exactly where did you find them?"

     "Jennie and I found them at Garrison's pond," Steve replied.
 
"All three appear to have been killed by some wild animal."

     "Some wild animal?  Don't you mean that half-human apthcat
 
you keep for a house-pet?"

     Steve bristled.  "Scratch is a helluva lot smarter than you

might think.  Unlike you, he at least knows the difference
 
between right and wrong."  

     With that comment, Michael jumped down from his rig and
 
rushed towards Steve, ready to fight.  Jennie jumped down from
 
her seat and grabbed his right arm.

     "Stop it, stop it!  This won't settle anything!  Simmer 

down, both of you.  Michael, I saw them, and yes, they all had
 
severe puncture wounds in their throats.  But Scratch isn't the
 
only creature that kills that way.  Just last month Ben Drewer
 
shot and killed a Haut-cougar on his ranch, and that's only five 

miles from here.  You'll need more proof than puncture wounds to
 
convince me or anyone else of your allegations."

     "Steve, let's go.  We'll meet Dad on the road to town."

     Steve could not believe the charges he had heard.
  
Apthcats in general, and Scratch in particular, hunted only
 
what their owners told them they could hunt, and nothing more,
 
unless crazed or starving, and Scratch was certainly neither of
 
those.  As they neared town, Jennie spotted her father's
 
cruiser speeding towards them.

"Flash your lights, that's him!" Jennie exclaimed. 

     Jeremy Phillips emerged from his limousine.  An able 

administrator and ranch manager, Jeremy presented a picture of 

supreme confidence and great physical strength.

     "Jennie, what's this all about.  All I got from Hanna at
 
the ranch was that you'd found a dead mare in the ravine."

     "Not just a dead mare, Father, but two mares and a colt,
 
and all three apparently killed by a predator."

     Glancing at Steve, Jeremy said, "And what are you doing
 
with him?  Matter of fact, young lady, you're twenty minutes
 
late for your flight!  I've got a good mind to..." 

     Interrupting, Jennie said, "Just hold on, Dad, first
 
things first.  If there is a wild animal stalking our herd, 

you'd better do something about it before it strikes again."

     "Wild animal, indeed.  Michael has seen Steve's apthcat in 

action, and from what he says, that animal's my number one 

candidate."

     "Dad, you don't know what you're saying.  He couldn't have
 
done it, I know he couldn't have.  Scratch is loyal to Steve,
 
he just wouldn't do anything like that."

     Jeremy, turning away to get back in his car scowled at 

them both and said, "Then he put him up to it, can't be any
 
other explanation.  It's your way, son, of getting back at me
 
because you think I've given your father a bad time.  Well, I
 
never have, but that animal of yours has got to be taken care
 
of.  I'm going for the law.  I'll have that critter shot before
 
daybreak, I swear it!"

     Jeremy drove off, leaving Steve and Jennie by the roadside.

     "Steve, I'm sorry.  Dad just doesn't understand.  I know
 
Scratch didn't do it."

     Steve walked a few paces away, sat down, and buried his
 
head in his arms.  Moments later he looked up and said,
 
"There's only one thing I can do.  I've got to get Scratch away
 
from here...tonight if I can!  I'll radio Beethoven and direct
 
him to meet me with Scratch at the switching center near the
 
south road, from there I can drive the cab to my uncle's place
 
outside Asteria.  He'll help me, he's got to!"

     "Steve, let me come with you, please, let me help!"

     "Jennie, you can't go, if I get caught...and your father!"

     "Steve, I want to go, please say yes...you know I want to 

be with you, please let me help."

     "Damn it Jennie...alright.  I'll drop you off at your
 
house first.  I'm going to leave the center at 2330 sharp.  Can
 
Shalimar get you there on time in the dark?"

     "Shalimar can see as well as Scratch, I'll be there."

     Hours later, Steve rendezvoused with Beethoven at the
 
switching center.

     "Beethoven, where's Scratch?"
  
     Beethoven, glowing eerily in the dark, replied, "He's up
 
in the relay room on the tower; I believe, sir, that he is 

scared to death that the authorities will kill him."

     Steve walked over to the tower ladder and peered up at the
 
relay room.

     "Scratch, can you hear me?  Come on down here."

     A span of two or three minutes went by, and then taking
 
form out of nowhere, Scratch appeared by Steve's side.

     "Hello, old friend.  You know I wouldn't let anyone hurt
 
you.  We've got to get away from here and find a safe hiding
 
place for you, do you understand?"

     Scratch turned his massive head toward Steve and vocalized
 
in his best approximation to human speech.

     "Steve, you are my lord and master.  I do not kill shanth.
  
I never kill shanth.  I swear this by all that you have taught
 
me.  I will leave here, alone, and go..."

     "No," said Steve, "that's not the way; they'd find you no

matter where you might hide...but at my uncle's, practically
 
inside Asteria, they'd never think to look for you there!
  
Trust me...OK?  Everything's going to work out just fine!"
  
Steve, turning to Beethoven, "Bee, switch your scanners on and 

see if Jennie is anywhere in sight."

     Beethoven telescoped his long-range antenna and began a 

rapid 360 degree search.                                  

     "No...ah, wait a moment...yes, moving target approximately
 
three miles off, proceeding thirty km./hr. in this direction. 
 
Oh...second target, approximately one-half mile behind the
 
first and closing the gap."

     "Closing!" Steve exclaimed.  "Nothing can outrun Shalimar,

not on that trail.  What on earth...?  Bee, get the cab ready,
 
we're going to have to make a run for it.  Scratch, you come
 
with me, we'll prepare a surprise for Jennie's pursuit,
 
whatever or whomever it may be."

     After proceeding down-trail a couple hundred yards, Steve
 
and Scratch stopped at a spot where a sapling grew low 

overhead.  Handing Scratch a roll of rope from his pack, Steve
 
instructed, 

     "Scratch, I'm going to leave you here to set this after
 
Jennie and Shalimar have passed.  Only set it for stun, not to 

kill.  Join us as quickly as you can after you've finished.
  
I'll be at the clearing with Bee."

     A plan quickly formed in Steve's mind...if the pursuit

were a mounted rider, he thought, then the sapling would do the 

trick.  If, on the other hand...well, no time to worry about
 
that.  Once in the cab, even the sheriff's Fettershin hounds 

couldn't stop them.

     Steve reached the cab and found Bee busily making
 
preparations at the control console.

     "Bee, is everything ready?"

     Bee, who had been working at a furious pace, clacked and 

clattered for a moment, and then regaining his composure,
 
responded to his sometimes irksome master in his usual smooth
 
manner..."All is ready, sir, batteries are fully charged, drive

train is in impeccable condition, rough road shields are in 

place, food stocks and miscellaneous gear are all stored in 

their compartments."

     "Excellent, Bee.  As soon as Scratch and Jennie are on 

board I want you to man the power crane on the aft deck.  If we
 
get some unwanted company, we may need it to fend them off."

     Bee flashed an amber sequence code to indicate that he
 
understood and resumed his checking of various circuits around
 
the control cab.  Steve unfolded the driver's web-chair and 

positioned the controls for manual operation.  Satisfied that
 
all was ready he stepped outside the cab, jumped to the ground
 
and hastened off to the trail-break.  Steve's night vision was
 
excellent.  Mankind had long since genetically improved the
 
species, and the various maladies and shortcomings associated

with 20th century human vision had vanished from the face of 

the earth.  Steve stopped for a moment and listened.  He 

thought he had heard hoofbeats!  Peering down the trail Steve
 
strained for a glimpse of the approaching figures.  Shalimar 

abruptly rounded a bend going full tilt and bore down on
 
Steve's position along the trail.

     "Jennie, Jennie, rein in!" Steve shouted.  Startled,
 
Shalimar reared back almost toppling Jennie from her perch.
  
Steve eased out onto the trail.

     "Easy, Shalimar, easy!  Jennie, are you alright?!"

     "Oh,...yes,...you nearly scared me to death!  And I'm
 
being followed, I'm sure of it."

     "I know," Steve interrupted.  "Come on, we've got to get 

to the cab!  Quickly!"

     Jennie led Shalimar off the trail to a clump of pines and
 
loosely tied him there.  Just then, Scratch emerged from the
 
tree line.  Spotting Jennie, he rushed forward and greeted her 

with a ferocious bear hug.  At Steve's urging, Scratch set her
 
down and the three of them hurridly made their way along the
 
trail in the direction of the cab.  Suddenly, not too far off,
 
a rapid succession of barks broke the night silence.

     "Well, now we know what's chasing you," Steve said.
  
"Hurry, they're getting closer!"

     Without any prompting, Scratch reached down, picked up 

first Jennie, then Steve, and thereby trebled their forward 

rate of progress.  The barking now came much closer.  Scratch, 

had he been alone, could have keep them at bay.  But with two
 
human charges in his care he had but one thought, and that was
 
to reach the cab.  Steve looked back over Scratch's massive
 
shoulder.  Their pursuit was now fully in view.

     "Fettershin," Steve said.  "Your father didn't waste any
 
time." 

     There were three of them, sleek and deadly in the extreme.
  
Fettershin were the size of old-world tigers, but genetically

 engineered to display the grace and speed of the cheetah.  With 

their vicious weasel-like snouts and temperment, however, they
 
bore little direct resemblance to the cat family.  With seconds
 
to spare, Scratch reached the relative safety of the cab and
 
piled his human cargo in through the open hatch.  He 

immediately assumed a defensive position blocking the doorway
 
while Steve scrambled for the controls.

     "Scratch, close that hatch...no time for heroics now!" 

     As quickly as he could Steve keyed in the ignition
 
sequence and began a sharp turning maneuver.  Looking back,
 
Steve saw that Scratch was busy trying to seal the hatch with a 

Fettershin forepaw poking through the opening and clawing
 
wildly for a grip.  Scratch lifted his left foot and brought it 

sharply down.  A howl of pain issued from the darkness and
 
Scratch quickly slammed the door's lockspin in place.
  
Suddenly, a massive body slid down the front windshield, nearly

covering it.  With his view of the road almost completely 
 
blocked, Steve jerked the controls causing the cab to wildly
 
gyrate.  Still, the Fettershin held on.  Turning its head
 
directly towards the plexiglass windshield it began smashing 

away at it with stunning force.  The glass soon began to show
 
signs of giving way.

     Steve shouted, "Bee, see if you can maneuver that crane
 
arm towards the front and knock him off!"

     Beethoven, perched in the control section weather bubble,
 
twirled the crane controls and brought the flexi-arm end of the 

crane to bear on the target.  Trying to maintain its balance
 
and dodge the crane proved too much, the Fettershin fell away.
  
Steve quickly accelerated and raced down the highway, leaving 

their pursuit far behind.