From howell_g@kosmos.wcc.govt.nz Wed Jun 7 05:43:12 1995 Date: 7 Jun 95 21:58:13 NZST From: howell_g@kosmos.wcc.govt.nz Newsgroups: alt.fan.furry Subject: story: Human Memoirs part 4 Here goes part 4. . . Human Memoirs Part 1 Section D The morning arrived to find me soaking wet, shaking, miserable, and sick as a dog. It'd been a long, cold night with the moon lost behind clouds and a persistent drizzle soaking me. Water dripped from the tree. After shivering all night I was exhausted, hungry, bruised, possibly concussed and - almost unbelievably - thirsty. What water had pooled in nearby leaves wasn't enough to ease the burning in my swollen throat. My breath rasped in my throat and deeper, right in my lungs. My guard had been changed, and the Sathe watching me was still vigilant, if bored. The camp quickly roused itself, the sodden remains of fires were turned and dry wood set alight. They must have been very confident in themselves to risk someone spotting the smoke, little as there was. Altogether there must have been about fifteen of them, of mixed sexes. Breakfast was set to cooking, sending a smell of roasting meat and grain wafting that started my mouth watering and stomach churning. When was the last time I had eaten? I huddled up and watched them eat. They ignored me. Not feeding time. "I heard it speak, I tell you. It insulted the commander." Three of the red and black clad Sathe, all males, were standing over me. I curled up, put my knees up against my chest and tried to stop shivering. "How could THAT speak." Another batted at the first speakers head, playfully. Their way of speaking, the inflections on the words were different from the other Sathe I had heard in the towns I noted dully; a different accent? The first one bent down beside me and grabbed my bound hands. "Look, no claws," he observed, then extended the talon on his index finger and ran it down the side of my face, from ear to jaw, scratching bruised skin. "But it can talk. SAY something!" He emphasized that with a jab at my cheek. A small noise escaped me and I felt something warm start to flow down the side of my face. "Get bent," I mumbled in Sathe, then broke down in a hacking cough. "You were right, it can talk, sort of. . . but what is it? and what is wrong with it," puzzled Number Two. I managed to stop coughing and was taking rasping breaths. Number Three spoke for the first time. "It is ill. Look, it has no fur and you can see how thin its skin is. It must have frozen last night." I closed my eyes and tried to ignore them; that got me a kick in the ribs. "No, don't go to sleep now, tell us about yourself." That was Number One again. He yanked my head back by the hair and that triggered another spasm of coughing and gasping. "I do not think it is feeling very talkative," another observed. "A." The first agreed and tugged on my hair a few more times. "Give me a knife." Number Two handed one across. "What are you doing?" "Look at this stuff." Another yank on my hair. "I would not mind a belt this color." "Are you sure . . . " He was. The knife slashed and cut, painfully as he hacked away handfuls of hair, bunching them in his fist and sawing the knife across. When he was finished he let me drop and stuffed his trophies into a pouch on his belt. "Might be worth something. Number three bent down to peer into my face. "You know, I think it is really sick. Perhaps the [captain] should know. He does not want it dead." "Ah, you worry too much," one of the others laughed. They poked me a few more times before losing interest and stalking off. For half the day I lay there. The sky remained overcast and the air chill. I curled into a small ball wracked with shivering and coughing. If I'm lucky, it's only a bad cold. God, don't let it be pneumonia. Sometime in the late morning, a pair of arms raised my head: "Drink this." A wooden bowl was pressed against my lips and water dribbled over my face. I choked, managed to drink, then I was dropped and left again. About midday I was given water again, then unchained and half-dragged by a bevy of guards to Tarsha's tent. I wasn't expecting a friendly chat, and I didn't have one. "Tahr, what is the matter with your. . . friend?" She looked at me huddled and shivering violently, hovering on the edge of hypothermia. "Has it not seeped into your tiny mind, he is ill!" she snarled. "What have you DONE to him?!" She was still chained. Bruises were visible through her fur, one eye was half closed, and there were small scratches along her side. My stomach turned when I saw the spatters of blood on her thighs. But she had at least gotten in a few of her own. Tarsha sported a beautiful slash along the side of his face, from below his left eye to the top of his nose, and there was a crescent of small punctures on his arm; about the right shape for a jaw full of sharp teeth. He bared his own at her, V-shaped wrinkles forming up the bridge of his muzzle. "Be careful how you choose your words. You could easily find yourself regretting them. We might be able to help your companion." Tahr's eyes flickered from him to me. "Why can you not leave him alone!" "But I thought that you would want us to help. . . him. You see? He does seem to be suffering, does he not? I can ensure that he is treated well." God, Tahr! No! "Across the other side," Tarsha continued, "I can also make things very unpleasant for him if you do not co-operate. Now are you willing to talk with me? or do you want a demonstration?" He waited for her to respond. Tahr gave me an agonized look, started to speak, then hung her head and was silent. The Gulf Sathe waved a curt signal to the warriors. Tahr still didn't speak, but that look on her face spoke volumes as four guards laid hands on me, dragging me outside. I struggled, for all the good it did; there were enough of them to hold me still. A rope was tied to my manacles, the other end thrown though a high fork in a tree. I gasped in pain as they hauled me up, my back to the tree, the cramped muscles in my arms and back screaming their protest and my skin being scraped raw against the bark. My feet - a foot off the ground - were tied so I couldn't kick out and I hung there, fighting to breath. Tahr tried to reach me, snapping at her guard, but a vicious cuff about the ears staggered and silenced her. "Now. . . " Tarsha strolled around to stand in front of me, contemplating me like someone might study a picture on the wall. He reached up, a finger tracing the scab of the wound he had given me the previous day, "I have some questions to ask of you, Tahr." Tahr glared at him sullenly. The Sathe's claw came out and slashed downward, cutting through skin and muscle. The shock of the pain was like a kick in the stomach and I gagged on the agony that ripped through my stretched pectorals. Again Tarsha's claws cut into my skin, slicing methodically, tracing a red rectangle on my chest. Then he caught one end and started peeling the strip of skin off. You wouldn't believe the pain. I couldn't help it; I screamed, bucking and thrashing enough to almost dislocate my shoulder and knock myself silly against the tree. "Stop." Tarsha calmly raised his hand and sniffed at the blood that stained the fur of his fingers, gazing coolly up at me while I tried to focus through watering eyes. "Tahr, you do surprise me," he turned to face her. "I had thought you would be stronger than this." Tahr snarled helplessly, looking haggard, tired. "If you kill him, you are the greater fool," she hissed. "You do not know what he is! what he means for all Sathe!" "Really?" Tarsha purred. "I must confess I had been curious. Maybe there will be time for that later. Now, the other Born Rulers: what routes will they be following to Mainport?" "What? I do not know that!" Again I twisted as Tarsha's claws slipped under my skin and began skinning another strip. The strange noises I was hearing I only later realised came from my own mouth. "STOP!" Tahr screamed. "I DO NOT KNOW! I do not know. You know I cannot!" Tarsha grinned up at me. "Yes, you are right. I know." He wiped a finger through the blood streaming down my front, then methodically licked it clean. "Have you ever wondered what your pet would taste like? Maybe filleted?" Tahr yowled incoherently at him. Tarsha laughed, then continued while Tahr was still seething; half-furious, half-terrified. "My superiors have long been curious about the strength of the garrison at River Plain. What is its strength? Are there any plans to reinforce it?" His claw flexed again, I felt its hard curve tracing a pattern in my blood. Tahr hesitated, then answered. A Gulf trooper scribbled notes. "Good, Tahr," Tarsha smiled. "I may tame you yet." She gaped her mouth and hissed. Tarsha asked more and more questions, scattering his demands for information with things he already knew. Every time he caught Tahr lying, he made me scream. Even when she was simply unsure of an answer, a claw slowly ripped through my skin. It seemed like an eternity I was up there. The world blurred out of focus, my ears rang. Time became meaningless; all that existed was the pain, then even that started to blur into the distance. I never really noticed when Tarsha had finished and Tahr was being dragged off, yowling. They left me up there until I started choking. Through the haze I saw soldiers approaching, a sword being drawn. They moved around behind the tree, then the rope went slack and the ground smashed up. ****** The cool, damp cloth on my forehead felt good, a sensation beside the constant pain across my chest and through my joints. I just lay there with my eyes shut, shivering. "K'hy, are you awake? Can you hear me?" Fuck off! Leave me alone! The voice was familiar, and persistent. I forced my eyes open and blinked to focus. Tahr was leaning over me. Several guards lurked just outside the shelter: a sheet of canvass draped over a rope. I tried to speak, but nothing came out, my throat felt as if it were swollen to twice its normal size and lined with sandpaper. "Try to drink," Tahr coaxed. Her wrist manacles had been removed but her ankle restraints still rattled. With one arm around my shoulders she helped me sit up. I nearly passed out again as muscles and skin moved on my lacerated chest. Tahr held a small cup to my lips so I could drink. The water was wonderful, but she pulled it away after only a few sips. She looked at me mournfully, at the raw wounds on my chest still oozing blood and clear lymphatic fluid. So, I hadn't been out for very long: I was absolutely covered in clotting blood, dust and dirt. Then I went into paroxysms of uncontrollable shuddering and coughing. Tahr grabbed my head and a rough hand touched my nose, my cheeks, then my forehead. For a couple of seconds she studied me. "What have they done to you," she murmured, then called the guard: "For pity's sake, get him some clothes, a covering! Please!" The guard turned and bent to stare in at us, then waggled a hand in a shrug. "Not my responsibility." "Then get Tarsha!" The soldier grinned at her, "I would have thought you would have enough of talking with him." Tahr snarled incoherently, then spat, "If he dies, your hide will be nailed to a tree for the crows!" This time the guard's grin lack conviction. She backed out, leaving another warrior staring in at us. Tahr ignored them. "I am sorry, K'hy," she lamented, touching the sticky blood that coated my arm. Don't be. Not your fault. I couldn't speak it, I just started coughing again and the pain from that movement brought tears to my eyes; I ground my teeth. Tahr gave me more water and that eased the raging fires in my throat a little and for a while I lay quietly, looking up at her. She stroked my forehead, glancing up at the guards outside the tent occasionally, tension drawing muscles in her neck into sharp relief, fatigue and fear matting her coat. "He. . . hurt you?" I grated in what could pass for a voice. "Hurt ME?!" She looked surprised, then leaned back and met my eye, abruptly cold and pragmatic. "Yes, he raped me." Oh. I was feeling very weary. Ill and injured in a primitive world with beings who looked and thought alien: another world, time, and morality. After what had happened to her she was steady on the outside, but one look at her face, at the burning in her eyes, chilled me. Someone was going to be paying. Tarsha pushed into the opening at the end of the bivvy followed by the guard who handed a bulky sack to her commander and left. The large red and black clad Sathe loomed over me, stooping a bit under the low cloth roof of the shelter. Tahr turned and the anger burned brighter. "What do you want, Tahr ai mine?" He half smiled, half grinned; a predator's grin. Then he glanced at me. "I see your pet is awake. How are you feeling? A? Still full of words?" Her nostril flared. "He is seriously ill. I think he is dying. He needs warmth and his wounds need tending." "Perhaps you would like me to send for a physician," Tarsha snarled sarcastically. He sneered at me lying chained on the floor: "For all his size he has a very delicate hide. I had considered skinning him to make breeches out it, but the stuff might be too fragile for that." Tahr flinched and put a hand on my shoulder. "You. . . you said you would help him if I cooperated!" "That is true," he shrugged. "Ah well, I suppose that we really do not want him dying upon us. I suspect that you might most uncooperative if he was not here to help. . . persuade you." Tahr's ears plastered down flat against her skull and she trembled as Tarsha's hand caressed her mane. Her eyes slitted, but she bore it with restraint. The Gulf officer smiled at her, at her subservience: "Good, my Tahr. Very good." Then abruptly he pushed her away: hard, so Tahr sprawled backwards on the ground. "Here," he said laconically and drew a blanket from the bag and threw it in her face, "For your friend." Tahr yanked the blanket off with extruded claws and a snarl, then turned her back on the officer and tried to be as gentle as possible as she wrapped me in the blanket. I shivered beneath the rough cloth while Tarsha sorted out the other contents of the sack. Merry Christmas I though inanely. My clothes. My watch, my ballpoint pen, notebook, cigarette lighter, my boots and my M-16 lay in the jumbled pile. Mute testimony of a society I might never see again. Tarsha picked up my watch and waved it under Tahr's nose. "What are these things? Your friend was wearing this and carrying all that other stuff. What is it? What makes these marks behind the glass move?" Tahr hesitated; looked at me. "Tahr, do you really want me to have to persuade you to answer again?" Tarsha warned, his claws resting on my leg. I couldn't help wincing as they dug in. "Your friend's fingers DO look fragile. I am sure that they break easily." Tahr growled; her lips parting in a snarl that showed her teeth. "Very well." "Excellent," Tarsha smiled. "I just knew you would cooperate." "It is a time-piece," Tahr choked the words out. "To be worn on the wrist." "A clock? Do not lie to me, Tahr." "I am not lying," she muttered tersely. "It is a clock. You can believe me or not, but it is the truth." Tarsha studied her, then snorted and turned his attentions to the watch, pressing the button on the side, ears flinching as it beeped. He stared at the watch for a while, pressing the mode button over and over and watching the crystal characters flicker from one display to another. "What makes the patterns change? What is that noise it makes," he asked. "How do you make something like this?" "I do not know. I DO NOT KNOW!" she shouted it as Tarsha's claw pressed harder. He looked at her, then grunted and retracted his claw. Blood welled. He dropped the watch and selected another item; the lighter. The small rectangle of silver metal clicked against his claws as he flipped the lid open, the electric spark igniting the gas in a blue flame that wavered in a draught. "A fire starter. But again: how does it work?" He removed his thumb and the flame died. He turned the lighter over in his hands, tracing out my initials with his finger. "Your people of the east could not have made these, nor - I admit - could mine. There are materials I have never seen or heard of in these," he held up the notebook and pen. "The paper is so smooth and this writing instrument; I can see how it works, but the craftsmanship is impossibly fine." He dropped the pen and notebook. "Where did you get these?" "They are his," Tahr spat, jerking her head at me. Of course he didn't believe her. "Huh. . . " Tarsha grinned at her. "Well, that does not matter right now, I will find out. . . later." He picked up the M-16. "And this thing? What is this for?" Without looking at me Tahr sullenly said, "Hunting." "How does it work?" "May I show you?" Tahr was being very casual, maybe too casual - Tarsha looked thoughtful. "I think not, Tahr," he said. "Something has already killed too many of my people." He looked at me, "Although I cannot believe THAT pitiful creature did it. "No, Shirai, you will tell me how to use it." He experimentally hefted three and a half kilograms of armalite then wrapped his hand around the grip, flexing his dark fingers. Tahr licked her thin, black lips and said nothing. "Tahr," Tarsha reminded her mildly, "your friend. . . " Tahr looked at me. No, Tahr, don't do it! "There is a small knob on the side there. Pull it backwards until it clicks and let it go again," she said. "All right, now push that little thing there forward." Holding the rifle casually in one hand Tarsha did as she said. "Now what?" he asked. Tahr sighed, looking about as threatening as a dandelion. "Just pull that lever underneath." Confident in our helplessness, Tarsha pulled the trigger. The gun rattled out a short, wild burst, the noise and recoil taking the Sathe completely by surprise. He instinctively spun around and threw up his arm to protect his face as the recoil kicked the weapon from his grasp and bullets stitched blackened holes through the fabric of the shelter. Tahr had the gun before it hit the ground The Sathe didn't have time to react before Tahr had assault rifle aimed at the two guards behind Tarsha. The gun burped and the small shelter was filled with the acrid smell of propellant and burned leather, fur, and flesh. The guards were kicked backwards by an invisible mule, the first one's chest imploded and the next one's head whipped around in a spray of pink; she had not accounted for the muzzle kick and hit the second one higher than she had intended. Tarsha had only just begun to move, turning in time to receive the butt of the gun in his face as Tahr turned to face the other two guards. Tarsha swayed indecisively then toppled at my feet. The other two guards had hesitated a second before drawing their swords. That cost them their lives. One fell spasming on the ground with a sucking hole through her chest, the other had three holes up the torso as Tahr 'walked' the shots up his body. She missed with two rounds. She started searching Tarsha; for the key to the manacles I guessed, then kicked him aside and aimed the rifle at the wooden stocks. Two shots in quick succession tore the wood into flinders that she kicked away and fumbled through Tarsha's sack, coming up with another magazine then darted from the shelter, out of my sight. Shouts and cries came from outside, many cut off abruptly with the sharp crack of rifle fire. A crossbow quarrel tore through the canvass near the top of the shelter, in one side and out the other. The M-16 clattered, short bursts mixed with screaming. A long rattle of gunfire, then single shots, then there was silence. "Tahr!" I croaked past the burning in my throat. Long seconds passed before Tahr pushed her way into the bivvy, stepping over the bodies lying outside.She was over the edge of a berserker rage: every hair upon her body seemed to be standing upright while her ears were plastered down tight, almost lost in her mane.Those greenstone eyes were black pools, the iris dilated until the green of her pupils was all but obliterated. The sound of her breathing was a hoarse rasping as she gulped air. "Tahr. . . ?" She dropped to her knees and the gun fell aside with a clatter, then my face was buried in her mane as she hugged me, her cheek pressed close against mine. ****** I couldn't believe the whimper came from my own throat. It hurt like hell as Tahr wiped the steaming-hot cloth across the mess of blood on my chest, clearing it away so my skin and the scratches themselves were visible. A couple of them began slowly weeping blood again as soon as they were bared to the air. Kneeling over me she inspected the cuts, then sat back until she was resting on her ankles. Judging by her expression it was not good. Tahr confirmed my fears: "They are deep, and there are so many of them. K'hy. . . It is not good." There was a groan from the still-unconscious form of Tarsha lying there in the restraints that until recently I'd been wearing. Tahr looked at him and gaped her mouth in a hiss of pure malice. I sagged back and stared at the mottled, off-white fabric of the tent roof. Trees outside cast a hypnotic pattern of moving leaves and branches it: a shifting pattern swaying back and forth. Tahr spoke again, giving me something to focus on, "Is there nothing that you can do?" I slowly shook my head. My medical kit was in my pack and that was on the boat and God only knew where that was now. What would Rambo do? I thought numbly to myself: Sew himself up with fish gut and a six-inch nail and not give a damn about infection. I had to give a damn about it. I was already running a fever and there was no way that my body could cope with both. Was there anything I could do? I knew that you made penicillin from moulds, but I wasn't about to wait around for a few weeks for an orange to turn green. Besides, once you've got a mouldy orange, what the hell do you DO with it? I remembered the clean, antiseptic smell of hospitals, the hint of alcohol in the atmosphere. . . Bingo. Alcohol. "Tahr, how do you make ale?" "What?" her muzzle wrinkled up in confusion. "Please, how?" She scratched her muzzle and thought for a second. "Uhnn. . . grain or corn is left until it starts to grow, then it is cooked and mixed with water. I think it is then left until a foam appears on the surface. It is flavoured with honey or spices." I pawed at her and she trailed off. It was all I needed to know and everything I wanted to hear. "Is there any ale here?" "Thirsty? I can bring you water. . . " "No, no. Please, just see if they have any." With a bob of her head she was gone from the shelter to return in a few minutes with the news that there were two kegs of the liquor in the supplies of the Gulf troops. "This had better work," I muttered to myself. "Help me up. I have work to do,"I held out my arm to her. "No. Hold. You are not moving," Tahr pushed me back down. "Tell me what to do." I protested, but she remained firm. No amount of arguing on my part was going to sway her. Finally I had to acquiesce and tell her what to do. "Boil ale and catch the vapours?" she wrinkled her muzzle in puzzlement. "I do not understand." "Please." I was so tired. I just wanted to sleep. "Just do it." "Very well." She batted my face gently and then was gone again. Outside I could hear the clattering of ironmongery. Tarsha stirred, turning over. My chest ached, sharps pangs lancing through it as I reached for the M-16's strap, took it up. I really have no idea if there were any rounds left in it. I rested the trembling weapon across my lap, muzzle toward the unconscious Gulf officer. His muzzle was covered with blood, as was the surrounding fur. A blueish lump was starting to show through the fur. Red-tinged spittle drooled from the corner of his mouth: I wouldn't have been surprised if he had lost a tooth or two as a result of Tahr's work with the gun butt. As I watched him, he groaned and tied to raise his hands to his face; the chain from his wrist to his ankle manacles stopped him. Then he opened his eyes and looked up at me with an expression of undisguised horror. Really, he had no reason to be scared of me. Not of me. Of Tahr, now that was something else altogether. ****** Tahr squeezed the cloth and a single drop of liquid seemed to burn a hole through my tongue, the smell tearing a passage through my sinuses. I gasped and coughed."Goddamn!" To Tahr's bewildered face I said, "Good." "What do I do?" she asked. "My belt." She passed it to me. With trembling fingers I doubled it over. "Just pour it on," I said and jammed the tough webbing of the belt between my teeth. She hesitated. "This will hurt you?" I nodded and growled, "G'on wi't!" Even the diluted liquid was icy-cold against my skin for a second, then it seemed as if tongues of fire were raging through my nerves, burning slashes on my chest reaching inside me and searing to the core. I squeezed my eyes shut and my teeth clenched hard on the rough nylon in my mouth. Slowly it faded as Tahr paused, then she moved again and a strangled whimper escaped my throat, sweat breaking out as she wiped the cloth across my wounds. I think I passed out for a few seconds. Cool finger-pads were patting my cheek, then slapping. I groaned and felt the belt slip from between my teeth. "K'hy?" "Uhhh. "I have finished. If you can sit up, I will put the bandages on." There was the sound of claws clicking together, then: "It will hurt." It did, but it was nothing compared to the cold searing of the alcohol. I sucked in air through my teeth as she put pads of hot cloth on my chest then wrapped hot bandages around my torso, covering the still bleeding cuts. When she finished, I was covered in mismatched cloth from nipples to navel. Tahr surveyed her work and was apparently satisfied. She let me rest for a brief while before waking me. "K'hy, we have to leave this place. Can you walk?" "Don't know," I croaked, but tried: lurching to my feet, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the sheet of pain across my chest. Then my knees buckled and Tahr only just managed to catch me. "Obviously not. Here," she slipped a shoulder under my arm and together we staggered outside. "My Ancestors, do you have to weigh so much?" It was like the aftermath on a battlefield. All around the campsite Sathe bodies lay in various poses, some still clutching weapons, several had holes in the forehead; mercy shots. Amongst the treeline lay more shapes, the marks on their backs showed they had not been trying to fight. Already black carrion birds were squabbling in branches overhead and they would not wait long. There was a small, four-wheeled wagon with two llamas already hitched to the tongue. Tahr boosted me up into the wagonbed, laid me back and pulled a pile of blankets across, swaddling me in cloth that quickly warmed to my body heat. I was tired, my skin burning. I wanted to throw the blankets off to cool down. Tahr squatted at the tailgate and sniffed her shoulder where I had leaned on her. "It is time you had another bath," she smiled. As a joke it fell a bit flat. "You killed them all," I grated. She looked around, "Not all of them, some got away. You worry about them? My ancestors, K'hy, they would have killed us." She looked back at the tent. "And it is not over yet." She walked back to the tent, stooping to pry a sword from a dead soldier's fingers before disappearing inside. I closed my eyes when the screaming started, but I couldn't close my ears. ****** The fever grew worse: a debilitating, strength-sapping heat and shivering that dragged me under, burning at my skin and keeping me floating in and out of sleep, babbling at Tahr in a patchwork of English and Sathe as she nursed me. My memory of what happened after we left the Gulf encampment behind us is pretty hazy. I slept for hours on end, drifting in and out of dimly remembered dreams. At times, when Tahr roused me and did her best to feed and water me I would wake confused and disoriented, the Sathe terrifying me as I mixed her with the nightmares in my deliriums. I fought her. I can remember that, struggling against her, then just a picture of her holding me, stroking my face and hair, murmuring, crooning something soft and incomprehensible and reassuring. I've never spoken to her about that. How did she feel knowing she was a thing of nightmares and horror for me? Were there times she felt the same way about me? We travelled west: inland, towards the setting sun. Sometimes it rained and I would wake in humid darkness, the sound of water drumming against cloth. Tahr's fur was warm as she lay beside me under the canvass covering us. Days later the fever broke, shortly after Tahr got us onto a road that took us northwards, towards Mainport. There was no doubting her relief. I rose from the fever to find her tired and haggard - actually shedding - after driving day and night as well as trying to tend to me. Another two days passed before I was strong enough to sit up and take my turn on the bench. When I insisted on doing my shift, she handed over the reins with only token resistance. Hours later I turned around to see how my passenger was faring, the scars across my chest pulling uncomfortably. She was sprawled on her back in the sun, one leg propped up on the side of the wagon, head back, mouth open, and snoring like a chainsaw. There are many times I've missed having a camera. It was only later that I had a chance to talk to her. She had sacrificed a lot because of me. Looking back, I realise how blind I had been in reading her true feelings for me. Perhaps I should have realised that there was more than friendship there when she almost betrayed her people for my sake. "You play dangerous games, Tahr." "How so?" she inquired blandly with a twitch on the reins. The knife in my hands slipped when the wagon hit a rut, nicking a rogue gouge from the piece of wood I was absently whittling down to a toothpick. I frowned at the mar, then tossed the wood away into the grass verge. "I think you know. Why did you try so hard to protect me? If you had not been so sure that you could get your hands upon the gun would you have played such games with them?" Tahr's ears flickered up and down; as though someone had just blown into them. "I was protecting my own interests just as much as yours. As I told Tarsha, he did not realise just what you mean to our people. Your knowledge is more valuable than anything I could have offered him." She gestured at my chest. "The trick you performed with the ale, it seems to have worked wonders." "There was a lot of luck there," I said, wiping the blade of my knife on my shirt. There was sap stuck to the gleaming steel and something made me want to polish the blade until there was not a trace of imperfection upon it. The sap was reluctant to come off, but I was in no hurry. "Perhaps, but you can save many lives with that stuff." "Yeah, it also makes a rather nice drink among other things," I said, then realised what she was doing. "But you are pulling me off the subject again!" I fumed and she threw back her head and hissed at the sky and at me. "You risked you home and your people for me! I do not understand you!" She stopped laughing and looked at her hands, then at me: "Would you have not done the same for me?" I opened my mouth to say something, and then closed it again. Would I have done the same. . . ? Tahr saw my indecision and simply smiled into the sun. "It did work out though. Did it not?" "Well, yes," I admitted. "Then why worry?" I shook my head in hopeless disgust. A few minutes later I asked. "What did you do to him?" Tahr's head whipped around and her unmoving green eyes locked on me. Slowly, her ears went down, "Ahhh, that is why you bring this up. . . Do you really want to know?" I remembered the noises from the tent and gave a mental shudder. "No," I said: subdued, "I do not think I do." "Why are you so upset about his death? Did you want to bring him with us after what he did to you?" Shit, she was right, I shouldn't be concerned about him. He had raped her and tortured me. The bastard'd had it coming. But what had she done with that sword?. . . I shuddered again. "Why does it worry you so much? You have killed before:Many times." "Tahr. . . " I didn't quite know how to say it. "Before I came here I had never even seen a death. I certainly had never really expected I would have to kill. It. . . " I broke off with a dismissive wave of my hand. She was amazed. "But a warrior. . . how could you not consider the possibility that someday you may have to fight? to kill?!" "I had considered it, but I never really expected that I would have to." I ran my hand through my hair and rubbed my neck as I wondered how best to explain. "Our ideas of armies are most probably different. You use yours as a. . . deterrent? To make other Realms respect your borders and lands?" "Yes," Tahr said. "My people do not rely so much upon their individual warriors for that," I said. "There are. . . agreements between Realms to make sure that no small Realm is abused." "This does not make much sense," Tahr mused. "I do not know how to explain it fully," I confessed. "I am not entirely sure that anyone does." "Politics are the same for your kind, huh?" she smiled. "But what does that have to do with a soldier not being prepared to kill?" Damnation! There were some things that I really didn't want to talk about. The Damocles Sword of nuclear weapons one of them. Finally I sighed and said, "Our warriors are not. . . always warriors. Most of them are civilians who serve a short time in the military and there are many other skill that are taught besides simply fighting. I was one of those trained among to. . . look after vehicles and distribute supplies. Things like that." "A [quartermaster]?!" Tahr looked astonished. "I had always thought of you as. . . as being of a higher ranking." "Sorry," I said, feeling slightly hurt. "We have a large army. Someone has to do the dirty work." "True," she agreed, still sounding disillusioned. "How large?" "Around about. . . I think your number is, million?" Tahr's jaw hit ground floor. "A million? A thousand thousand?!" she squeaked. "K'hy, there are not that many warriors in all the armies in all the Realms!" "Then you can imagine the difficulty in supplying it." There were questions flitting across her face like flies over a sheep's carcass. She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times then turned her head to stare out straight ahead. Finally she glanced sidelong at me, "Were you good at your job?" "It was a living," I said. Still the questions lurked just beneath the surface, but she choked them back. Instead she said: "Then when you killed, it was the first time in your life - for me. Was it worth it?" I stared back at her then chuckled. It turned into a cough. "I believe so." Or was it? Maybe if I had stayed by the truck the Portal would have come back. Maybe I could have stayed up in the hills, away from alien politics and fighting. Maybe. . . There were too many maybe's. I was in it now, in it way over my head. Riding with an exotic, high-ranking alien female, hunted, future uncertain but not looking very good. Tahr said this was the main road from the Bay Town district to Mainport. Well, she called it a road; all I saw was a strip where the grass had two parallel ruts in it, a typical Sathe highway. E. T. A. at Mainport: one week, maybe a little longer. When asked why we weren't going back to the ship, Tahr asked me what I would do if I was a captain on a ship that was running a tight schedule to make port before the Autumn storms set in, and had just lost a quarter or more of its crew. Would you waste time searching for two careless passengers who had gotten themselves captured by bandits after paying half the fare and leaving behind a pack full of unique trinkets worth a small fortune? Neither would I. ****** The storm blew up on our fifth day on the road. These past couple of days Tahr had been restless, with an agitation I couldn't explain and she denied when I asked her about it. Now with the thunderheads brewing on the horizon she was even more distracted. "I think we should make camp soon," I suggested, watching the darkening sky. "Huh?.." She looked at me with a glazed stare, then she blinked and her eyes focused. She looked at the sky. "What did you say?" "I said we should make camp, it is going to urinate down." "What. . . Oh. . . yes, you are right." Her muzzle wrinkled as she judged the massive thunderheads looming on the horizon like the prows of titanic ships. "If I remember. . . I think there should be a good site a few kilometres ahead. We might make it in time." She squirmed on the seat, scooting her butt across the plank. "You are twitchy. Are you all right?" I asked. She looked at me in a funny way. "Yes, I. . . I am fine." She turned back to the llamas. I thought I heard her muttering something to herself, something about 'it being already', but the wind garbled and tore the words. I shrugged it off. The wind picked up to the accompaniment of distant thunder and several fat drops of rainwater spattered onto the wooden bed of the cart. I grabbed a sheet of canvass from the back (one of the shelters that the gulf soldiers would no longer be needing. We also had a small armoury of 'liberated' swords and crossbows) and went to sit by Tahr, lunging for hand-holds as the cart lurched over the rough track. I felt a twinge in my chest as the scarred skin there moved. "Move over a bit." I sat beside her and held the heavy material in place over us. It kept the rain off as we kept moving. Thousands of years ago, two huge slabs of granite had fallen against each other forming an upside down V shape, blocked at one end. Plants had grown atop them, sealing the gap where the two monoliths met. The floor of the resulting cave was covered with a variety of stones, but these had been cleared away by Sathe travellers who made good use of this convenient shelter, leaving clean sand. Fires had been lit at the mouth, always in one ring of fire blackened stones. The walls had been decorated with Sathe graffiti drawn in charcoal: strange Ideographs and hieroglyphics. It was pissing down when we finally arrived, the canvass soaked and rivulets of mud streaming down into the road. Tahr made for the cave while I unhitched and tethered the llamas, dodging a spray of saliva as one of the bastards spat at me. Let me tell you, until you've smelt wet llama fleece, you haven't smelt anything. I wished I had a wet dog along to freshen the air. There was a small stack of dry wood and kindling in the cave. Not enough to last the night. The pair of us braved the downpour and dashed out to retrieve more to stack and dry off. We were both soaked to the skin, Tahr dripping and trying to shake herself dry, looking so miserably bedraggled I had to laugh. She favoured me with a sharp white smile, then a playful cuff with a muddy paw. Chuckling, she went to stack the kindling. With some aid from my lighter a bright blaze was soon crackling in the hearth. "Home sweet home," I said cheerfully, glad to be out of the driving rain. Thunder rolled across the hills outside and the light faded quickly. Tahr had found herself a warm spot and was just sitting, staring into the sheets of rain. I sat down on the sand beside her. She smelled strange. . . not the usual kind of musky; a distinct, almost-spicy smell just on the edge of detection. Wet fur I guessed. "Tahr, do you think. . . Tahr? Hey, Earth to Tahr, come in space cadet." Her head whipped around and those big eyes fixed on me. "Huh?. . What is it?" "I've been thinking. . . About using a sword. I mean, I am going to have to learn sometime. Can you teach me?" "You do not know how to use blade?" She sounded incredulous. "No, of course you don't." She rubbed at her face, smearing her hands across her cheeks. "I never thought that I would need to know how to use one. They are not very popular in my world." "You have told me before," she sighed. "Yes, I shall be happy to teach you." "Great! Shall we get started?" There were swords in the back of the cart, I started to get up. "No, K'hy, no." She gave me a sidelong glance then flicked her gaze back to the rain. "I. . . not now. You choose your moments! Can you not be patient?!" She almost snapped out the last words. Then looked surprised, then chagrined. "I am sorry," she mumbled. "I think I need to sleep." Was she trembling? or was it just the flickering light? I didn't say anything as she stiffly climbed to her feet and moved further back into the cave to where we had laid bedrolls on the soft sand, out of the reach of any streams of water that might find their way inside. A fork of lightning seared the clouds outside. I stared at it long after it had vanished, the after-image imprinted on my retina. It reminded me of the Portal that had brought me. . . us here. I though about Tenny Dalton for the first time in a long while. A night out on the town during leave, visiting the nightclubs. Sometimes there were girls, and they. . . Nooo! No more girls. No more women! Nothing! I shuddered. And Tahr was pissed at me for some reason. Thunder cracked and rolled. If the weather cleared up during the night, we could get an early start in the morning. Perhaps things would look better then. I kicked a log into the fire; it lay sputtering, flames licking around it as I stripped off my boots, fatigue pants, and jacket, left them lying in a pile and wrapped myself in sheets of canvass: uncomfortable, but warm. Tahr was lump under her cloak. I could tell she was still awake, and tense. "Tahr?" She didn't answer. "What is wrong? Is it something I said? What?" When she rolled over, her eyes reflected firelight: two shimmering green points of liquid emerald. For a few seconds she stared at me, then sat up, gathered her cloak about her shoulders and came over to me, kneeling less than a metre away, watching me. The musky smell about her was strong. Now I realised it wasn't wet fur. "K'hy, I. . . I did not expect my Time to come so soon." What the hell was she talking about? Time? The way she said that. . . was she ill? "Tahr, what. . . I do not understand." She squirmed uncomfortably and explained. "It is the season for my Time. I am ready for mating." My wheels spun for a full second before that clicked. "You are. . . Holy shit ! You are in. . .estrus?" She saw the confusion on my face and moved back slightly, surprised herself. "You do not. . . Oh. Your females. . . Do not tell me: they do not have Times, do they?" I shook my head. "Oh," is a good transliteration of her next noise. Then: "No wonder you are so. . . It is all new to you. I am sorry if I hurt or offend you. . . you do not know what it is like." "There is nothing I can do?" She glanced sharply at me, then tipped her hands in a shrugged. "I do not think so. It. . . It is a hard thing to describe. Sometimes hot, craving, siskrtch; An emptiness, a. . . a. . . " She hunted for words, her hands writhing about each other. "An itch you cannot scratch," I suggested. I had a feeling that I did understand. "Yes, that is. . . it." Her eyes started to lose their focus again and she shook her head wildly, sending her mane whipping about her face. "Uhnnn. . . If I am impatient with you, please try and understand." "I will remember. Good night, Tahr." I rolled over, away from her. After a few seconds her voice murmured: "Good sleeping, K'hy." ****** Tahr twitched violently in her sleep, like a dog chasing something in its dreams, the small mews and snarls she voiced reminiscent of a wild animal. I leant over her, touched her shoulder and gently shook her then tried to duck as she swung wildly, backhanded, catching me across the ear and I went over backward with my head swimming. When my vision cleared, Tahr was kneeling over me, her hands fluttering with indecision. "Ow, Goddamn, you've got a good left." I sat up rubbing my temple. Lucky she hadn't had her claws out. "Saaa! Scthe n'sert ctsre a'n kreths . . . " she started off in a babble I couldn't follow at all, then abruptly buried her face in her hands and looked up again. "I am sorry, K'hy, I could not stop myself!" she raked claws through facial fur and mane. "This is the first Time I have been through with no- one around. I cannot. . . " "All right," I tried to soothe her. "Do not worry about it." She flowed to her feet and paced, tossing her head back and forth. A bolt of lighting flashed outside, illuminating her in relief and she froze to stare at the flash like a possum caught in a car's headlights. I could hear her murmur, "You do not know what it is like, alone. . . " she broke off and turned to stare at me. My jaws twitched in a tight little smile and I saw her ears wilt as she realized that she was talking to a being who was one of a kind in her world. Yeah, Tahr. I know. I understand. I had known it these past months. I had lived with it; More alone than she would ever be, could ever imagine. "Oh, K'hy. . . strange one. If this is what it is like for you every day. . . " She let it hang and was silent. In the darkness her eyes were shadows trying to read my brown ones. There was nothing I could say. I just looked down at my hands, feeling so awkward. Rain hissed outside, drowning the sound of her footsteps on sand, but I heard fur rustle as she sat down beside me on the soft sand, leaning against me, and I instinctively put an arm around her, feeling her warmth and solidity in the dim firelight. Her musky scent hung heavy on the damp air; it brought back memories of hot nights back home, women. Tahr was motionless against me, breathing softly, her head leaning on my shoulder. I tensed when I felt her move, kneeling beside me. Fur brushed against my arm, hands moving, looping around in a warm embrace, a warm breath against my ear, then sharp teeth bit gently into the juncture of shoulder and neck, just hard enough to be felt, a rough tongue rasped after. "Tahr," my voice cracked. This was. . . It was leading. . . I knew where it was leading and it set emotions into conflict: fear and something else.. "Please. . . think." "I have," she rumbled in my ear, her voice deep; almost a purr. "I have thought most carefully." "But we are not. . . I mean. . . You are a Sathe. . . " "And you are not. I had noticed." Hands stroked my hair. Thunder rolled outside. The rain picked up and the fire flickered as a cool wind blew through. She moved, looking up into my face. A single rough finger pad stroked down my cheek. "H'man. I know what you are." The wind blew again. I shivered violently and hung my head. "I. . . I do not want to hurt you. . . " I think she smiled then: "I know," she whispered, soft tones like the moving of air. "You could never hurt me." Again I shivered. It was the cold, I told myself, not that knot of agony inside. . . how could I lie to myself? "I am afraid." And now she cupped my face in her hands, holding me when I flinched, bent my face toward her muzzle. Delicately she licked my eyes with the tip of her rough tongue. That felt strange: tickling, oddly comforting. "Tahr. . . " I suddenly needed more air. A furred finger crossed my lips to hush me. Her hands lowered, sliding down my neck and across my chest, then hooking my shirt and sliding it off. Confused, I didn't resist. That familiar tension inside kept me trembling, uncertain, not knowing whether to run or reciprocate, a shiver when she nuzzled gently at the hollow of my neck. Seemingly of their own accord my arms went around her, holding her close, feeling her heartbeat, her breathing, my face to the dusty sunlight of her mane. She made a low noise: not a purr, not quite a growl and I released a shuddering breath into the encompassing warmth of her fur. Then her hands were in my waistband and - somehow - my shorts were lying on the sand and we were kneeling before the fire; touching, exploring each other in ways infinitely more intimate than we had ever done before, in ways I'd never dreamed of. Her fur was so slightly coarse and exquisitely pleasurable as she moved closer and wriggled against me, warm, muscular, embracing me as I hugged her close, claws digging into my back. My fingers combed through her fur, across her back, her breath hot past my ear. As sensitive as a woman. . . No, she was a woman. . . No. . . I. . . We tried. And it was confusing. I didn't know what I wanted, I didn't know what she wanted. For what seemed like breathless years we were writhing on the sand, gasping and yelping and fumbling, fur twining between my fingers and her claws nicking my back. Like the first time I'd ever been with a woman all over again: that same clumsiness and uncontrollable excitement that sets your heart pounding with an intensity even running for your life can't match. But there hadn't been the fur then, nor the claws or teeth nipping at my chest and arms. Hugging her, her back arched, spine hard against my chest, arms around her rubbing across her chest and the bumps of her leathery nipples, her hands caught at mine, head twisting to nuzzle my neck and then she knelt beneath me, down-covered rump raised and wriggling. I hesitated, unsure, then she was there to guide me, into alien heat. I heaved a shuddering breath and she gave a yelp of what could have been surprise. Warmth and silken, strong, and strange muscle enveloped me. She shifted to and fro beneath me and I was moving also, through a chaos of darkness, flickering firelight and flashbulbs of lightning and familiar sensations that were still like nothing I'd felt before. Eyes closed and hands clenched in fur. The scent in my nose was heavy and musky: the smell of sex and there were moments of heat, of slipping, clenching hands in fur, warm moving encompassing everything. When everything became a blur of pleasure that turned to an explosion of heat - the culmination - Tahr's cry of release rose, echoing in competition with the storm outside. We lay spooned together for a time, my sweat forming a sheen on my bare skin, fur adhering in sticky clumps. Tahr stirred against me, twisting to nuzzle my chin and lick my neck. "Hai? K'hy?" "Hmmm?" "Again?" she murmured, reaching back to rake her claws lightly up my hip. "Hnnn? Already?" "A," She rolled over, hooking arms behind my neck and drawing me closer. I could feel her breath on my cheek, rough tongue lathing my chin: "Please?" I hesitated, responding already, then wrapped my arms around her, drawing her still closer. Slower, this time. Slower, more feeling, teaching her a thing or two. ****** By morning the storm had eased. I awoke to fragmented beams of sunlight streaming into the cave, the sounds of birdsong. Tahr was nestled against me, her head in the crook of my arm. I just lay there for a while, watching the sunbeams crawling along the floor of the cave, up our legs. Tahr's fur scattering the light into smaller beams, like prisms. I could see how her fur changed from place to place across her body: light on the inside of her thighs, on her stomach and face. Growing heavier on the outside of her legs, her crotch, up her spine, her mane. Highlights, a corona of white and gold where that sun stroked across the landscape of her torso. Her ribs moving as she breathed, teeth glinting through partly opened black lips. . . Beautiful. . . And by the light of day she was unutterably, indisputably alien. My God! What've I done ?! ****** We walked the cart down to the road where the mud was steaming; fighting a slow, losing battle with the morning sun. In places the ruts were ankle-deep in an ooze that clung to the spokes on the wheels and spattered us. Breakfast was eaten on the move, the cold remains of a deer shot with a crossbow the other day. I ate little, my mind wandering back to the previous night. Of all the things I'd ever done, I'd never felt such a. . . a lust, a loss of control. It scared me. I couldn't justify it, but I also couldn't forget it. Despite the minor scratches and bite marks she'd left me with, she'd been gentle; in her own, feline way. She'd told me she was experienced, but the one description that came to mind when recalling her lovemaking was naive. Energetic; yes, very, but naive. She only knew a single position: submissive, with the male mounting from behind, and nothing at all about playing, spinning the pleasure out. . . I'd learned I didn't have the recuperative power of their males, but in that one night I'd shown her more tricks than she had learned in a lifetime! Sathe just didn't experiment when it came to their primal urges. It probably had something to do with their males: when they get a whiff of a female in season they get that glassy- eyed look, then the only way to hold them back is to nail them down. I'd shown her new moves, opened new horizons for her, and she, in turn, had given me both a new experience and shown me there was somebody there for me. But she wasn't even human ! Not on the outside, but what about inside ? Not there, either. I didn't understand this. Last night riding on the crest of lust it had all seemed so natural, so right. Now this guilt trip. She wasn't human, but she wasn't an animal. . . or was I just looking for an excuse to justify myself. "You are very quiet this morning. Share your thoughts?" I'd been staring off at nothing. I blinked and focused on Tahr. "Last night?" she asked. That hit. I nodded. "Do you regret what happened? "I don't know," I said then hesitated before I added, "My people would consider what we did as wrong." "Why?" "You are not even human!" I blurted it out then looked at my feet. "Well," she said dryly, "it was me or the llamas." "Not funny." "K'hy, what could be shameful about giving comfort and pleasure? We are different, I will grant you that, but not so far apart. I know you are very like a Sathe in many of your ways. Also, you are not in your world any longer. This is mine. I think my people are not as. . . ah. . . fussy as your own when it comes to mating." Her sharp eyes caught the slight flush around my ears and her ears flickered in amusement. "You are still uncomfortable talking about matters of sex." I swallowed, but plunged on, "Are all your. . . uh. . . Times so short?" She kept a straight face when she answered, but those green and gold eyes laughed at me, sensing my discomfort. "It varies. Sometimes for days, sometimes for only a few hours." She was silent for a few seconds. Then: "I remember my first time, it was one of the most frightening moments of my life. I was still in the Citadel at Mainport, still a student. It was spring and I woke with sensations I'd never had before. In an academic way I knew what was happening to me, but was still afraid of the feelings I had no control over, the yearnings." Her ears flickered in the ghost of a smile. "Ah, the fluster of my male friends when they first scented me. I think they were even more confused than I. Even so, they helped me. They chose one. He stayed with me for those nights. Did you have a female back on your world?" There she goes again, changing tack more often than a sailing ship into a blustering headwind. Well, yes, I had known women, but I wasn't what you could call a casanova. There had been affairs - a few - but they had faded: I hadn't been ready for the commitment. "Do you still fear it?" she asked. "It was not fear," I said, trying to recall why I had been so reluctant. "I supposed I thought of females as a. . . almost a burden," I realised how that must have sounded and laughed at myself. "And now?" I rubbed the bridge of my nose. "And now it is something I regret most deeply." Tahr didn't press the subject. The days passed slowly, the temperature and weather changing all the time; sometimes warmer, sometimes colder. The air grew crisper as we travelled: less muggy and sedentary. As we progressed north we came across other traffic: carts, wagons, and individual riders on their llamas. Most of the time they were going the other way, but once we overtook a lumbering procession of wagons laden with barrels and boxes and casks of various types also northbound. Gawping Sathe stared at us for a long time as we passed them, until they passed from sight. There were several small settlements along the way: towns the size of Traders Meet built at river crossings and crossroads, small villages along the road, tiny hamlets and farms half-hidden among the trees. The largest of these settlements - First Step South - was a proper town, similar in size to Baytown. Tahr told me that it was the first settlement built outside the traditional clan grounds, the last town before the ancient walls of Mainport. End Human Memoirs Part 1 Section D