From howell_g@kosmos.wcc.govt.nz Mon Jun 12 21:04:05 PDT 1995 Article: 32203 of alt.fan.furry Xref: netcom.com alt.fan.furry:32203 Path: netcom.com!csus.edu!csulb.edu!info.ucla.edu!library.ucla.edu!agate!ames!waikato!comp.vuw.ac.nz!newshost.wcc.govt.nz!usenet From: howell_g@kosmos.wcc.govt.nz Newsgroups: alt.fan.furry Subject: Story: Human Memoirs part 9 Date: Mon, 12 Jun 95 22:28:57 +1200 Organization: Wellington City Council Lines: 1656 Message-ID: <3rh4ur$oo1@golem.wcc.govt.nz> NNTP-Posting-Host: ix.wcc.govt.nz Here it is. Fat-free and enviromentally friendly. . . THE HUMAN MEMOIRS PART III When so many are lonely as seem to be lonely, it would be inexcusably selfish to be lonely alone. -TENNESSEE WILLIAMS The day started as it had way back when Tahr and I were on the road. How long ago was that now? God, almost a year now. Ah, things were simpler then, when we'd first met, back in the good ol' days: Living day to day, up with the sun, break camp, and eat a cold breakfast on the move. Usually what was left of last night's dinner. A clear, crisp morning; one of those days that winter lives for. A translucent, half-hearted mist clung to the snowy countryside, sinking like an insubstantial tide as the sun slowly warmed it. The sky was a cobalt blue so sharp it cut. Off in the distance a flock of geese - flying in V- formation - skimmed low over the mirror-perfect surface of a lake that for some reason had remained unfrozen, the still water reflecting the birds and the bare trees along its shore . . . until the birds touched down, their wakes spreading ripples of distortion out across the crystal surface. New England would have looked like this, before the Europeans arrived. Indeed it was a paradise, but when everyone turns up expecting a share of paradise, it very rapidly becomes something else. Was that going to happen back home? Had it already happened? I reached out to push the flap back further. The outside air was cold, but fresh. I'd been cooped up for too long already. "Sir?" It was Chirthi. He reached past me to close the flap again. "I am sorry sir, but I cannot let you do that." "Huh? Do what?" "Sit like that, where someone might see you." I didn't quite believe this. "Say what? Why" "Orders, sir." He ducked his head. I drew a deep breath. "Chirthi, you cannot read my expressions very well, can you. Do you know how I'm feeling?" He looked wary - rightly so. "Ah, no sir." "Annoyed!" I snarled. "Who told you to keep me inside?!" He cringed back, ears flattening. "The Marshal, sir. She ordered us to keep you in the wagon, out of sight, even if we have to chain you. If anything happened to you, or if you even got out to relieve yourself unaccompanied, she would drown us in the nearest river." I wanted to punch something. "All right then," I grated, "I will not try to make your job any harder." "We would appreciate that," R'R'Rhasct smiled. I rolled my eyes and wished the sarcasm wouldn't go past them so easily; took the fun out of it. Oh, shit, I sighed and settled back into the cushions. Tired. I still wore out easily. If my guards wanted to physically restrain me, they'd have little trouble. It was later that evening, when Remae brought me my food, I had the chance to ask her why I was being treated like I was under house arrest. "Your safety, K'hy," she said. "Look, if they were Gulf Realm who abducted you, then there could be a war brewing. They outnumber us, badly." "But, those maps you showed me. The Realms are about the same size. Anyway, what has that to do with me not being able to go and relieve myself without a cub watcher?" I demanded. "Huh . . . Those maps show the land we hold, not the number of Sathe on the land. The Swamp Lands to the south are almost worthless; too hot and wet. Insects, diseases, and hurricanes . . . There are not many Sathe who would wish to make their homes there." Yeah, it'd been a long time before the Florida peninsula back home was settled. "Also," she continued, "the Gulf realm has grown a lot over the past fifty years, they have built three new towns in the west." Three towns in fifty years was a LOT?! I was about to ask about that but she kept talking. "We knew they were increasing the sizes of their armed forces, but we did not realise the magnitude of these increases. They did it subtly, never marshalling large numbers of troops in one place. We just never knew just how many they had. When they recalled garrisons from outlying settlements they had a trained army that hopelessly outnumbers our own. Putting it simply, they are equipped for a war, we are not. So we need something to even the odds. You and you knowledge may be it, and they know it. They have tried to steal you from us once and failed. They may try again, or . . . or they might to decide to eliminate the thing that could possibly help to balance our forces." Why didn't she just say it? "Kill me." "Yes." She twitched a shoulder; an imitation shrug? I wasn't sure. "You see why I have ordered you kept under guard and out of sight. If they think you have been lost in the wilderness, all the better." "You think they will try again?" "I am not sure, but if their spies report you alive and causing trouble, I think there is a very good chance they will. This time they may not bother with trying to take you alive either. A well-aimed crossbow bolt would put an end to their problems. It all depends on how large a risk they consider you." "Thanks," I grimaced. "That makes me feel a whole lot better." I doubted they would have gone to all the trouble of kidnapping me if they thought I would be a minor irritation. Up to that point they had contented themselves with hit and run operations, making sure that their operatives struck at targets they could be sure of destroying while remaining anonymous. Now, with my abduction that had changed. They were willing to risk the disapproval of the other major powers just to snatch at a relatively unimportant target. How unimportant was I? Damnation! Given long enough a dedicated interrogator could get enough information out of me to give them a serious edge, technology-wise. I knew how to make gunpowder, I knew how to make a steam engine, or a glider or an electrical generator. I knew more efficient methods of refining iron ore, of smelting steel and of casting it. Perhaps the Eastern Realm had not deemed it an extravagance to put most of their forces on the watch for me. Now I knew that both sides wanted me . . . Bad. But perhaps there was a difference in their motives. ****** "Six-eyes again!" R'R'Rhasct laughed. "Full set. That's two hundred and five golds you owe me, K'hy." "Shit!" I muttered. "All right, another hand. I cannot keep losing." "Perhaps," Chirthi grinned, "but you are pretty consistent." "Ah! Fuck you!" "What?" "I was just congratulating you on your luck," I replied airily. They both laughed at that and R'R'Rhasct swirled her hand, spreading the sticks in a starburst - marked faces down - and plucked one at random, then another, and another, finally setting one back: "Your draw." I picked my chits, and selected the trio:three dots in an equilateral triangle. As Chirthi took his turn, I asked, "What can you do for entertainment in Mainport?" "Well," R'R'Rhasct began with a glint in her eyes, "You can buy anything and anyone: males, females. I am sure you can find someone who would . . . " "Not that kind of entertainment," I broke in. They both hissed their amusement. "Seriously." "Seriously," Chirthi said. "There are inns and taverns everywhere. Also a couple of theatres and libraries." That sounded interesting. I wondered what a Sathe play would be like. "Or - if it is more to your liking - you may be able to find a fight-pit." "Ah . . . Fight-pit?" "You do not know of them? Well, I suppose they are not spoken of a great deal. Well, two or more Sathe are placed in an arena where they . . . " "Fight," I finished. "Sort of predictable, ah?" R'R'Rhasct grinned. "Sometimes Sathe against Sathe; sometimes Sathe against animals." I shook my head. "Uh-Uh. It does not sound like my kind of place." They looked at each other in surprise. "Fighting is not to your liking?" "Just say I have grown very tired of it," I said picking up another stick. "Alright . . . What are the taverns like?" "Huh!" R'R'Rhasct coughed. "Best in the Realm. But the water holes up in the Citadel are too to heavily policed. They are tame, boring. Only the clawless retainers patronise them. You should try the ones down by the docks. I would recommend the Red Sails." "Best food by far," Chirthi agreed. "They have actually got someone who knows how to cook. Also good ale and musicians, and at that place I think they would not even notice one such as yourself!" he laughed again and rejected another stick. R'R'Rhasct also laughed and picked one up. "Hahh!" she grinned and laid her hand out: TWO full sets this time - four quads and the five pentagons. "Shit!" ****** The wagon clattered and squealed through the cobblestone streets of Mainport as the small procession wound its way up toward the massive shape of the Citadel looming on the skyline. Sathe melted away to the sides as we passed. Chirthi and R'R'Rhasct made sure I was hidden in the wagon while they settled themselves on guard before the opening at the back. I couldn't see what was going on outside, but I could hear the sounds of the city: the rattling of metal bound wheels, the bleating of llamas, and the multitude of Sathe voices forming a sibilant background noise, like surf on a shingle beach. The tailgate was lowered into the shadows of a postern gate where my guards of four days helped me out into the arms of Royal Citadel guards in their spit-and-polish armour. Walking still took a bit out of me. Armour clattered as my guards dropped down beside me. Green eyes blinked up at me, then a hand flashed up to pat my cheek. "Perhaps I see you again some time, ah? Good luck, K'hy, " R'R'Rhasct bade me. "Thank you, Rhasct." "R'R'Rhasct," she corrected and she laughed and gave a final wave as the soldiers hustled me off into the cover of the Keep. Through the labyrinth of passages inside the Citadel they guided me, going higher all the time. All those twisting corridors and stairs completely screwed up my sense of direction, I didn't know where we were. And I wasn't in the greatest shape; those stairs exhausted me. The guards caught my elbows when I stumbled and helped me up the few final flights to a place I recognised from a long time ago. The corridor was wide and brightly lit with several guards posted in niches along its length. They were guarding the Royal chambers; the rooms where the old Shirai lay. My escorts stopped at a heavy door, only a couple of rooms down from the heavy doors of the Royal chambers. After unlocking the room with a bulky iron key from a large keyring already jangling with other keys, two of the score of Sathe guards checked the room, then they left me to wait. I didn't have much choice. When the door closed I heard the key turn in the lock. I poked around the room. It was similar to my old quarters, but plusher: Rugs covered the finely polished wooden floor and several pieces of wooden furniture were arranged around the room. A wide, if low, desk was set before a narrow window filled with latticed glass, a highbacked, carved wooden chair behind it. A couch and single-place chair made from leather cushions supported in wooden frames sat before a fireplace with logs and kindling already laid. Empty, expansive shelves and a large mirror hung from the wall; large for a world where mirrors had to be backed with silver, say, about as big as my head. Through another door: the bedroom. The whole room had the air of one that has'nt been used for a while, but there was not a speck of dust to be found anywhere. Looking out the window, I saw that the room was somewhere on the southern side of the keep. It didn't have the view of the bay that my last room did, but the main gates of the town below were visible, standing above the rooftops. Directly above the window were the eaves of a tiled roof; a bit surprising to find that on a fortress. About six or seven metres below was a wide, flagstone parapet overlooking the courtyard. My clothes were waiting in the bedroom, my twentieth century garments lying clean and folded on the concave bed. I didn't put them on. In my unwashed condition, I would only make them filthy again. There was another door in the bedroom. Upon examination, I was surprised to find that it led to an ensuite toilet. Nothing fancy, just a long drop, probably leading to a cistern that served several other jakes, but it was a luxury here. Even though it was a bit draughty. My previous quarters were served by a communal crapper on the same floor. Unisex bathrooms. They didn't reek nearly as much as some gas station restrooms I've used. I collapsed into the couch to wait. Same problem as will all Sathe furniture: built to the wrong proportions, either me or the chair. Finally, keys rattled in the lock. I was on my feet, starting to demand to see . . . Tahr hadn't changed. Had I really expected her to? I'd only been away for about a fortnight, but it seemed longer. For what seemed like ages we just stood and stared at each other. I remember what she looked like perfectly: every piece of fur standing out in sharp relief, brushed to a glossy sheen, her breeches green and gold. That silver ring hung from her ear, bracelets from her wrists. Against that I was woefully bedraggled. When the rush of relief hit me, it couldn't be described. All the trials and tribulations of the past weeks seemed remote: nightmares banished by the dawn. She was an anchor, a stable pillar of support in a land of unpredictable landscapes. "Tahr," I choked and she was holding me, and I was hugging her, resting my head against hers. Her musty scent, like a cat after it's been lying in the sun. With one hand, she stroked the back of my neck; there were not as many fingers as there should have been. ****** Water lapped softly. A monotonous sound, like a metronome, changing slightly whenever I moved. I floated there in the warm dimness, eyes closed and listening to the water and the sound of my pulse. It was hot and peaceful and I could stay there forever, letting the heat melt away the aches from old bruises and ease the stiffness in my leg. Returning to the womb? I smiled lazily to myself. Not such a bad idea. There were voices at the door, then a wedge of light as it opened and closed again. Almost inaudible footsteps sounded on the flagstones and I turned my head to follow the Sathe as she moved to crouch by the pool and dip a finger into the water. Ripples spread as she moved her hand in slow circles. "Hello, K'hy," Tahr's face twisted into her parody of a human smile. "Are you feeling better?" "Yes," I stood and moved to sit on one of the underwater benches carved from the stone. "Much." I cleared my throat. "Ahh, about earlier, grabbing you like that . . . Sorry." She stood, shucked her breeches then slipped into the steaming water, her fur floating out in a ruff at the waterline. Sinking a little lower, she hissed softly, not meeting my eyes. "I cannot blame you," she said. "You have been through a lot." Her eyes drifted and I knew she was looking at the pale scars on my chest, legacy of a previous meeting with soldiers of the Gulf Realm. "I heard . . . How is your leg?" "Healing." "Oh," she ducked her eyes. "They did hurt you . . . Your chest . . . " "This, you mean," I glanced down and almost touched the red tissue where my left nipple had been. "They were trying to . . . to make me behave. I was not exactly cooperating." Tahr frowned. "You are too delicate to play games like that. Just a wrong touch can scratch you and they would not have known that. Without clothing you could have frozen . . " She gave me a sharp look: "They did give you clothing?" "Not a first, no. They did not know how . . . harmful cold is to me." Not a pleasant memory. I didn't go into details about that and tossed her the greyish lump that passed for soap. Tahr caught it and held it for a second. What was she thinking? Damn that furry face; so inscrutable, like a mask with the expression only in the eyes. Windows to the soul? More so in Sathe. She didn't press the conversation, lathering the soap, rubbing the slimy result into her mane and face fur, then ducking her head to rinse it off. "Tahr, how did they get me out of the Citadel? All the guards and gates . . . " "I do not know that part." The bar of soap twisted in her hands. "All we do know is that they used their agents to drug and take you; a great gamble on their part. The agents they used were highly placed within the servants ranks. We caught one, but she killed herself." "There was a Sathe who was not a soldier," I remembered. "The officer in charge paid him . . . For delivering me. I think he was the one who took me." Tahr's ears flicked to attention. "He was their contact? Would you recognise him if you saw him again?" "Uhm, well, I am not sure," I confessed. "Many Sathe look alike to me." "What?" That surprised her. "You cannot tell us apart?" "Oh, Sathe I am familiar with I can, but I cannot see someone in passing and remember his face." I grinned sheepishly. "Many of you look alike." She shook her head; quickly, as if trying to shake water from her ears. "You continue to puzzle me, K'hy." "Sorry." "Huh, stop SAYING that!" She punctuated that with a splash at my face, then settled back so only her head was above water, wisps of mist drifting around her. "Well, we will find him. Meantime, anyone trying that agin will not find it so easy." "Tahr, I have been wanting to ask you about that." Her ears pricked up. I cleared my throat and continued. "When I asked to take a bath, the captain in charge of the guards wanted to bring a tub into my room. God's sake , Tahr, I know that you are trying to protect me, but how long must this go on? I cannot live my life surrounded by soldiers and walls. I think I would rather . . . " I cut that off and bit nervously at my lower lip, waiting for her answer. For a few seconds, the only sound was that of the water. She finally shrugged, sending wavelets racing each other across the pool. "I do not know how long, but it is important that you do remain safe." "Because of the weapons I can give you?" She hissed, "Because of your knowledge, and because I want you to be safe." I hung my head. "I am sorry." "It does not matter," she said gently, then she flared in mock anger. "Will you stop apologising!" "Sorry," I smirked, then ducked underwater to dodge the torrent of water she splashed at me. When I came up thirty seconds later, it wasn't where I'd submerged. Tahr's back was to me as she cast about in the dark water: "K'hy?" "Yes?" She whirled with a yelp, just in time to get a faceful of water. Sputtering, she jumped forward and pushed me over backwards onto one of the benches carved out of the side of the bath. Waves splashed over the side. I found myself face to face with her, my small nose almost touching her broad, valentine shaped one. She had me pinned against the side of the bath. Below, her fur rubbed against me, feeling like the weird caress of some marine plant. "Now you have got me, what are you going to do with me?" I grinned. She glared at me, and her ears flicked, flinging droplets of water. "For a beginning, how about this?" Her head darted like a snake and sharp little teeth nipped my nose. I yelped in mock pain and she pulled back, laughing. Abruptly serious again she studied my face, then darted forward to place her lips against my cheek and withdrew again. "I missed you. You and your strange ways." "Same here. Sometimes you almost seem human." "Is that intended as a compliment?" she smiled, then intercepted my hand as I tried to bat the side of her face, staring at it. "Do you know your hands are wrinkled?" "It is just the water." She didn't let go of my hand, inspecting it like an entomologist with a new butterfly. "Does water make you wrinkle?" "Only if I have been in for too long," I said and she laughed at that. "At least," I added with a lopsided grin, "our fur does not block the drains." She stopped laughing. I hauled myself out of the water and scraped excess moisture off with the blades of my hands. Tahr lounged in the pool, arms up on the side and chin rested on laced fingers. "I have to say I am relieved," she said. "About what?" "That." She pointed. "Male llamas and bison can be made easier to handle by removal of . . . " "Not funny!" I cut her off - wincing - threw a towel around my waist and grabbed for my clothes. ****** "My help?" I asked Remae. A flare of lightning burst beyond the rain-lashed windows, outlining the dark Sathe Marshal in a flickering nimbus of electrical light. Her ears pulled back tight to her head and she turned away from me to snarl back at the storm that seethed outside. I waited. I had been doing a lot of that for the past couple of weeks; waiting in my chambers, seeing little of either Tahr or Remae. Very early on I had discovered that the guards outside my door had their orders to - however politely - restrain me in my quarters. That time I used for working, for sketching out some ideas I had about my future. A way I could give the Sathe advanced tech, but also make sure that they understood it. A way to produce not just a few limited handmade articles that would rapidly reach ridiculous prices the further they went from the source, but a way in which an entire economy could be kicked - if into not the twentieth - then into the nineteenth century. From there, hopefully it would be self perpetuating. More concentrated progress has been made in the past hundred-fifty years than in the entire history of mankind. However, that time quickly palled. Days passed, each like the one before, each promising to be like the one to come. I had begun to slip into a blue funk, unnoticed by the menials who fed and watered me. Tahr, when she had time for me, was often preoccupied and tired. Her arguments that this was all for my own good fell flat with me. Now Remae was here asking for my help. You can understand why I was a little dubious. "My help?" I repeated. "How?" She shuddered and reached out a black hand to yank the heavy drapes across the window as thunder from the strike rolled over the Citadel, rattling the thin panes in their lattice. The dim orange-tinted lamps were inadequate, shadows casting the subtle illusion of the room being much larger than it really was. The marshal propped herself up on the corner of the desk. "Storms make my fur stand on end," she muttered then twisted to look to where I slouched in the leather-web armchair, a mug of warm wine in my hand. "K'hy, we have been unable to find the Gulf forces who abducted you." I nodded. "Big surprise." "Do not be facetious," she reproached. "We simply do not have the wherewithal to cover every square span of the Realm. So it has been decided that if we cannot go to them, then they must come to us." It didn't take much to fill in the blanks. "And you want me to be bait." She coughed and scratched at her muzzle. "If you wish to put it that bluntly: Yes." "Uh-huh," I mused. "Sounds like barrels of laughs. What is the game plan?" "Game plan? Oh, I see. Well, first it hinges upon you being able to identify the one who abducted you. Do you think you can?" "I am not sure. I sometimes have trouble telling Sathe apart, but I think I should be able to recognise him." "Excellent. Then we lead him to believe that you are being moved from the Citadel with all possible haste. For speed your escort shall only be small. "However, that escort shall be armed with the flame throwers and elite guards. Also, many small patrols shall have been sent out over the previous weeks. Some of those shall not return, but shall instead shadow the convoy, ready to reinforce you." "Sounds good . . . on the surface," I said. "But a few rough points . . . One: How can you be sure that the bastard who kidnapped me would fall for that? If he has heard I am back, he would be doubly wary about being identified. In fact, there is a good chance he has decided to see what the living standards in some of the other Realms are like. "Two: If the Gulf Realm gets wind of it being a trap, or their outriders spot the tails . . . the reinforcements, they simply vanish and we traipse along our merry way to nowhere." I sipped from my wine before speaking my third point. "Three: What if there are many more Gulf forces in the Eastern Realm than you know of. Flame throwers make exceedingly good terror weapons, and they are useful for defence, but they are only good for a few shots, after which they are only so much junk. They would be of limited use against hundreds of opponents." "True," Remae agreed. "But we have done our best to make sure that none but a few selected guards know of your return. We intend to make it appear as if you are simply stopping here for a while to recuperate, then moving on. The traitor will receive the information in the most discreet way possible. "As for the Gulf Realm suspecting a trap, well, there is little we can do about that except be a cautious as possible." "And what about three?" I asked. She gave a fluttering sigh, her nostrils flaring open and shut again. "Their attacks on convoys . . . They choose only small targets and strike from ambush." "That proves little," I said. "They have limited resources, so they are careful to so completely overwhelm the opposition that they suffer few or no casualties. There could also be quite a few small groups out there, and if they got together they could become quite a formidable force." "Still not as many as we intend to use," she shot back. "Most people have little love for fire . . . our fur. With your weapons you should be able to send them running straight into our arms." " 'Should' being the operative word," I muttered. Still she heard me. "K'hy, we need your help. You must be on that caravan, be seen leaving the town," she entreated. "They are killing us. Every week caravans are reported missing. Trade is being stifled as merchants are reluctant to enter or leave small towns that cannot protect them or gather enough vehicles to make a convoy large enough to deter attackers. Small merchants are being stripped trying to provide guards for their wares." I drained the rest of my wine in a lump that burned all the way down. "Whatever happens is better than sitting around here gathering dust. Alright, you have got your bait." ****** The great hall was filled with the sounds of Sathe enjoying themselves. Gambling, arm wrestling, and drinking bouts went on at various locales scattered about the room. Down there, in her traditional place by the hearth, a minstrel wove her tales to an attentive audience of cubs and mature Sathe. And I was watching it from high up in one of the walls. I should have expected secret passages in a construction as massive and as ancient as the Citadel; in fact I had thought about it, but never asked anyone. The passage ran the length of the hall. Peepholes at strategic points along its length admitted pencils of light. "How many of these passages are there?" I asked Remae. "Nobody really knows," she said, brushing aside a cobweb. "Every dynasty has built them since the Citadel began and many have been forgotten. I think that mapping them would be near impossible. But the ones that are known come in useful . . . keep watching." I turned back to the narrow peephole between the stones. The light wasn't the greatest, the field of vision was narrow, and it was a long way down. "I am not sure I will be able to recognise him." "Just try." I bumbled my way down the narrow passage, awkwardly. The only light came from the dim spots seeping through the spy-holes and the white beam from my flashlight. The floor of the corridor was not level: beams and other obstructions poked through the walls at interesting heights. Several times I wacked my shins and Remae hushed my curses. She didn't seem to have any such problems. The next hole was the second to last one, looking out over a place near the fire. I skipped over the children and the females, trying to get a glimpse of the males . . . "There, Remae!" her fur brushed against my face as she pushed her head in close to peer out the narrow gap. "Down there, in the corner beside the fire. Dark brown fur, talking to that female. You see him?" "Yes . . . You are sure that is him?" I frowned, hesitating until the figure below us turned around to give me a good look at him. "Yeah . . . That is him." "All right, now we set the bait and make sure the wolf catches the scent." ****** The covered wagon rumbled through the day, as it had the past four days and nights. Inside it was dim, stuffy, and crowded. The smell of nervous cat overpowering any smell of nervous human. There were nine in the back of that wagon, one human and eight Sathe, and after four days, tempers were a bit short. The bulky packages by the soldiers' feet did nothing to ease tensions. Outside the wagon, I knew there were two more of the slow moving vehicles as well as half a dozen llama mounted cavalry. For a moment I wondered if the Sathe had such a thing as a coordinated charge with mounted troops, then dismissed the idea. One would be better off using donkeys than llamas. Time, and the caravan plodded on. I was fiddling with the straps on my helmet, for the thousandth time, when the cry came from someone outside. "Ambush! Ambu . . . " The yell cut off abruptly. I slammed my helmet on my head and followed Sathe out the back of the back of the wagon, hitting the ground in a crouch with the M-16 at the ready. Already there were two riderless llamas stamping around in panic. Sathe in red and black armour were racing from the trees on both sides of the road, too many to count. I didn't try, just raised the rifle and pulled the trigger as fast as I could, blazing away on full automatic. Some Sathe stumbled as though they'd been tripped. Holes appeared in armour as if by magic. The M-16A1 is a fairly lightweight weapon, lacking the punch of a Kalashnikov or ant like dum-dums, the concussion smashing bone and pulverising flesh. The rifle ran dry. I popped the clip, snatched another from my belt and rammed it into the well. An Eastern realm soldier was falling back under the onslaught of three red and black armoured figures. She ducked wildly as slugs hissed past her head and the Gulf warriors had their strings cut, jerking and falling. I clamped the Armalite under my arm, firing with one hand as I reached for the handle of the flare pistol tucked into my belt. Muttering a silent prayer to whoever may be listening, I pointed it at the sky and pulled the trigger. Heads on both sides turned as a trail of smoke shot into the sky and a glowing red sun swung slowly to earth. Come on, Remae! Be there! The Eastern soldiers were fighting to clear areas about the wagons, and only just succeeding. The gulf forces were pressing us hard, especially around my wagon. Dropping the flare pistol, I spun to fire on attackers behind me when something hit my helmet with an impact that nearly broke my neck; a crossbow bolt fell to the ground. Their archers had reloaded and fired a second volley; Eastern soldiers fell, dead and wounded. "Assholes!!" I screamed and emptied the magazine at the archers as they tried to reload, they scattered for cover, many of them falling. The Gulf forces were closing in. "MOVE IT!" Our backup was taking too long. "Furless bastard!" A Gulf warrior howled and hurled himself at me, claws glittering red and shedding tufts of flesh and fur swinging for my throat. I ducked away and felt him hit my helmet. He also fell back, crouching to snarl, "You should be dead!" I recognised him then: the officer from the farm. He took advantage of my moment of shock to rush in again, to meet the muzzle of my M-16 in his stomach and I found out the rifle wasn't dry. The shock of impact jarred my trigger finger and his back exploded in a pink and grey spray. Everything seemed to stop. I was staring into his eyes when he dropped. His hands fell to fumble at the barrel of my rifle, his fur curling from the heat, then his mouth opened and he a made small sound. Not loud, but pained. Then his legs folded and another Gulf soldier appeared in front of me, and I was busy dodging his blade. I stepped inside his swing and grappled with him, trying to keep his claws from my face, forcing him back, but it was taking too long; at any second I could have been skewered by another Gulf soldier. His leg came up and I instinctively twisted my hips to protect my crotch. He wasn't using his knee however. Toe claws dug into my calf and raked downward. Through the adrenalin the pain was nothing. I screamed my rage at him and drove my helmet into his face, used the room that gave me to finish the job with my rifle butt. He no longer looked like a Sathe. More Eastern Sathe started spilling from the wagons. Instead of swords or crossbows, they carried bulky cylinders on their backs, tubes poking out from under their right arms. They formed a circle at the back of each wagon, and at a shouted signal, Eastern realm soldiers disengaged from their opponents and scampered into that circle. I ducked past one of the Sathe at the perimeter of the circle, changing the stick on my M-16 at the same time. I stood amidst a small knot of panting Sathe, staring past bulky packs at the Gulf Soldiers. They didn't charge, sensing something strange was going on, staring at the flickering flame burning on the taper in front of the nozzles pointing at them. At last one of their officers started the charge across the few metres that separated us. From where I stood, I couldn't see what happened behind the curtain of greasy orange flame that sprayed out. That was probably a blessing, listening to the screams. The flames died for a second then flared out again, the Sathe carrying the flame throwers started to advance, moving outward for as long as their fuel lasted. That wasn't napalm in those flame throwers; it didn't cling and keep burning with the sadistic vigour of jellied petroleum, but it did burn, almost as well as Sathe fur. Gulf Soldiers fled into the woods, those who could flee. Others staggered about screaming, their fur crackling and burning brightly with a hideous smell. Sickened, I shot several flaming, screaming figures, no longer identifiable as their faces burned; mercy killing. It was no longer a battle, it was a massacre. The fuel in the flame throwers was exhausted quickly, but puddles of oil still burned on the ground and charred corpses sizzled and smouldered, lying twisted with blackened lips pulled back baring teeth in rictus of agony. Many had been killed not by the flame itself, but by merciful sword thrusts up under the ribs or through the throat. Out in the woods the remnants of the Gulf forces were fleeing; shapes disappearing into the depths of the woods. We waited. Distant shouts came soon, the faint clash of steel upon steel as an unseen battle was waged. We defenders of the wagon train clutched our weapons and waited. Figures appeared in the trees on both sides, not many this time, and they weren't attacking. Gulf soldiers - many of them wounded - staggered back onto the road and dropped their weapons, standing their with their arms at their side and their necks bared. In the woods behind came shouts as Remae's troops rounded up stragglers and wounded. For a few seconds I contemplated the crumpled corpse with its spine blown out, then limped over to help collect our prisoners. ****** The funeral pyre threw sparks into the air as wood settled. The dark shapes standing around the fire had their heads dipped, in mourning for their friends and comrades who died. We had our quarry, but Eastern Sathe had died for it. I leaned back against the wagon wheel and inspected the bandages around my calf. Ten metres away, the prisoners clustered around a campfire. They were a sorry looking lot. Their armour had been taken from them, and now they huddled together around the fire for warmth. Several Eastern Realm guards stood watch over the fifteen or so prisoners. There was little speaking among the prisoners, the loudest sound was that of moaning. At the back of the group, farthest from the fire, a Sathe with its back to me sat beside a limp bundle of blood-smeared fur on the ground, every now and then reaching out to touch and caress with a manacled hand. The guard was worrying at a slab of meat. He turned when he heard me approach. "What is wrong with that one?" I asked, pointing at the two figures. He swallowed and licked his jowls, looking at them. "Oh, him. Just a burn," he snorted. "Not worth worrying about." He took another huge bite. I blinked at him. It couldn't be . . . Nah, Sathe don't eat each other. Shaking my head I limped over to the figures, the one sitting down turned its . . . her head away. Kneeling down, I examined the one lying down. 'Just a burn' the guard had said. Mercifully, the Sathe was unconscious. The arm and part of his neck and chest was red and oozing blood and a clear, watery fluid. Skin had burned, crisped, blackened, and peeled away, red muscle showed where the skin had split. The hand was curled up into a mangled claw, and there was a manacle on the roasted wrist. "Oh, Jesus . . . " I winced, sickened, then yelled, "Guard!" Still worrying at his steak he sauntered over, only moving faster when I started to rise, intending to drag him. "You," I snapped and pointed at the manacle. "Take that off. Now!" "Ah . . . I cannot do that," he said about to take another bite of his meal. I stood and knocked it out of his hand, glaring down at him. "I said 'take it off'. NOW!" He glanced at the meat lying in the dust, then looked up at me, worried. "Uh, sir . . . I cannot, without the commander's word . . . " "Fuck that!" I roared, drawing stares from all over the camp. "Unlock this, or I will shove your arm into that fire myself!" If he had been wearing a shirt I'd have hoisted him up by the lapels. "But if the commander finds . . . " "I will take responsibility," I growled. He quickly grabbed a keyring from his belt and unlocked the chain on the burned wrist. The crippled Sathe moaned and hissed as his arm was moved. "Thank you," his companion whispered. I frowned. There was something . . . I caught her mane, lifting her head so I could see her face properly. The crusted blood and soot didn't hide the circlet of white fur around her left eye. "You!" Oh Beejeezus, a small world. My guard from the farm shrank back, her heavy chains rattling as she threw up an arm to shield her face. She was terrified. I stared back at her, surprised to find I was unable to feel anything. As drained of emotion as some of the derelicts I'd seen in new York. I was exhausted and my leg was throbbing. "Okay," I sighed, unclenching my fist. "I was not expecting to see you again." She didn't reply. Just stared at me. I met her gaze. ""Who is he?" I gestured at the wounded male. She started shaking then. I thought for a second she wouldn't answer, before she sucked air and stuttered: "M . . My mate." Damnation! But she was a mess as well. Blood matted her fur from a wound in her neck, and she kept one arm tight against her chest. "Do not hurt him," she bolstered her courage and bared her teeth at me. Behind me there was a susurrus of metal on leather. "Hold it!" I stopped the guard as he was drawing his scimitar. Then I swung my pack around, opened it, and pulled out what I needed. She stared at the gleaming steel needle as I pulled a styrette from its sterile packaging. "What are you doing?" "This will help ease the pain for a while," I told her. She whimpered as the needle slid into the flesh of the burned Sathe. "That is all I can do for him. Do not worry, it is only to stop the pain. I swear it." Seconds after the shot, the Sathe began to relax, sleeping deeper. I packed away the medkit, grabbed my pack by its strap and limped back to the wagon where I would be sleeping. Tossing the pack over the tailgate, I clambered in after it. The moon sent shafts of blue light through rents in the canvas top and the open flaps at the back of the wagon. Outside I could see the sky was clear, with the milky way spilled across it, a lot like a stream of crystallised milk. The sounds of the night and Sathe were all around. After the events of the day, I was exhausted, but I couldn't sleep. My leg throbbed and itched as I lay there and stared at the sky, a cloak and sheets wrapped tightly around my shoulders. I don't know how long I watched the heavens revolve before I started to drop off. "K'hy, are you awake?" someone hissed. Oh, shit! "Huh? What?" Blinking, I sat up, pulling the cloak around me. The wagon rocked slightly as a black figure vaulted up onto the bed. All I could see were the eyes. "Who are you?" "Sorry, I forgot. It is Remae." She moved until she was sitting in the pool of moonlight just inside the flaps. "Is that any better?" "Yeah, I can see enough." I could just see the shifting patterns of her face and ears as she spoke, enough that she was more than just a voice in the blackness. "What did you want?" "Do you know that female?" She moved her hand in a vague pointing gesture. The guard must have reported what I had done. "The prisoner out there? Yes, we have met before." "How? When?" I explained how I knew her, how she had been my guard, and a bit of company; even if she hadn't exactly been a sparkling conversationalist. Out loud, I recalled how she had touched my hair. When I had finished, Remae hesitated before speaking. "Why did you aid her mate?" the Marshall finally asked. "I was going to help him before I saw who she was. I did not know she was a prisoner until then." "But you still helped when you did know." I sighed. "He was in pain. His arm is badly burned and I am not sure he will live, but there was no point in his pain. Besides she did not treat me too badly; she did help me when I needed it." "But after what they did to you . . . and they are the enemy," her tone was the one I had seen Sathe using on their children. "That does not mean they need to suffer," I protested. Hell, I was the root cause of a lot of the woundeds' suffering; me and my weapons. Remae was quiet for a second. "You are strange, K'hy." "I am human." "H'man . . . you are so different from us. You seem to think differently," She moved further into the shadows, all I could see was a blot of moving blackness, slightly more solid than its surroundings. Something touched my head, my hair, and I started. A hand stopped mine as I reached up. I didn't know what to do. I just froze while she ran her hand through my hair, around my ear, and down the side of my face. When she finished, she retreated back to the moonlit patch. "Why did you . . . ?" My voice died out before I finished the sentence. "I wondered what it felt like." I found I was trembling. My pulse pounded in my ears, there was a tension in my abdomen and my breath caught in my throat: Fear blossomed inside. "Please, Remae . . . please do not do that." Her eyes opened wide. "Did I hurt you?" "No . . . no. It . . . I . . . Please, do you never sleep?" She took the hint: "I am sorry." The wagon shook almost imperceptibly as she left. I curled up under the cloak and blankets as I tried to get my breathing back under control. ****** I rubbed a fingernail along the slight scratch in my helmet while watching the detachment of soldiers from the Citadel as they formed a cordon around the prisoners. This was as much for their own protection as to prevent them from trying to escape as they were taken through the streets of Mainport. It had been a slow trip back. The prisoners who could walk did so, surrounded by Sathe soldiers on llama-back; the badly wounded - there were several of them - rode dispersed among the wagons. The one in our wagon was a male Gulf Sathe whose leg had been shattered by a bullet. A bullet. In wars back home, anyone could have been hit by a bullet and never know who had shot him, but here it was like a signature. I knew I had done it, and he knew I had done it. Many times I turned to find him glaring at me. He would have cheerfully slit my throat given half a chance. Now inside the city gates the prisoners cowered on the back of a wagon as they were carted up to the Citadel. As the word spread, more and more Sathe appeared on the sides of the streets to jeer, snarl, and hiss at them. I watched it all from inside another wagon with the hood of my cloak pulled well down so my face was - I hoped - hidden by shadow. Wheels clattered and slipped as the procession made its way up the switchback road to the Citadel. Soldiers and staff watched from windows, doors, and battlements as we passed from bailey to bailey until we reached the courtyard around the huge central keep. The prisoners were chained together at the wrists and neck and led away, the wounded carried by Eastern guards. The burned Sathe had survived, even though I had not expected him to. I watched as he was supported by his mate, his arm was badly twisted and I doubted it would ever totally heal. "K'hy, are you coming?" Remae called. "No, I always walk this way." I slung my pack over my shoulder and jogged over to where she was waiting on the steps outside the massive wooden doors to the Keep. "Where are they being taken?" I jerked a thumb in the direction of the Gulf captives. "Downstairs . . . the dungeons of course." "Oh . . . of course." I had never wondered if this place had dungeons; not too surprising to find it did. "What will happen to them?" She greeted a pair of Sathe we passed in a corridor before answering. "Well, they will have the choice of pledging their sword, their allegiance, and their lives to the Eastern Realm, or they keep their honour and lose their lives." "They become slaves, or die?! Is that not a bit . . . harsh?" "What else could we do with . . . why are you looking at me like that?" I ran my hand through my hair. "I am sorry, it is a . . um . . . different way from the way I am used to. We used to do it your way, but that was hundreds of years ago. The custom now among my people is to hold the prisoners until after the war is over, then they are released. Usually." "But that is ridiculous," Remae said in disbelief. "How much effort is needed to keep them fed and guarded? And what happens when they return home, surely they would just take up arms again?" "A lot of effort is needed to keep them, but after some of the things that went on in our last world war . . . things occurred that no sane human would ever want to see happen again, so the effort is made." Her claws clicked as she tapped her fingertips together. "If they really wish to live, they will join us, and some of the strongest may be lose their claws and be sold, but they will almost certainly all choose to die." I blinked stupidly at her while what she said sunk in. "Why?" "They are elite soldiers, even if they are Gulf Realm. They could not disgrace their clan by turning traitor to their Realm. Their Families are bound to their lords by oath; to break that oath would be to destroy the honour of their clans." I stopped and leaned against the wall. I hadn't know this . . . I'd had no idea. I'd been in Gulf hands, would they have given me that choice? IF I'd refused to help them, they probably wouldn't have sold me as a slave. In a alcove in the wall in front of me was a small, blown-glass sculpture. Slightly greenish glass in an abstract pattern of teardrops connected together by gracefully arching tubes . . . A thing of beauty, a delicate thing; fashioned by those same hands. ****** Oh, they rewarded me for what I had done. Like all the other soldiers who had been in that expedition, I came out of it a bit richer. Actually, in my case it was a lot richer. My previous net wealth had been exactly zilch. I stood in front of the window in my room and weighed the ten gold pieces in my hand, a lot to be paid by Sathe standards. Now, whereas before I had nothing, I at least had some money to my name, but what could I do with it? The guards outside my door were adverse to me even touching the latch. Bright, warm sparks of lamps and fireplaces showed that there was life down in Mainport. The lights were alluring, and I stared at them, wondering what kind of night-life the place had. Below, a Sathe guard strolled along the parapet, paused to stretch and yawn, then moved on. I looked down at the battlement, it was about six metres down, and a grin spread over my face. "Why not? I need the exercise . . . " The wind whipped around me as I hung from the windowsill, tugging at my jacket. Don't try this at home kids . . . I took a breath, and let go. The flagstones of the parapet hit my feet hard and I lost my balance, rolled onto my shoulder, coming up in a crouch. The bundle that was my rolled up cloak containing my knife lay in front of my nose, the flashlight was tucked into the waistband at the back of my pants. My boots thudded dully against the worn stones as I walked along parapet, staying close to the wall. When I found a small iron door, I fumbled with the latch until it swung open. On the other side was a long hallway, several torches along its length casting pools of twisting light. Two Sathe engrossed in conversation were passing one of those lamps, the features clear and familiar: Remae and Tahr. Coming this way. Of all the fucking places to run into them. . . As carefully as I could, I shut the door and ducked behind a buttress, gathering my cloak close and shrinking back into the shadows. The door squealed as it opened and a pair of shadows were cast against the battlements opposite. Their voices were blown to me by the wind. " . . . here in a few weeks. It takes so long to get reports." I think it was Tahr who said that. I peeped around the buttress, they were leaning against the ramparts, looking outwards, their backs to me. "Does K'hy know any way to send messages long distances quickly?" asked Remae. "He has never mentioned it," Tahr said. "Still, there is quite a lot about himself he has not told me." Remae snorted. There was a silence over which I could hear distant shouts, laughs . . . other everyday night noises. Then Remae's voice asked, "What is it about him?" "K'hy?" Tahr asked. "Your strange one, yes. There is something about him that . . . I just find it attractive. I see it does the same to you . . . and there is a Gulf prisoner, a female, she has been asking after him." Tahr wrapped her arms around herself. "A Gulf Warrior. How does she know of him?" "She was among those who kidnapped him. K'hy helped her Mate who was injured in the fighting." I saw Tahr stiffen and there was a long pause. "He used a concoction of his own that stopped the pain for a time," Remae continued. "On a GULF warrior?!" Tahr asked, incredulous. "Yes." Tahr raised her head and sighed into the wind, then slapped her hands against the stone of the battlements. "It is times like this that I feel I will never understand him." "Then why are you so close to him?" "Saaaaa ," Tahr breathed again. "I am not sure. He is rather clumsy and slow, and there are definitely better looking males around." Remae hissed her laughter at that. "Maybe it is his sentimentality; for someone so large and grotesque, he is kind, caring. Maybe it is his eyes, they always appear to be so afraid." "I noticed. Yes, sometimes he does look like a lost cub," Remae agreed thoughtfully, "but he is definitely no coward, he fights like a bear." "Why did you ask about him?" Tahr asked. Remae turned around and I ducked back behind the buttress. "I visited him after the fighting, at night. I . . . ah . . touched his fur and . . . " " . . . And you probably scared him to moult." Tahr laughed. "If he does moult, that is." "I must have. He asked me to leave," Remae replied. "Huh . . . He is one of the shyest males I have ever seen. He embarrasses easily. It seems his people - or at least he - think mating is a completely private thing." The voices were growing fainter. I stuck my head around the side of the buttress and saw only their backs as they ambled away from me along the parapet. "You have coupled with him, have you not?" Remae asked. My eyebrows shot up. Come on, surely Tahr wouldn't tell her . . "Ah . . . that. Yes." "What was it like?" "Huh, you agree never to let him know I told you? I can just see his face changing color if he found out. Hah!" Remae also chortled. "Agreed." "Well, he is different . . . " Then the wind and night swallowed their voices. I leaned against the damp stone of the buttress, tilting my head to follow the line of the sheer wall up to where the ghosts of clouds raced before the moon. "You bitch, " I told it. ****** The guards at the main gate were busy inspecting a wagon by torchlight, so, thankfully, they hardly spared me a glance as I strolled out. My hood masked my face in shadows, but my height and gait still marked me as different from Sathe. The road down to the town was almost deserted. Apart from a band of drunk Sathe soldiers headed up towards the Citadel, the only other life I saw was a raccoon that dashed across the road, pausing to stare at me, then disappearing into a snow-covered bush on the roadside. Dirty snow lying on the cobblestone squeaked beneath my boots I walked between the dark buildings. The moon was almost full, with wisps of cloud scudding across its face, so there was enough light for me to see where I was going. A cool breeze wound through the narrow streets, and the tang of the sea was stronger. The waterfront was also dead, an empty stretch of dock littered with bits of rope, fish, and other such trash. A forest of masts from the boats that were still in the breakwater stood out against the night sky, and underlying everything was the steady murmuring of the sea and the groaning of the boats' timbers. I threw back my hood and ran my hands through my hair, relishing the fresh air, feeling more alive than I had for some weeks. With my hands jammed into my pockets, I wandered along the waterfront staring out at the sea. Somewhere out of my sight in the darkness, waves crashed against the breakwater. The only thing to mar the evening was the thought of Tahr's conversation with Remae. Damnation! Why did Remae seem to be developing an interest in me as well? I couldn't handle two of them! When I reached the southernmost end of the dock, almost at the town walls, another kind of crash made me jump. Close behind me, a group of Sathe spilled out of a door that had been thrown open. From the opening came Sathe voices and yellow light, dimmed by the amount of smoke that also spilled out; the smell of cooking food was strong on the air. The door slammed shut again, obviously an exclusive club ejecting some of its more . . . rowdy customers. I hastily pulled my hood back up again as the Sathe that could walk gathered up their pissed friends and helped them stagger off. One of them careened off my shoulder and clutched at my arm, peering into the shadows of my hood and blinking, then recoiling. I ducked out of sight into an alley before he could bring me to the attention of his friends. The city at night was like a termite mound: On the outside it was quiet, just superficial signs of life: a guard dozing beside a brazier, lights in a bakery as Sathe bakers prepared the next day's dough. Underneath, I guessed, the silent town had its own nightlife, the pubs and the brothels. I think the Sathe had them, I personally had no reason to seek one out. As one neared the centre of the city the back streets narrowed, divided, became a warren of alleys, cul de sacs and tunnels beneath houses arching over the streets. The cleaning of the streets seemed up to the tenants of the buildings around them as some sections of paving were fairly clean, whilst others abounded in filth of various indescribable types. The disjointed rooftops and chimneys threw shadows on the grounds that grew sharp, then faded away into darkness again as clouds swept across in front of the moon. Windows were holes of darkness, the few that had glass in them glinting in the moonlight. I walked the deserted streets as quietly as I could, my cloak flapping around my heels like dark, enshrouding wings. There . . . I halted in mid stride. Lit from below by light escaping a small window in a closed door, the sign depicted a sloop with oversized flame- red sails billowing. Red Sails. Could only be that place R'R'Rhasct and Chirthi had described. A trio of Sathe approached and simply walked in. As the door opened and closed I could smell warmth and food and smoke on the tangy sea air. For a time I lurked in the shadows a couple of buildings away, nervous and indecisive, then shrugged. Why not? That front door opened easily onto a small, Spartan chamber, another door in the far wall. Music, the clatter of metal and glass, Sathe voices sounded through. I pushed that door open and stood on the landing at the top of a wooden stair. Down below, the smoke-filled basement room was filled with a snug gloom. Oil lamps hanging from massive rafters added to the hazy atmosphere. Brass fittings and copper utensils rippled and glowed with reflected firelight. Wooden furniture: tables and benches in secluded alcoves, wooden floor, the bar counter along the far wall, all boned and burnished until they shone with that soft glow of natural wood. The strong, slightly unpleasant smell of mingled Sathe and food. Many Sathe. The room was full of them. At tables and at the bar, in the heat of the room most of them wearing only their pelts, almost giving the illusion that the room was carpeted in patched furs. As I stepped down the stairs more and more of them began to stare at me, surprised silence spreading like ripples in a pond. At the foot of the stairs a pair of burly Sathe glanced at each other, then hesitantly moved to block me off, their ears back. "Alright! Joke's over! What get of a diseased goat let THAT in here?!" A Sathe was pushing his way out from behind the bar, mad as hell, fur bristling as he glared at the crowd. He stopped at the foot of the stairs, behind the bouncers: "WELL?!" There was hesitant laughter hissing from the crowd. I cleared my throat. "Good sir," I ventured. He whipped around to stare at me. "I let myself in," I smiled. "You are the owner of this place?" He goggled. "You . . . you . . . you . . . " He sounded like a stuck record. I leant against the railing. "Yes, I can talk. I had noticed. I am not looking for any trouble, all I want is a drink and some food . . . however if your employee who is trying to sneak up on me tries anything, he will be wearing his asshole as a necklace." I turned and levelled a finger at the startled Sathe bouncer frozen with one foot raised on the stair behind me: "Got that?" That was bluff, pure and simple. I don't know if I could have handled the muscle, especially if the other two piled in, but there was more laughter from the crowd and the Sathe bouncer hastily backpedalled up the stairs. The barkeep was still staring. I stepped down - the bouncers retreating before me. "Nice place you have here," I said, glancing casually around. "You cannot . . . " the tavern master began to protest, then noticed the three gold coins in my hand. He goggled again. "Change of mind?" I asked. There was the briefest hesitation before he snatched the golds from my palm, claws barely nicking my skin. Oversized canines dented the soft metal and meticulous eyes examined it. "Very well," he finally said. "If you can pay, you can drink, eat." "Thank you," I said. Hell, capitalism is universal. Whatever you are, if you can pay they don't have any objections. "Uh . . . wait," he stopped me as I began to head for the fireplace at the far end of the room. "Do you have any weapons?" I stopped and stared at him for a time, watching him squirm. "Perhaps." "You must check them at the bar." I kept staring. "Please." None of the other patrons appeared to be carrying any hardware. I couldn't see any knives or swords. Difficult to hide weapons; many of them wore only small pouches for valuables. The bartender - a small female with dark fur spattered by droplets of liquid and patched in a couple of places, scars showing - froze like a rabbit, panting hard, as I unstrapped the knife and set it on the bar. She took the combat knife, turning it over in her hands and stroking curious finger pads along the rubberised waterproof sheathing. "I am going to be wanting that back," I warned her. "It had better still be here when I get back." "Yes . . . sir," she said, uncertain as to my gender, then hastily tucked the weapon under the bar. Covert eyes and a wake of silence followed me through the tavern. ****** The minstrel hunched over his instrument, completely absorbed in his playing. His tongue poked forgotten from his lips as claws in lieu of picks danced across strings. He was acceptably good and the worn leather satchel on the floor at his feet had a sprinkling of copper coins dusted across its battered surface. I idly toyed with the mug. The single candle on the table in the small alcove was guttering, barely a centimetre of stem with the wick flickering. I stared moodily into the flame reflecting on the twists and turns my life had taken, trying to find a path for the future. I'd seriously debated leaving Mainport, just slipping away one night and trying to make my own way. Harder to hit a moving target. But then I'd have the hunters of two Realms after me, perhaps five if the others got wind of the hunt. This land is big, but I couldn't hide forever. All it would take would be a careless glimpse, a farmer or villager reporting to the authorities and I'd be running again. Even Tahr, even with what we had between us, she would be duty-bound to find me. And behind the other door . . . staying here in Mainport, with a roof over my head, food, and a sitting duck for assassins. Tahr had told me on the night of the Choosing that I was a prize. I was the one who had precipitated the killing in the Circle. I was the one who had so nearly - however indirectly - caused the death of my friend and lover. My reverie was interrupted at that point by the arrival of one of the tavern staff bringing my meal. I tipped her and she stared incredulously at the gold coin, then made it vanish into the empty-looking pouch that swung lightly from her belt. The meat was rare; cut into chunks that took me forever to chew and swallow, but the rich gravy and the vegetables were excellent. The minstrel paused to scratch vigorously at his mane, then began on another solo. Most Sathe just ignored him. Just muzak. From my little recessed alcove all I could see of the room was the fire, the musician, and a couple of other tables discreetly tucked away in nooks and corners of the room, so when Sathe voices began to raise down the other end, I poked my head around the corner of the booth for a look-see, then hastily pulled back again. Five, six guards in their blue and silver livery were having a heated debate with a group of the locals. Looking for me? I glanced around again. Those two guards . . . Shit! I knew them! Chirthi and wasshername . . . R'R'Rhasct? Yeah, that's it. What the hell were they doing here? Looking for me already? They'd checked their weapons. Perhaps they were just in for a meal or a drink. A yowl of pain rose above the general hubub. I looked around in time to see a small-scale riot breaking out - the Citadel troops were tussling with disreputable-looking Sathe who were either naked or wearing tough leather breeks: labourers or fishers I guessed, but they outnumbered the troopers three to one. Two of the combatants rolled onto a table that promptly collapsed under their weight, scattering wooden bowls and patrons left and right. A trio of locals were working a trooper over; two holding him while the other went to work on his ears: tearing with claws. Chirthi decked the one he was grappling with, then turned to help. The fallen dockhand clambered into a crouch, then reached into the back of his waistband. I had his arm bent behind his back before he could draw the concealed knife from its sheath. "Naughty, naughty," I growled in his ear as I confiscated it. A wicked thing, like an icepick, with a slender blade designed for slipping in through chinks in armour. Nice balance too. A flick of my wrist and the dirk was imbedded in a wall. Now the Sathe I was holding twisted around and yelped at what he saw. Two of his friends - perhaps drunk beyond caring - tried to jump me. I shifted my weight and kicked out at one of them with my right boot, catching him on the hip and sending him sprawling. The Sathe in my hands was a burden; I shoved him into a chair, spun and crouched in time to avoid a slashing sweep from the other Sathe. He didn't manage to dodge a straight line-drive to his stomach and doubled over as the air was knocked out of him. Another male faced me, crouched low in a fighters stance, arms curled with all claws extruded. Too cautious. I twisted my face into a mask of rage, roared, then while he was still startled, introduced his groin to my combat boot; right on the penile sheath. He just grunted, lunged forward and tried to open the side of my face. Someone landed on my back and hooked a muscular, furry arm around my windpipe, legs around my waist. I stumbled backwards under the unexpected weight, then lunged forwards, trying to send the Sathe flying. Claws scrabbled for my throat. I punched a fist back over my shoulder. Damp, leathery tissue gave way, the Sathe yowled and collapsed. I tripped on something and went over backwards, landed on a furry body that yelped and gasped. In the resulting tussle a fur-covered elbow filled my vision and pain exploded down the side of my face. I swore and kicked out again, feeling my boot strike solid flesh, another yelp amongst the cacophony of snarls, growls, and howls filling the room. Toe claws raked at my side as one bastard tried to slice me open while I was down, then he was tackled by a blur in blue armour. They landed with an almighty crash on a table in a booth, fur flying in clouds as they battered at each other's head and neck. Then another civilian tried for me, claws snagging in the heavy material of my shirt as he clawed at my neck. I caught that hand, blocked the other, spun him, then snatched him up by the belt of his breeches and strung him up from a lamp sconce on a nearby post. He thrashed and squealed as the breeches bit deeply. His friends had had enough. Pads and claws thudded against the wooden stairs as the gang of dockhands high-tailed it. The door slammed and suddenly the room was very quiet, my laboured breathing and pounding blood inordinately loud in my ears. Other patrons had retreated to the walls of the room, watching the fight from a distance. Not a one of them had abandoned their drinks. Several Sathe - blue armour, naked fur, and civi breeches - were sprawled about, some semi- conscious and nursing wounds, others dead to the world. The Citadel troops in their blue armour stood looking around uncertainly as they came down off their adrenal high. Another sound: a creaking and metallic click. I turned to see the barkeeper raising a crossbow above the bar, levelling it at me. The quarrel nestling in the groove was fitted with a triangular hunting tip. I stared at the pinpoints of light gleaming from the head of the quarrel, frozen as my guts turned to ice. Her finger was tightening on the trigger . . . "Stop!" a Sathe cried. "Hold!" Chirthi pushed in front of me, a bleeding ear, holding out a hand to the bartender. She lowered the weapon with pure, undiluted surprise scrawled across her face. "Wha . . . " "He did not start this!" Chirthi began to explain. "That one over there had a blade," one of the other patrons called. "The animal stopped him using it." Now the innkeeper pushed through the door behind the bar. He froze at the sight of the damage and his hands went to his head in a melodramatic display of horror. "Saaaa . . My life! I am ruined! Aiiii, I am but a lowly merchant! How am I to pay for such destruction?!" There was some laughter from the room, flattening ears and hisses from the troopers - the equivalent of rolling their eyes. "You find this humorous?!" The tavern master raged at the patrons. "I should throw you out, the lot of you!" "Get real, Chaereth," Chirthi chuckled. "They can pay the usual amount for damages," he gestured at the prostrate civies on the floor. "And I suppose you didn't have a claw in this?" "There are forty witnesses here who can vouch for us." The innkeeper - Chaereth - snorted. "Very well, but if they do not have enough, you shall make up the difference. Your commander turns from brawling amongst his troops." "Agreed," Chirthi signed consent with a twitch of his ears. "And good sir, would your employee mind pointing that thing somewhere else. I think she is making my friend here slightly nervous." "Friend?" Chaereth inquired with a wrinkle of his muzzle, then, "Very well." He waved a hand and the bartender reluctantly lowered the crossbow, taking out the quarrel then pulling the trigger. The bow released with a sharp snap sounding like a small-calibre pistol shot. "Thanks," I told Chirthi, then asked, "Get real?" "I heard you use it before," he said with a slight flash of teeth. "Sounded good. I have been waiting for a chance to use it." A hand touched my shoulder, claws tickled my skin through the shirt; friendly. "We had wondered if you would show," the small female said. "Rhasct . . . " I began. "R'R'Rhasct," she interrupted; laughing. "You will never learn to say it, will you." By now their friends had gathered around. Sathe in blue armour, silver trim. None taller than five and a half foot, all of them scuffed, several bleeding from scratches, cut ears and muzzles. "I have seen this around the Citadel," one of them said. "You know it?" "Him," R'R'Rhasct corrected. "His name is K'hy. He is . . what are you again?" "Human," I provided. "H'man, that noise," she grinned at me. "I have not seen any sign of you since that Sand Circle affair. What are you doing down here tonight?" "I was looking for a drink, and a bit of peace and quiet." There was Sathe laughter. "You are not such a good hunter," Chirthi said as he dabbed at his torn ear. "This is not the best place to look for peace and quiet." "Drinks, however," R'R'Rhasct said, "perhaps those could be found here. Do you need help looking?" I grinned back, making those Sathe who weren't familiar with my expression of amusement shift back uneasily. "I would welcome the company." "Lonely, a?" R'R'Rhasct gave me a thoughtful look, then patted my shoulder. "Not too surprising. Come on, we will get you that drink." ****** The bed was warm, the sheets coarse, the furry body beside me soft, pulsing gently with breath. I closed my bleary eyes again and cuddled up close, feeling fur rubbing softly against my naked skin. There was shouting from outside, the rattle of iron- bound wheels on cobbles. The noise went right through my head. I groaned, rolled over onto my back, and threw an arm across my eyes, wincing at the pounding behind my temples, the gummy taste on the roof of my mouth. Eventually I took my arm away and squinted at the ceiling. Somehow it seemed different that morning . . . Perhaps because it wasn't my ceiling. Low, peaked ceiling of huge slate shingles with rafters of old, black wood; warped and twisted. Walls of rough wood, small window with slats missing from the shutter, a faint, blurry light outside. Black floor polished smooth to a gleaming finish. This wasn't my room! I didn't recognise it at all! Beside me the Sathe muttered and chirred in her sleep, in waking. I stared. Her fur was brown, a dark van dyke brown with faint stripes of white and black on her ribs. Not Tahr. I'd never really understood that term, 'your heart skipping a beat'. Not until then, that is. If I hadn't been lying down I'd have collapsed. This isn't happening. I just froze, staring. She abruptly rolled over and opened her eyes, meeting mine. With a yell I was out of the bed and against the wall by the window, wide-eyed and gasping and stark naked as I stared at her. "K'hy?" she asked. "Oh my god!" I squeaked. "What was that?" she smiled and stretched out. "You know I do not understand those noises." "W . . . who are you?" I croaked. "Oh Jesus! What happened?! Where am I?!" She stared at me, speechless, then sat up; one arm looped over a knee. "Saaa! You do not remember? Last night?" I shook my head miserably, trying to remember what happened. "I . . . I had some drinks . . . Rhasct and Chirthi. After that . . . " After that . . . nothing. Some confusing emotions maybe, otherwise zilch. A scratch at the door. I jumped as another female poked her head around. "I heard . . . " R'R'Rhasct began and trailed off as she saw the tableau: Me naked, in a defensive crouch, facing off the strange female I'd woken up with. At that moment my exposure was the last thing on my mind. I rounded on the female guard: "Rhasct! What the fuck is going on here?! What happened?! We were drinking, then I wake up here . . . " I looked at the female on the bed again, saw the scars on her pelt. "Shit! You were at the bar. Took my knife, then nearly speared me with a crossbow." "I did apologise," she retorted, almost insulted. "Uhnnn!" I grated between clenched teeth, turned away and leaned spread-eagle against the window frame. Dawn was trying to creep between the slats of the shutter. I took a deep breath: "Did anything . . . happen last night? Between us?" There was hesitation before she answered. "Yes. Yes, we coupled. I do not . . . " "Oh God!" I hissed with my stomach tying itself in knots. "She's going to kill me!" "K'hy?" R'R'Rhasct ventured. "What is the matter with you?" "WITH ME?!" I spun on them in a flaring rage that made both Sathe start, then gasped air as I fought to calm down, my head pounding. "Oh Jeez, Rhasct, what happened?" I pleaded, then looked to the female in the bed with abrupt horror: "I did . . . I did not PAY you, did I?" "No," the wide-eyed female replied. "You had quite a few ales," R'R'Rhasct volunteered. "How many?" "Oh, I am not sure. About three tankards I should imagine." "Three . . . " I rubbed my forehead. The stuff they brew here is far from potent. Hell, compared with that ale, even Coors - the piss of the lager industry - packs a punch. Three tankards; not including the few I'd downed earlier. Damnation! I'd drunk more than that before and still been able to thread a needle. I didn't get it. R'R'Rhasct's ears trembled and again she glanced between me and the recumbent female on the sheets. "Does it . . does simple sex really upset you so much?" "Rhasct," I said, then sighed, fighting to think clearly. "I do not have anything against simple sex. Could you enjoy it if you wake remembering nothing of it? Also, she and I . . . I am too different to make it simple sex. Our differences are not just physical. Sex to me is . . . emotional." God, I'd had a hard enough time coping with Tahr's advances. Now I was fooling around? My head was throbbing again and I heavily sat down on the edge of the bed, rubbing my temples. "Thank you, Rhasct. Please, leave us?" She quietly closed the door behind her. I jumped at a touch on my shoulder. Leathery finger pads and furry knuckles pressed against my neck and down alongside my spine and acros my shoulders, rubbing, pressing, kneading. Slowly, my tension drained under the backrub. The pain in my head subsided. "I taught you this?" I asked. "Yesss," she spoke that monosyllable in English, drawing it out into a hiss. "The last night you were not so touchy. " I groaned. "The last night I was not exactly myself." Again she laughed. "You are not afraid of me," I said, aware the instant I spoke of the foolishness of the question. "How can I be," she softly rebuked. "Huhnn . . . I did not . . . hurt you?" "No," she said. Warm, insubstantial breath hovered against my shoulder as if sharp teeth hesitated, then moved away again. "No, never." Her hands described small circles over the region of my kidneys, traced the ridge of my vertebrae upwards. "It was a lot of fun actually; for both of us I thought. There is another female, is there not? Another Sathe?" "How did you know?" I asked; surprised. "Did I talk about her last night?" "No," she said and I felt the bed move as she resettled herself. Her hands pressed at my shoulders, each squeeze bringing the claws partly out to kiss my skin. "You knew me too well for this to have been your first time with a Sathe." "Ahhh," I nodded. The fur of her stomach rustled against my back as she pressed up closer. It was then I realised what was happening. "Hey!" I yelped and yanked away. "What are you doing?!" Startled, she knelt on the bed with her feet tucked back beneath her. "You ARE different this morning." "I am SOBER this morning!" "Saaa! I think I prefer you drunk. You were not afraid to have fun then." She cocked her head to one side. "I know you enjoyed yourself as much as I did." "That was then, this is now," I growled. Her ears and muzzle dipped in annoyance: "Do you have the same trouble with your female?" My female . . . Holy Shit! I dashed to the shutters and wrenched them open. There - to the east - the velvet sky was lightening, high streaks of cloud glowing with the coming of the dawn. "Shit! I have to get out of here! Now!" "What? What is wrong!" My clothes were scattered around the room. I began to hunt around for the various bits and pieces. "Look," I tried to explain as I caught my underwear up from the 'foot' of the circular bed. "I am not supposed to be here." "Where?" "Here!" I waved my arm as I hopped on one leg trying to get into the shorts. "In the town. In Mainport. If I am not back at the Citadel before they know I am gone, I am going to be in a lot of trouble." I found my boots and shirt. "Trouble? With whom?" "Damnation! The Shirai!" "The Shirai! You know her?" "Know her! Huh!" I half-laughed. "Listen; that other female . . . that's her." "Oh!" Her eyes went impossibly wide. "What would happen . . " I shook my head. "No idea. She does not seem to be the type to get jealous, but I do not want to risk it." She hissed and wrinkled her muzzle at me. "It was not jea . . . " I couldn't find my pants. "My breeches! Damnation! Where are my breeches?!" I demanded. She stared at me, then flicked an ear and pointed up. There, draped over a rafter, were my pants. I cursed and snagged them down. Now my socks . . . "You are looking for these?" she asked, sticking a foot out. End Human Memoirs Part 3 Section A