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From: howell_g@kosmos.wcc.govt.nz
Newsgroups: alt.fan.furry
Subject: Story: Human Memoirs 3
Date: 6 Jun 95 23:29:56 NZST
Organization: Wellington City Council, Public Access.
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Message-ID: <1995Jun6.232956.1@kosmos.wcc.govt.nz>
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Joy! Got that extra line feed problem ironed out. Well, here goes
installment 3. . . 




 
 
 
The Human Memoirs part 1 section C
 
 
     The Chesapeake Bay was different in the twilight. 
     It was quiet, still.  There were no pleasure craft on the water, no
sounds of traffic, none of the multitude of lights that normally cover the
water. None of the details that man had added: the houses, offices, and
other edifices man raised for himself. Instead the bay was clear and
clean, surrounded by woodland swarming with wildlife. 
     Bay Town sprawled on the southern bank of the Potomac, near the
estuary where the slow river entered the huge bay - an asymmetrical mass
of red-tiled roofs, walls, and towers behind the protective embrace of
crenellated battlements catching the last light of a setting sun. 
     Much larger than Traders Meet, the town was an interface for the
traffic of land and water.  A place where goods were traded and travellers
could buy passage, be it a ferry across the Potomac or transport on to
another Sathe port by sea or land. 
     The entire northern quarter of Bay Town was dockside. Wooden wharves
embraced by sea walls stretched out into the bay to where ships were
moored.  A small forest of masts were gathered around the docks;  small
wooden scows and fishing vessels tied to the larger seagoing ships. 
     To the south and west the entire town was surrounded by farmland. A
lot of farmland devoted to cattle, others planted with crops, others left
fallow. They wouldn't have farming machinery which would explain why the
farms were so small and why there were so many of them. Easier for many to
manage smaller parcels of land, especially when engaged in continual
battle with the wilderness that threatened to overrun their farms and
their lives. 
     Although not nearly as large as the average American town, Bay Town
was swarming with Sathe.  I estimated about four to six thousand.  The
town was a maze of broad streets leading to a central marketplace like
spokes on a misshapen wheel, with countless small alleys connecting the
streets.  On all sides the rough buildings leaned over the streets as if
trying to rest their gables against each other, none more than two stories
high and with small windows, some with rough glass in them. 
     Stores, smithies, stables, coopers, carpenters. . . a hundred and one
kinds of small businesses slotted in among homes and dwellings.  The smell
wasn't as bad as I had expected.  Tahr explained that they had a sewage
system flowing under the streets.  There were many public toilets and
fountains where residents could dispose of nightsoil and get fresh water. 
     Even though I lay low in the back of the wagon and tried not to
attract attention we still drew stares as the wagons clattered through the
streets of the outer town, headed toward the docks. 
     The warehouse was a large building with stone walls with a few small
windows and a wooden roof.  There was a shop connected to it with a sign
above the door.  Dim light from lanterns shone through the small windows. 
I didn't know what the sign said:  I still didn't know how to read the
chicken scratchings the Sathe called writing. 
     Char wearily dropped from his wagon and pushed the door open. 
Shortly later a group of Sathe emerged, grumbling and yawning and
scratching, and started working at unloading the supply wagons. Another
Sathe - obviously in charge - appeared, carrying on a animated
conversation with Char. 
     "All right, K'hy.  This is where we make our own way,"  Tahr told me
and helped gather my gear.  I noticed she took the rifle and knife along
with her sword and crossbow, slinging the rifle and bow over her shoulder.
Armed like that, she didn't look like someone to be trifled with.  The
pack was surprisingly heavy as I slung it over my shoulders.  I didn't
remember it weighing that much. 
     Anyway, Hymath took a couple of minutes to say farewell to us,
clapping Tahr on the shoulder in a gesture that startled me with its
humanness and wishing her luck. Me, she patted on my arm as she passed,
then the black-cloaked mercenary set off toward the centre of Bay Town
with a confident stride. 
     I would be seeing Hymath again. 
     Tahr looked around, then caught Kharm before he also vanished into
the town.  "Kharm, do you know a place where we could get a room around
here?" 
     The guard looked at me and rubbed his prominent jaw dubiously. "Any
place would take you, but K'hy. . . The only place I can think of that
might accept him is the Reptile, they get a lot of trappers with their
animals passing through.  They would have the facilities.
. . "
     I gave Tahr a pained look. 
     "I am sorry, K'hy," she sighed. "All right, I think that will have to
do. Where is this Reptile?" 
     Kharm snorted and twitched his ears.  "Along the docks, that way. It
is comfortable, nothing more,"  he said and gave directions and Tahr
thanked him then set off with me in tow. Looking back I saw Kharm staring
after us. He hesitantly returned my parting wave and with a final pat at
his scabbard, followed Hymath into the town. 
     The roughly paved streets were very dim and full of shadows. Of
course there was no lighting. The inn so delicately called the Reptile was
located in the southeast corner of the town;  in the cheap sector not far
from the wharves. 
     The wooden sign hanging over the door was illuminated by the orangish
light that spilled out of the open portal.  An unidentifiable lizard lay
basking under a stylised sun while indecipherable ideographs were dotted
beneath.  From inside the building the sounds of a stringed instrument
drifted outside: methodic scales that never quite sounded right,, eerie. 
The hairs on my neck crawled. Tahr stopped and petted her fur smooth. 
     "I hope we get a better reception than we did in Traders Meet," I
muttered. She grinned and swiped me on the shoulder, then ducked in the
door, pulling me after her. 
     The interior layout of the Reptile was much the same as that of the
establishment we had stayed in at Traders Meet:  a large (relatively
speaking) common room opened on to what smelled like a kitchen while
another doorway led to the owners' quarters.  A narrow staircase against
one wall led up to the guest rooms.  The major difference between the two
buildings was the quality of the finishing. While the Rabbit - or whatever
it had been - in Traders Meet was rough, unpolished wood, all timber in
this room was varnished and polished to a deep shine. Two common tables
and their benches, the stairs, the chairs near the fire, the door frames,
were all worn smooth and shiny from years of contact with furry bodies. 
Rough tapestries were hung on the wall and copper implements of various
types were neatly displayed on shelves. The overall effect of the room was
that of reassuring cosiness.  It was a welcome change after the dark
streets and the cool evening breeze. 
     The music was coming from a stringed instrument being played by a
Sathe sitting in the rosy light cast by the fire and several tinted
lanterns.  The instrument looked like one of those old lutes:  a large
resonating chamber connected to a long, slender neck.  The Sathe was
playing it like a guitar, but the sounds produced were much deeper, much
more mellow.  I found myself staring at his hands as they danced over the
strings.  No pick, just a claw.  Four other Sathe sat around at the tables
and in other chairs at the fire, they all looked up as we entered, but the
minstrel didn't even falter in his playing. 
     One of the figures by the fire - a female - got to her feet, smoothed
down her fur with one hand, and came over to us. She didn't seem too
perturbed at the sight of me.  Our chances for a room were already looking
good.  I unshouldered the pack with a grateful sigh and placed it at my
feet. 
     "It is late for travellers," the female greeted us.  She looked like
she was getting on a bit.  She had a slight limp, her fur was tinged with
grey, especially around her ears. "Can I help you?" 
     "Greetings," Tahr replied, looking around with interest. "I would
like a room for a few nights, with meals.  Also, is it possible to shelter
my pet?" 
     I rolled my eyes. The goddamned pet routine again. 
     "Ahrrr," the innkeeper dubiously looked me up and down.  "It will
cost extra to put your creature there in the [Kennels?] and take care of
it.  I have to comment though:  in all my years of seeing strange animals,
I have never seen one like that.  Where did you find it?" 
     "In the swamplands to the south," Tahr smiled. "However I have a
somewhat unusual request.  He is more of a pet and because he is such a
rare creature, I wish to keep him in my room. He is quite tricky and I
fear he could escape from a cage, but I can assure you he is harmless and
clean. He will not foul the room." 
     Yeah, and I don't even have fleas! 
     The landlady looked me up and down, sizing me up.  "A truly unusual
request. . . A truly unusual creature.  Why is it wearing clothing?" 
     "He is used to a warmer climate, that of the lands to the southwest. 
He was suffering in our cooler lands, so I altered some clothes to fit
him." 
     God she was smooth, I had trouble keeping a straight face. Then I
remembered that these people didn't know what a human smile was, so I
broke into one. 
     "You are sure it. . . .he is safe and clean?" 
     "Of course.  He is very docile.  See, I do not even have to worry
about restraints. He is amiable and quiet." 
     The landlady tossed her mane and sized me up.  "Very well, but he is
your responsibility and I will require [collateral]." She looked at Tahr's
somewhat ragged cloak and travel-stained breeches. "How will you pay?" 
     That had the ring of a euphemism for 'can you pay?'. How did Tahr
plan to do that?  We had spent our last silver on the ride here, how could
we pay? Wash the dishes? 
     Tahr surprised me again.  She grabbed my pack and opened it, pulling
out a couple of bolts of cloth: blue and green.  SO that was why the thing
was so heavy. Those she handed to the landlady. "Will this do?" 
     She examined the bundles with a critical eye, rubbing the cloth
between furry thumb and furry index finger, then she smiled and said,
"That will do nicely madam." 
     I couldn't help myself. Visualising a five foot furry cat doing a
credit card commercial, I cracked up. I leaned against a doorpost and
shook with laughter, drawing alarmed looks from the other guests. 
     "K'hy!" Tahr warned me. 
     Our host looked from Tahr to me. "He is your responsibility,
remember." "Alright. He will calm down," Tahr growled. "Now." 
     I bit my lip and swallowed another laugh. 
     The innkeeper blinked, then squinted at me and scratched her chin. 
"Saaa. . . yes.  Well, provided it is clean. . . And I want no loud noises
in the night." 
     Tahr looked at me and hissed in her own laughter. There was something
there that I had missed.  But Tahr left me no time to puzzle it out, she
gave me a swat on the butt with claws only partially retracted: "Move
along, [ ]." 
     I jumped and moved, but I don't think it was that that drew amused
hisses from the other patrons. 
     Our room was set at the front of the inn, overlooking the Chesapeake
Bay.  In the dark there was very little to see but the stars and moon. 
There were only a couple of faint lights shining across the water from
boats or houses.  I closed the shutters and turned away. 
     The room was a simple affair. Hell, a Holiday Inn would have seemed
palatial beside it.  A single wooden frame bed, almost round in shape and
depressed in the middle like a huge bowl.  A table with a small candle,
and a chair all made out wood - albeit quite adequately finished -
completed the set.  I walked over to where a straw pallet had been set out
on the floor and flopped down onto it, using my pack as a pillow.  I
looked across at the shadowy form of Tahr stretched out on the bed. 
     "Everywhere we go, I sleep on the floor." Tahr looked back at me in
mock surprise. "But you are just a dumb animal, you cannot talk." 
     "Do want to know what this dumb animal has to say to that?" 
     She laughed, a hiss of released air between nearly closed lips. 
     I lay there in the dark for another half hour, I was almost asleep
before a thought struck me. 
     "Tahr?" 
     "Mmmmph?" 
     "Where you get the cloth?" 
     "Elmerth." 
     "Oh." 
     Ah well, I guess he wouldn't be needing it any longer. 
     I reflected on the morality of this for a few seconds, before turning
over and falling asleep. 
 
******
 
     The next morning I was up before Tahr. At 6:15 I was looking out the
window at the sun rising over the bay. The town was already active;  Sathe
going about their business, whatever that may have been.  The sun turned
high wisps of scattered clouds to streaks of purple and rose as it rose
over the hills on the eastern side of the bay, throwing a ray of morning
light across the dim room. 
     I looked at Tahr, sprawled out naked on the bowl shaped bed, the
light cotton sheet down around her ankles, her fur keeping her warm
enough.  The sunbeam speared across the room, illuminating swirling dust
motes in the air and settling across her back, setting the fur shining and
highlighting the ridges of her spine, the jutting of her shoulder blades,
muscles gently twitching as she slept.  She really was very beautiful in a
soft, sleek, inhuman sort of way. 
     I turned back to the window, thinking about how I could get home
again. . . after I had helped Tahr - I had promised.  The only thing that
came to mind would be to go back to the place I had come through and hope
that the portal or whatever it was would return and take me back.  Of
course even if it did return, there was the chance that I would end up
somewhere else again, maybe a world where Earth had an atmosphere of
methane, or life had never formed. There were endless, hideous
possibilities. 
     A noise from behind me interrupted my chain of thought. Tahr was
sitting up and stretching, a very human looking movement. 
     "Sleep well, fur-face?" 
     She blinked at me and yawned in a very unhuman way that bared her
sharp teeth. "Very, shave-face." She got up, scratched thoroughly, and
started getting dressed. "And how was your floor?" 
     "Hard." I also scratched at my head and stared at my pallet. "You
know, I do not think I was alone there last night.  This place has a few
small, crawling no-paying guests." 
     Tahr smiled and finished tying the breeches up around her waist. "I
will bring breakfast." She padded out the door. 
     Breakfast was a welcome change from the cold gruel and meat we had
been having over the past few days:  some kind of wheat flapjacks along
with citrus fruits - I wondered where they grew them - and what was
probably goat's milk.  I polished it off rapidly then asked Tahr what she
planned to do. 
     She smiled. "First we get you a bath." 
     "What?"  I looked down at myself.  I was dusty and my shirt was
covered with dried blood. All those days on the road sweating under a hot
sun had not really made me into an aesthetic delight. I was itching all
over, my hair was lank and dirty, and I guess I didn't exactly smell like
a rose, especially to a Sathe's sensitive nose. "Yes. I guess you are
right." 
     If they had public baths in Bay Town, I wasn't going to be invited to
use them.  In fact, we had to leave the town itself, out to the wilderness
to find a secluded stream.  The spot we found actually wasn't too bad:  a
swimming hole straight out of Tom Sawyer, complete with shading trees and
sun-warmed rocks off to the side. 
     God, but that water looked good.  I left my clothes in a pile and
dove in, coming to the surface gasping and swearing. The sun had not yet
warmed the neck-deep water and it was still a cold as a witch's tits.  It
took a short time a few more dives before my body acclimatised and I began
to enjoy it. 
     Tahr too had stripped off her clothes and had been rummaging around
in my pack, searching for something.  Now she tossed me a small greyish
lump and waded in, grimacing and yelping as the water climbed.  I looked
at the slippery mess in my hands, then sniffed it.  It bore a vague
resemblance to soap, but I wouldn't want to swear on it. Then something
yanked my feet out from under me and I fell backward into the pool and
came up sputtering. Tahr darted back out of reach with wet fur clinging to
lithe curves, ears twitching. 
     "Why you little. . . " 
     I cupped my hands and sent water jetting at the cat that wasn't
afraid of getting wet.  She tried to dodge and fell over backwards,
floating there in a swirl of fur, laughing at me.  I fished around the
stony bottom of the pool and managed to find the soap. "I will do your
back if you will do mine." 
     She laughed again, so I casually reached over and dunked her, then
lathered up and proceeded to get clean. The soap was coarse, not Lifebuoy.
There was sand in it and it was so alkaline I could have used it in lieu
of sandpaper, but it got the dirt off.  I idly wondered how long it would
take Tahr to give herself a scrubdown. With all that fur it should take
hours. 
     Perhaps her skin doesn't secrete as much oil. Anyway, all she did was
give herself a quick lather over with the soap then ducked her head
underwater and came up shaking out a glittering spray of water. Then she
sank down and watched me. 
     "Why do you spend so long cleaning your fur, K'hy? You have so little
of it. . . and in unusual places." 
     Fucking nosy. . . I self-consciously sank a little lower in the
water, my eyes still screwed up against the fierce soap as I scrubbed my
hair.  I heard her moving around, then a sting as claws tweaked me
underwater. 
     "Hey! Whatthefuck?! " 
     I dunked my head and shook soap out of my eyes. "What are you doing?" 
     Her ears went back.  "Your skin is changing color. . . I have upset
you?" 
     "Yes, Dammit!  Can you not keep your hands to yourself?"  I was angry
and embarrassed at the same time although I really had no reason to be. 
It wasn't that long ago when she hadn't been able to abide my touch.  I
mean, she was a different species, she wouldn't be interested in me. . .
would she?  I found her. . . attractive, but I could control myself,
couldn't I? 
     "I am sorry," her ears drooped, large eyes with vertical slit pupils
regarded me sadly.  "It was only jest. I mean, you are. . . it looks so
different from our males. I apologise." 
     I sat back in the water.  "Yeah, okay.  I should not have reacted so
strongly." I forced a smiled at her and she flashed her teeth in
imitation.  My anger dispelled and I splashed her in the face, a favour
she returned very readily. 
 
******
 
     The warm breeze brushed across my bare skin and rustled the tall,
green grass that surrounded and shrouded me where I sprawled on the
ground, letting the sun dry me.  I'd never been much for sunbathing au
natural . My shorts were still damp, but drying. 
     Tahr had left me there whilst she went to take care of business in
town. I didn't argue, after all, I'd just be a burden following her around
in a busy town. . . and this was better than waiting in a small, stuffy
attic room. 
     Several gossamer seed pod drifted past overhead just as the sun
appeared from behind a drifting cloud, making the fragile airborne pods
glow with a white aurora.  I drowsily threw my arm over my eyes against
the glare, then rolled over.  Strange, not having to worry about burn
time, ozone depletion. . . 
     In front of my nose a ladybird was industriously climbing a stem of
crab grass. 
     Images: 
     Trees, sun, moving grass, insects, polymorphic clouds. 
     Seed pods floating. 
     The sounds of the wind and lazy water. 
     I dozed. 
     Something thumped my shoulder, jolting me fully awake.  The small
bundle lay beside me: 
     A small, brightly coloured patchwork ball made from pieces of
multicoloured cloth. 
     I curiously poked it with a finger, then picked it up and looked
around.  Sathe laughter and voices sounded from the trees, then died as
the Sathe in question appeared. 
     The three cubs froze and stared at me crouched there in the grass. A
couple of seconds passed before I glanced at the ball in my hand, then
gently tossed it towards them.  It landed about a metre in front of them. 
     They glanced at the ball, then back at me, then at each other. 
     Like the cubs back in Traders Meet. None of them were over four feet
tall, all covered in thick fur - one a light brown and the others more
reddish - making them resemble large, walking teddy-bears.  Like all
feline young their hands, feet, and head seemed disproportionately large
and bulky: they still had to grow into them.  They were wearing nothing
but their fur, but the largest of them was wearing a belt with a leather
thong for holding a small knife.  The aforementioned instrument he was
holding tightly in his hand. 
     "Uh. . . Hello," I ventured. 
     The small one with the light-chocolate fur bolted and hid behind a
tree, peering around it with impossibly wide eyes.  The other two looked
frantically at each other, but held their ground. 
     "I am sorry if I frightened you." I slowly stood, holding out my
hand. "It is all right. I am not dangerous." 
     "You. . . you can. . . talk?" the one with knife stammered. 
     "Well, last time I looked I could," I smiled. 
     "Not frightened," the other one declared, drawing himself up to his
full three-foot ten and looking anything but unafraid. "We were just
surprised." 
     "Sure. Of course you were."  I smothered a grin, then glanced at the
knife in his hand.  "You don't actually need that you know." 
     It didn't waver. "What are you?" 
     "My name is Kelly. I am a human. . . " 
     I was interrupted by hissing laughter and looked in slightly hurt
surprise for the source: the smallest cub - a female.  "What is so funny?"
I asked. 
     She emerged from her hiding plce with a hand clapped over her mouth
in a futile effort to stifle her giggles:  still her ears fluttered like
flags. "Ssss. . . n. . . names. . . funny. And why do you talk wrong?" 
     That was the first time anyone had actually criticized my Sathe.
"What is wrong with the way I talk?" I asked. 
     She giggled again.  "It sounds wrong." Then she surprised me by
coming right up to me.  "You look funny too. All bald.  Can I touch your
fur?" 
     I obliged, bending over so she could touch my hair.  In fearless
fascination she stroked and tugged at my copper-coloured strands.  Sathe
pelts had a variety of colours, but copper wasn't among them. 
     "Ha!" she gave a squeak and grabbed at my hand.  "Why do you have
flat claws?" she demanded as she manipulated my fingers. 
     "Why do you have pointed ears?" 
     She paused, reached up and touched her left ear.  "I do not know.  I
just do." 
     "Why, that is also the reason I have flat claws." 
     She thought that was funny too. 
     With the ice broken the two boys approached, the elder one's grip
upon his knife less certain.  He stared at me, then his face twitched and
without watching his hand, he sheathed the knife in a single, smooth
movement. 
     I suddenly realised that he knew how to use that thing. They knew how
to look after themselves, these kids did. 
     But they were still children, even if they did look a little strange. 
They asked all the questions children would find important:Are those your
clothes?  Why do you wear so many?  What are those things on your feet? 
Do you have any food? Do you have cubs? What are they like? 
     It was a peculiar tableau that greeted Tahr when she returned a few
hours later. A trio of Sathe cubs, a laughing little girl lost in the
folds of my jacket perched high on my shoulders while the older boys
chased and squabbled over the boomerang I'd carved for them. 
 
******
 
     Tahr perched herself precariously on the window ledge watching the
evening activity along the wharves: fishing boats being tied, cargo being
unloaded, sails being reefed and mended. I leaned against the wall beside
her and watched and learned as she pointed out objects and named them. 
     As the day gradually wound down, fewer and fewer passerbys wandered
the quayside below our window. The cool breeze picked up and waves lapped
against the worn stone of the dockside. 
     "It has been a long time since I last through this way," Tahr
abruptly said.  "I was little more than a cub. My father brought me here."
She laughed in an abstracted way.  "I remember he brought me a top.  A
top. . . it is a small toy that spins quickly without falling over. Ahhh,
I wonder where that is now." She leaned back against the window sill and
slowly, lazily her ears twitched in a smile. She had happy memories to
treasure. 
     "Your father. . . he is still alive?" I asked. 
     "The last news I heard he was," she said.  "He is waiting at
Mainport. Saaa! It will be good to see him again." 
     "How long have you been away?" I asked. 
     "Eight years." 
     "Eight years?! And you have not seen him in all this time?" 
     "Oh, a few times,"  she was suddenly more subdued.  "I sometimes
wonder if it was all worth it.  Eight years of learning. . . "  she
trailed off with a wrinkle of her muzzle.  I stepped aside as she stood
and padded across to the bed.  The wooden frame creaked and settled as she
sank down into the middle of the bowl. 
     I took a final look out the window.  Nothing was happening out there,
the sun going through its daily death. "I see the sun, and I say, it's
alright," I murmured to myself. 
     "What was that?" 
     "Not important," I told her and closed the shutters. With the window
blocked the twilight inside the room became a deeper gloom in which Tahr
was a shadow against the lighter brown of the sheets.  I stripped down to
my Calvin Kleins and sat down crosslegged on my pallet, rubbing at my
stubble. 
     "Did you know them?"  Tahr suddenly asked from the concealment of her
bed. "Who?" 
     "Your parents. Did you know them?" 
     "No," I shook my head. "I was not even two. They had left me with
friends while they went away for several days to another city with their
parents.  There was a. . . the vehicle they were travelling in crashed. 
They died along with thirty others. No, I never really knew them, but I do
have. . . had some pictures. Do not know why I kept them, I just hung onto
the over the years.  It is not often. . . " I was babbling. I shut up. 
     "I am sorry," Tahr said after a few pause.  "I suppose I should not
have started it. . . " 
     "No.  Not your fault.  I am not usually so sensitive. It is just. . .
talking to you. . . " I started trembling, clenched my hands together.
"Tahr. . . " 
     "We will speak no more of that tonight,"  she said with finality.
"Did you enjoy yourself this day?" 
     I forced myself away from the bout of xenophobia, forced myself to
think about her question. "I. . . Yeah I did." A memory of the little girl
in a coat eight times to large for her in the heat of the afternoon sun. I
grinned. "Your cubs are. . . cute." 
     Tahr laughed. "They are also impossible. I suspect they were avoiding
their chores." 
     "Not a whole lot of difference there," I grinned as I lay back. 
     She chuckled again and for a time all was quiet. 
     Then: 
     "K'hy?" 
     "Hmmm? What?" 
     "Did you have. . . cubs?" 
     I sighed and stared at the rafters.  A spider was lurking in the
silver ghost of its web in a corner. "No," I replied. "No." 
     I wished she hadn't asked me that. I felt a pang and quickly
sidetracked her: 
     "By the way, what were you doing today?" 
     Sheets rustled as Tahr stretched out on her bed.  "I found passage
for us to Mainport aboard a ship." She waved an obscure hand toward the
window and the harbour.  "We leave the day after tomorrow." 
 
******
 
     Her smooth body was hot, like a fire inside, lips finding mine,
pressed hard, crushing them, biting at my lower lip.  My hands rubbed the
small of her back then worked down over her buttocks.  I could feel hot
skin moving silkily against my own.  A delicate nose nuzzled my ear and
warm breath whispered: 
     "Kelly." 
     "Kelly." 
     "K'hy!" 
     Someone was shaking me. "K'hy, wake. Please wake." 
     I struggled and woke, heart racing, sweating, looking into a pair of
concerned goldflecked green eyes, vertical pupils.  "You were making
noises in your sleep. You are all right?" 
     I looked down at myself.  The groundsheet was around my ankles.  My
erection peeked out of the top of my underwear.  Tahr looked down at the
bulge in my jockey shorts. Her nostrils flared. 
     "Damn it!  Get away from me!" I snapped, yanking the blanket up. She
drew away from me, looked hurt. "I was just trying to help." 
     "You were . . . Shit." I shook my head, shifting my legs. "Sorry." 
     "You were calling out." She looked around at the walls, up at the
ceiling, at me.  "I hope you did not waken anyone." 
     I closed my eyes and held my hands over my face, rubbed my eyes. Then
turned to the barely-visible slivers of night sky through the tiny slits
in the shutters: anything to escape her questioning gaze. "What was I
saying?" 
     "I could not understand.  It was in your way of speaking. . . but
your noises, just the way you were. . . it was obvious enough. K'hy, I
worry about you." 
     I didn't say anything. She continued: 
     "You are very like our males in some ways."  Her eyes flickered as
she gathered her thoughts.  "I know. . . I know that a Sathe. . . I do not
think a Sathe could live properly without. . . another. A male completly
alone." Then softly: "I think I would fear for his sanity." 
     She rubbed her muzzle, then stared at me.  "Are you the same?" 
     I sat up, wrapping my arms about my knees and resting my chin on
them.  How to answer that?  Did I know? How did I feel as each day passed
and home was no closer? 
     Alone. That I can handle, but knowing it's going to be the same day
after day, year on year, for the rest of my life, that thought clutched at
my guts with a cold hand. 
     "Yeah," I muttered. "I could be." 
     "K'hy, what are you going to do?" 
     I hesitated. "Try to find a way home." 
     "And if you cannot?" 
     I looked in her eyes:  Deep, feline, beautiful. . . and felt a knot
of fear clutch at my guts. "I do not know, Tahr. I do not know." 
     She put an arm around my bare shoulders and hugged me close, a
familiar gesture I could understand, one that filled and empty space deep
inside me.  Her fur was warm, with a close, musty scent: like sun-dried
straw. "I will help you," she said. "I will do all I can." 
     There was silence. 
     She got to her feet and made her way back to her bed. "Try to sleep,
we may not get many more nights on land for a while. Ships are not the
best places to close your eyes." 
     I sat in silence.  For how long I don't know. Finally I rolled over
and managed to get to sleep. 
     Thank God, I didn't dream. 
 
******
 
     The next day passed slowly.  I spent it in our room cleaning my
equipment, preparing for a long sea voyage, and doing my best to shave
while outside a light rain fell from leaden skies. Tahr catnapped for most
of the day, in the late afternoon she went out into the drizzle. I waited,
then fell asleep. 
     I groggily lifted my head as Tahr was closing the door behind her. 
The open window showed only night sky and my watch said 22:32.  So, I must
have been asleep for hours. 
     "Come on, get up," she urged me as she pushed my gear under the bed,
so with luck anyone glancing in the door would miss it.  No locks on the
doors in these hotels. Pulling on my jacket I asked her, "Where are we
going?" 
     "To get you some proper clothes." 
     Thanks a lot. That explains everything. 
     The streets were dark and all but deserted;  we only saw two figures
off in the distance in the dim streets. The drizzle had tapered off to a
damp mist hanging in the air. 
     Tahr's pads were silent on the damp paving stones, but my boots made
a muted scuffing sound as I walked.  Dim lights shone through the shutters
on a few of the houses while others were as dark as abandoned buildings.
Without electric lighting most folks rose and went to bed with the sun. 
So much for cats being nocturnal. 
     Tahr led us to the door of a shop on one of the smaller streets.  She
didn't knock, instead scratched with her claws on the rough wood.  A few
seconds passed before it opened a crack, spilling a strip of orange-
tinted light onto the street. 
     "Only me," Tahr said. 
     The elderly Sathe behind the door hissed, then bade her, "Come in,"
as he released a chain on the other side.  His facial fur was greying and
wiry, one ear was torn and ragged and his left foot was twisted, looking
crushed.  But that didn't stop him from jumping back in alarm the instant
he laid eyes on me. 
     "It is all right, good sir," soothed Tahr. "This is the one I ordered
the item for." 
     He stared at me. "That?! What in the name of my Ancestors IS it?" 
     Tahr gave a sigh through her nostrils.  "The tale is too long.  It
would take all night to tell, but I can assure you, he is friendly. I
would not be walking around these streets at night with him if he were
not." 
     The old one looked me up and down with an intensely critical eye, as
though I was something he'd found stuck in his fur. "All right," he
grudgingly conceded. "Come in." 
     Well, if he wasn't a tailor I was Michael Jordan. Clothing and scraps
of cloth in various stages of construction and repair hung from hooks and
covered spare surfaces. Knives of all shapes and sizes hung on racks and
lay on tables, whetstones handy. Bobbins and spools of thread hung from
raccks of wooden pegs. A small loom squatted in a corner and there wasn't
a sign of any sewing machines.  All work must have been done
painstakingly, by hand. 
     The elderly tailor walked over to a bench and picked up a parcel of
folded darkgreen cloth.  "This is what you asked for."  He looked at me
critically and muttered, "I can see why you were vague about the sizes." 
     I almost said something, but Tahr's look made me be content with
sulking to myself. The tailor unfurled the object.  Holding it up at arms
length, he managed to keep the edges of the cloak from dragging on the
ground. 
     Tahr took the cloak from him and handed it to me. "Put it on." 
     I settled the cloak and fastened the neck clasp.  The weight of the
fabric was heavy on my shoulders;  heavy and warm.  There was a thin
cotton lining and the weave was coarse wool. Weights had been sewn into
the hem to stop it blowing around to much.  My first piece of Sathe
clothing. . . Obi-wan, eat your heart out.  I felt like an idiot. 
     "It is a little short around the hood," the tailor mused, picking up
a pincushion lacerated with needles and thread, also choosing a thin
knife. I hastily turned to watch him when he tried to get behind me. One
thing I'm still not that fond of is an armed Sathe behind me. I've already
got a few too many scars. 
     "K'hy," Tahr reprimanded me. "Let him work."The tailor bobbed his
head at her and I stood still while he scurried behind me and hands
started tugging at the fabric around my shoulders, shifting the hood. I
could feel him fixing the seam with one of those oversized needles.
Finally there was a snap of thread being cut and he said, "That will
hold." 
     "Good." Tahr nodded approvingly. 
     "Ow!" Something stuck in my arm. I pulled out a ridiculously long pin
that had been holding a seam together.  I rubbed my arm and handed the
near nail-sized sliver of metal to the tailor who took it dubiously. 
     Tahr looked me up and down, took a couple of steps backward to squint
at me, then turned to the tailor. "I will take it," she said, fishing in
the canvas belt pouch she was using as a purse and crossed his palm with
silver:  "Here is the cost of your time." She tossed over another gold
piece, "And that should cover the cost of your silence. 
     He grabbed at the silver and gold.  "I know it is none of my
business, but why clothes for an animal?" 
     Tahr paused in the doorway.  "You are right, it is none of your
business. Farewell." Out on the street:  "Why do I need this anyway?"  I
asked, fingering the coarse weave. "I feel ridiculous." 
     "It may be wise if you are. . . ah. . . less conspicuous at times.
And it looks better than those strange things you wear." 
     "Yeah?  Well, at least they do not itch." 
     She twitched her ears and we walked.  It'd started drizzling again
and a trickle of water wound its way down the centre of the street. 
     A disguise?  Well it might work, in dim light and at a distance - say
two kilometres.  At least it kept the drizzle off my neck. But why would
she want me to wear a disguise? Damnation, I didn't want to get involved
in any of the politics here.  I thought we'd made an agreement, however
long ago that was;  I'd help her get where she was going, then. . . 
     "K'hy." Tahr caught my arm, pulling me up short. "Wait." 
     "Hey. . . " 
     "No, wait." She cocked her head to one side and hissed, "Listen!" 
     Her hearing was better than mine.  "I cannot hear anything. I. . .
Hey!  wait!" But then she was off, ducking down a side alley, a dark blur.
I followed, cursing as my boots slipped on the slime coating the wet
cobblestones, dodging around piles of garbage, well into the alleyway
before I heard the sounds: Muffled squeals and yelps, Sathe curses,
grunts, snarling. . . 
     "Damnation! Is this any of our business?" 
     I rounded a corner and drew up short, hugging the shadows while I
blinked and tried to see just what the hell was going on. 
     Shadows changed, sliding over the cul-de-sac as the moon tried to
peep through the clouds.  Among a pile of trash in the dead end five
figures were clustered around one on the ground, four held it down while
another. . . 
     "Hai!"  Tahr snarled, going down into a crouch.  "Get away from her!"
she literally spat the words out. 
     The five figures jumped to their feet while the one on the ground
gathered the remains of its. . . her cloak around herself and scrambled
for the illusion of protection offered by the shadows. 
     "Let her go!" Tahr hissed, not a trace of humour in that sound. "Then
get out of here!" 
     "Hah!  It is only one more female,"  one of the others observed, his
words slurred.  He growled something to his friends and they began moving
to circle Tahr, blocking her retreat. 
     "You are drunk," she snarled, moving to try and watch all of them.
"Get out of here. Now. Before you get hurt." 
     "Saaa, don't worry about us," one of them said. "We will be very
careful. "There was hissing laughter. 
     Damnation Tahr! 
     So we WERE involved now, and this type, human or non, was a sort I
held little love for.  The nearest of the drunks heard something and
turned just as I reached him and grabbed him by his collar, swung him
around and half- threw him across the alley where his head hit a rain
barrel with a solid thonk and left him sprawled on the ground, moaning and
clutching at his face. 
     One down. . . But for the mewling of the female in the shadows there
was no sound as the drunken Sathe stared at me. In that dimness, with my
hood up against the drizzle, they probably had trouble understanding just
what they were seeing
     "Saaa!" The one who seemed to have some sway over the others hissed.
"He is only one. Who wants to kill him!" 
     "All right," I tossed back my hood to give them a better look, "Who
wants to try first? Come on, do not be shy." 
     One of the Sathe broke and stumbled away, swearing off drink forever. 
The leader gave a bit of ground, then held firm and grinned back;  large,
white fangs and rain- damped fur gleaming in the dim light. He was too
pissed or too stupid to be scared.  "Uhhh, Creshr,"  one of the others
ventured.  "Do you not think it is. . . " "I can handle it," he snarled,
waving them back. 
     "Listen to your friends and get out of here before I kill you," I
said, surprised to find I meant it. 
     His ears went back and his pupils went to pinpricks, then he yowled
and threw himself at me. 
     Even drunk he was fast and strong. His claws slashed at my arm,
catching and tearing through two layers of thick cloth to scratch my skin.
He danced back a step and looked at my hands. "Saaa! No claws! You have no
claws!" 
     Then he rushed me again and claws raked for my face. 
     This time I caught his right arm and twisted.  He yowled and doubled
over as I pulled it straight out and kept twisting, then he screamed in
pain as I kicked his elbow. There was an audible snap. I kicked him again
in the stomach and his scream turned to a choking gurgle. 
     I dropped him retching into a puddle and turned back to the other
thugs. The one I had flattened first was only just starting to stir. He
vomited loudly. 
     "Who is next?" I hissed. 
     They scattered into the night. 
     I picked the moaning Sathe with the broken arm up by the scruff of
his neck and slammed him face-first up against a wall, his feet a couple
of inches off the ground, his arm dangling uselessly by his side and
whispered in his pointed ear, "Try this again, and I will come back. I
will rip out your heart and show it to you. Do you understand?" 
     "Yes!  Yes!" His hoarse answer was a bit muffled by the fact his face
was being flattened by the wall. 
     "Bastard!"  I spat then carried him to the mouth of the alley and
threw him on his face. I waited until he'd hauled himself to his feet and
staggered off into the dark streets, then dusted off my hands and went
over to join Tahr who was comforting the victim. 
     She was young; probably attractive.  Her soft facial fur was marred
by blood trickling from one nostril and she had claw marks on her arms,
chest, and stomach.  More wetness glistened on her thighs and between her
legs where Tahr was examining her. Not pretty. 
     My foot bumped against a tattered pair of breeches lying on the
cobbles. I picked them up, wringing water out, then offering them to Tahr.
"Is she all right?" 
     The trembling young Sathe shrank back, her claws sliding out.  Tahr
put her hands over the young female's and stroked her temples, avoiding
the scratches across her muzzle.  "It is alright, he will not hurt you,"
Tahr assured her. "He did save your life. Here, your breeches." 
     The female didn't take her eyes off me, wincing when Tahr pulled the
tattered and ripped breeches up, tying the drawstring around her waist.
"There. Do you want to tell me your name?" Tahr coaxed. 
     The female hesitated, then said, "Heama." 
     "All right, Heama, I will take you home.  K'hy, I think you should. .
. Ai! You are hurt!" 
     I glanced at the blood on my arm.  "It is nothing, just a scratch," I
assured her. 
     "If you are sure," she frowned, the wet fur of her forehead twisting. 
"Alright.  Why do you not go back to the Reptile.  You are getting her fur
on. . . I mean:  she is not comfortable with you around." 
     I nodded.  "Okay. . . I will wait for you there. Are you going to be
all right? She can walk?" 
     "I can walk," Heama mumbled. 
     "I think we can manage.  Thank you," Tahr smiled at me and I watched
as she helped the young Sathe from the alley, then gathered up my cloak
against the drizzle and made my way back to The Reptile. 
     The inn was dark, the front door shut and locked. My pounding on the
door roused the landlady from her sweet dreams.  Surprised was a mild word
for her reaction when she opened the door and I pushed passed her and
bumbled my way through a room lit only by the feeble glow of embers in the
grate. She poked her head out to look around. "So where is your mistress?"
A rhetorical question. She locked the door again and went back to her
quarters muttering something about stray animals. 
     I negotiated the railless stairs and dark corridor without too much
injury to my person, and managed to fumble the wooden latch open. I shook
the water off my cloak before hanging it on a convenient peg in the wall
then settled down on my pallet and waited. I never noticed when I dozed
off, certainly it was before Tahr got back. 
 
******
 
     I woke late. 
     The sun was already well over the hills on the far side of the bay
onto Bay Town and residents were busy going about their business on what
promised to be a warm, muggy day. 
     Tahr snuffled from where she was curled up in middle of the round
bed.  Her nose twitched, then she sneezed and opened her eyes and lay
there, blinking contentedly in the morning light. 
     "What happened last night?" I asked
     She rolled over onto her back and draped her head over the side of
the bed, looking at me upside-down. "Good morning and waking to you too,"
she smiled. 
     "She was all right?" 
     "We met her mate who was just setting out to look for her. We took
her to a physician who said she was sore and bruised and there was some
damage to her [vagina], but nothing that rest would not cure.  All we
could do was take her home and set her to bed." 
     Again she rolled over to sprawl on her stomach. It was rather
disconcerting as she was naked, but it was also fascinating:  she was
supple as a. . . well, as a big cat, her movements and muscles flowing
like quicksilver.  I realised I was staring and tore my attention away
from her body and back to the window, listening with half an ear to her
narrative of the way she spent the previous night. 
     It seems that Heama's husband had repaid Tahr with both coin and in a
way that would not be considered proper back home.  As a result, Tahr was
in an exceptionally good mood this morning.  At least she could get some
when she wanted it. 
     After breakfast (scones, meat, and water), we put our gear into my
pack which I had the honour of carrying. Tahr took her sword and my M-16. 
The crossbow was strapped to the pack with my newly acquired cloak, then I
followed her downstairs. 
     "I thank you for your [hospitality]," she bade our hostess goodbye.
"Here is the rest of the money we owe you." 
     The landlady took the coin and put it in a purse hanging from her
belt.  "Journey well, good madam. You know you shouldn't let your animal
wander at night.  It came in last night, scared the breath out of me.  You
were lucky, you could have lost it for good." 
     Tahr showed amusement.  "He knows where his next meal comes from and
he will stay around me to make sure that he gets it.  I thank you for you
hospitality. Farewell." 
     Just before I ducked out the door, I couldn't help whispering, "Thank
you." I left her with her jaw hanging open. Gracious, a talking monkey. .
. imagine that. 
     The docks stretched the width of the town, from wall to wall, a
cobbled waterfront avenue with two wharves jutting out into the bay,
embraced by the arms of the breakwater. Warehouses and shops were dotted
around the edge of the open yard. 
     Tahr led the way to one of the larger warehouses, on the opposite
side of the square from the place Char had unloaded.  I waited just
outside the door as Tahr went inside, down an isle lined with
floor-to-ceiling stacks of barrels, bales, crates, and sacks of goods.
There was a counter at the end where she had to yell several times to
catch someone's attention.  I couldn't hear the conversation, but the
harassed looking Sathe behind the counter handed her a scrap of paper then
pointed out to the wharve, to where a certain boat was moored. 
     I found out that the boat had no name.  No Sathe ship did. When
talking about a ship, one would say Tom's ship or Bob's ship or whoever
happened to own the thing. Tahr found the fact that we named our ships
very amusing. 
     Thinking about it, perhaps she's right; It is a weird thing to do. 
     But then one of the qualities that sets the human race apart from
Sathe is the weird, strange, stupid, and outright crazy things we do just
for the hell of it. Things like religion, the amount we spend on sports:
we find reasons to justify thses things while Sathe don't go for them at
all. 
     I took in the details of the boatd as we approached: twin masts, the
triangular sails rigged fore and aft, the small shelter mounted on the aft
cabin for the helmsman, the high prow, and the small dingy hanging off the
back. A dangerously narrow-looking gangplank from the wharve to the ship
rose and fell gently as the boat moved.  A Sathe sailors working on the
rigging noticed us.  A shout caused other faces to swing toward us. 
     The Sathe that met us at the top of the gangplank was swarthily built
and dressed in stained grey breeches that matched the greyish fur around
his eyes, giving him the appearance of wearing spectacles.  He stared at
us - at me rather - then exclaimed, "My Ancestors. Not another one." 
 
******
 
No matter how you twisted the word, our quarters were not what could be
called 'comfortable'.  They were cramped, hot, and smelled of fish and
something indefinable. 
     I sat on the lower bunk built into the wall of our tiny box and
stared at the article of clothing I held in my hand. The green flight suit
jacket had a name stitched onto the breast pocket. 
     "Lieutenant D. Laurence." I murmured out loud. 
     Tahr sat at the head of the bunk sifting through the contents of a
wooden chest reinforced with iron bars:  the classic pirate treasure
chest.  But the treasure was not of Sathe manufacture. . . Human articles
of clothing and personal effects. 
     Boots, socks, pants, underclothing, the jacket. A set of dogtags
confirmed that D.  Laurence had indeed been a marine helicopter pilot off
the USS FORRESTAL. Also a day-glo yellow life jacket, a plastic very
pistol and flares - both cartridges for the pistol and sticks for the life
jacket, a small packet of food concentrates, a useless locator beacon and
pack of dye, and a harmonica. The last item I picked out and stared at. 
     Pewter and pearl.  There was an engraving on the slightly tarnished
metal.  I rubbed it hard against my pants to clean it and read: 
     Daniel.  Make music and think of me. Love forever, Clara. 
     Corny, but it left me feeling terrible. 
     Captain Hafair leaned against the far wall.  "We found him drifting
much further south than we are now, near the islands, about half a year
ago.  He was clinging to a piece of wreckage of some kind and was
unconscious. He would have drowned if not for his floating device." He
pointed at the worn marine life jacket. 
     "We took him and on board and searched the area for hours, we found
nothing but pieces of metal and other strange materials. We did our best
to help him, but he was coughing blood.  He woke only once, he saw me and
made sounds, then passed out again. He died an hour later. We disposed of
the body overboard." 
     Of course they would have to.  With no freezer or anything, the
corpse would quickly turn foul. 
     He had heard my story, Tahr and I had told it to him in turns.  He
believed it.  Of course he would have to after what he had seen. 
     "K'hy, look at this." Tahr was holding an open water- stained leather
wallet in one hand, in the other was a piece of laminated white, glossy
paper; a photograph. "The purse is like the one that you carried, but what
is this?" 
     I looked at the picture.  An attractive young woman stood smiling at
the camera.  Around her shoulder rested the arm of a clean shaven man in
jeans, Eagles T-shirt,and baseball cap. Maybe in his late twenties-early
thirties, he held a boy of about seven on his shoulders. 
     I swallowed a lump in my throat. "His family. They will never know
what happened to him. Missing in action. " 
     I looked again at the inscription on the harmonica again. His
epitaph? 
     Hafair took the picture in his hands and rubbed it with a fingertip. 
"I have never seen a painting so fine, so lifelike. Was it done by others
of your kind?" 
     "Yes." I didn't feel like getting into a discussion about cameras and
photography and everything else that would entail. 
     "You have incredibly skilled artisans," Hafair marvelled.  "It is
almost as if it is a window looking upon the scene.  If your kind are ever
willing to open trading, I know many Sathe who would pay handsomely for a
portrait of that quality." 
     I just shrugged and pulled three flare cartridges out of a pocket on
the lifevest.He cocked his head to one side and stared at me through deep
green eyes.  "I must see to my crew.  We will be sailing with the tide." 
     Stopping at the door of the cabin, he turned and pointed at the
harmonica. "I am curious: what is that thing for?" 
     "It is a musical instrument." I raised it to my lips and blew a C
sharp. The sharp taste of salt and alkaline was tangy on my lips. 
     He stared, then blinked and left. 
     Shortly we heard him shouting out orders on deck. Tahr vaulted up
into the top bunk then poked her head out of the narrow gap between the
edges of the concave bunk and the ceiling and cocked her head quizzically.
"You are quiet." 
     "He had a family," I said in way of explanation, "a female who loved
him." 
     "The h'man?" 
     "We can love, we can hate," I replied.  "I was thinking of his
family, what they must be feeling." 
     "Yes, I am sorry." A few seconds later she said, "Before that time
you. . . spoke of your family, I had never thought of you having parents. 
I was not even sure that others like you existed." 
     "And now?" 
     "Quite sure." 
     I nodded and ran my finger over the inscription in the harmonica. For
several seconds I just stared at it, then wrapped it in a scrap of leather
and slipped it into my pack. 
     Perhaps some day I would be able to return it to his family. 
 
******
 
     Days after Bay Town was lost among the hills of the coastline the
novelty of shipboard life began to pall very quickly.  As a passenger
whose knowledge of sailing could be engraved on the head of a pin with
room left over for a chorus line of angels, there was very little for me
to do but watch the shore scroll by like some patchwork quilt gone wild. 
     There were only ten crew members(not including captain Hafair and
Tahr):  six male and four females. Sathe seafarers believed in recruiting
a mixed crew and I doubted it was for religious reasons.  I had seen no
sign of any belief in gods or deities in the Sathe society, not even of
vague superstitions. I guess that the reason for it was for crew
satisfaction and morale on long voyages. Later observations confirmed that
hypothesis. 
     The ship was on the last leg of its journey, heading back to Mainport
from Bay Town after a long sojourn around the Florida peninsula and the
settlements of the Gulf Realm.  Their annual trade route headed south
during the early summer, then looped back north again with their goods as
winter approached.  During those cold months of storms and ice, ships were
harboured against the full fury of the Atlantic's elements and overhauled. 
     The crew worked on a rotational basis with a couple of them eating,
sleeping, or playing some obscure dice game while the others worked in the
rigging or patching sails or any other of the multitude of mundane
shipboard duties they could pull. 
     They were friendly enough.  All of them had seen the human pilot they
had pulled from the water so I was not a totally new experience.  However
a couple of them were not convinced that I was much more than an animal. 
When you're stuck on a floating cigar box with things with attitudes like
that, it gets very annoying very fast. 
     During the day we sailed with the prevailing northerly, the small
vessel cutting through the water at a steady clip. Flying clouds of spray
from the bow wave made the wooden planking on the deck slippery as it
drifted across the boat.  A couple of times dolphins flashed alongside,
playing beneath the bowsprit, their buzzing, chattering, and razzing
audible through the hull. 
     I laughed as I watched them leaping through the waves. Even here they
still performed their aquabatics: their somersaults and tailstands.  If
they were surprised to see me, it didn't show through their perpetual
smiles as they lined up to splash water at me. 
     We sat at rest in a small bay as we did every night. Travelling close
to shore in the dark in a boat without radar, sonar, satellite navigation
systems or other hit-tech gear is plain suicide.  Especially in a boat
that can have the bottom torn open by drifting log. 
     The night was cool to my skin but perfectly acceptable to the Sathe
with their natural fur coats.  The only light was from the moon and stars:
quite enough to see by on clear nights. 
     It was peaceful: the waves slapping against the hull, the ocean aglow
with cold, blue phosphorescence - almost a net of glittering cyan and
light. Surrealistic, beautiful.And the soft hissing of Sathe voices could
be mistaken for waves on a distant shore. 
     The crew would sit on the deck in the still and darkness of the late
evening and tell stories and jokes: the latest tales they had heard in the
last port, or something they had made up themselves. 
     ". . . then found they were supposed to be there when half the farm
washed way in the next rains." 
     Sathe laughter hissed around the deck and Tahmihr, the storyteller,
took this as his due and sat down again, taking a deep pull from his mug. 
     Everyone had been drinking;  some more than others.  As silence
settled, Chmiha - one of the females - got up and pulled an equally tipsy
Shatimae to his feet. Together they lurched off belowdecks. I stared after
them, aware of what they were probably going to get up to. Nobody else
seemed to give a damn. 
     A Sathe sitting beside me swallowed a lump of dried meat, belched,
then asked me, "What do things like you do for entertainment?" 
     Others heard him and he was quickly backed up by a chorus of voices
demanding me to do something, including a laughing Tahr. Jokes were out: I
didn't know what they found funny. I was unable to think of a story on the
spur of the moment. 
     "What about that instrument?" Tahr suggested and before I had a
chance to protest she dived below-decks to get it.  Well, she seemed to be
feeling better;the last couple of days had seen her a little green around
the gills, several times making an offering of the contents of her stomach
to the gods of the sea. 
     Within a minute she was back, handing me the little leather bundle.
Silver glittered when I unrolled it. 
     It was an instrument I could play, probably the one I was best at. 
Living in barracks meant that you either got good at playing something
quickly, or someone would ram it down your throat. 
     Sitting in the dark on a wooden coaster with an audience of drunk
cats, I began to play.  A couple of bars of Home on the Range to warm up
with.  I followed that with Led Zep's The Immigrant Song , then The Wreck
of the Edmund Fitzgerald, Stairway to Heaven, The Devil Went Down to
Georgia , Rough Boy and other pieces, both old and new, mixing lively
tunes with more sedate ones. 
     The sounds of the harmonica were alien here, wailing across the
night-cloaked waters. I looked around over my cupped hands at the dim
faces of the Sathe, shadows strong and their eyes seeming to glow.  There
was no sound from them as they listened, no sign of derision.  I took
heart from that and smiled to myself as I returned my complete attention
to the music. 
     I played for about an hour, doing the pieces I was best at.  The moon
was high before I finished, and only two of the Sathe had left during my
solo performance. Well. . . I couldn't expect them all to be music lovers. 
     When I finally ran out of breath they showed their approval by
laughing (hissing all round) and passing me a drink.  That I could use: 
my mouth tasted of dry metal from the harmonica.  The ale was strange,
like beer in a vague way, but weaker, flat and sweet with the distinct
taste of honey. 
     A few mugfulls of the ale was enough to trace a warm path through my
insides and as the crew drifted off to their berths, Tahr had to help me
down the pitch- black companionway and corridor to our box of a cabin. She
found it extremely amusing when I missed a step and skidded down on my
posterior. 
     I couldn't see her, but I could feel Tahr's eyes on me as I stripped
off in the dark and climbed into bed.  The coarse sheets were irritating,
but they were all there were and at least it was a bed.  Wood creaked as
Tahr clambered into the upper bunk, then came the thunk as she hit her
head against the low ceiling. 
     "You alright?" I called up. 
     She snarled out a few choice curses.  "Yes, I am fine. . . Saaa!" 
     That paid her back for my indignation in the corridor.  I laughed and
rolled over, pulling the thin sheet up, wishing that I had a pelt like
her's:  the nights were definitely getting cooler as we moved north. 
     . . . .She was warm under me, hair fanned out on the pillow in a dark
web, her eyes closed in ecstasy and she was warm as we moved together.  I
buried my head in her shoulder and rubbed my cheek against the smooth
skin.  She shuddered under me;tensing and relaxing, again and again.  I
lifted myself with my arms and looked at her face. She opened her eyes. 
     Impossibly large green eyes; green with flecks of gold swimming deep
inside. . . inhuman eyes. 
     I snapped awake with a gasping cry, the sheets twisted around my legs
and clammy with cooling sweat. There was no sound from the bunk above. 
 
******
 
     We were at anchor in a bay somewhere around near where Atlantic city
should be.  The crew were lowering the dingy from the back of the sloop,
the ropes creaking under the weight of the small boat loaded with empty
water barrels. 
     That was the reason for us stopping.  Tahr told me such a small ship
does not have a lot of room for carrying supplies such as food and water. 
Since the ship was a coaster and never far from the shore it was more
practical to stop - either at a port or somewhere along the coast - than
carry provisions needed for several weeks journey. 
     Tahr and I stood watching them prepare the dingy. "It will be good to
walk on solid ground again," she sighed. 
     I had to agree with her.  Going on an Atlantic cruise may be fun to
some people, but not when the boat rises and falls with the tiniest swell
and the head is a bucket. 
     Four of the crew clambered down to the boat and took up oars.  With
the barrels there was only room for one more. Captain Hafair saw the
situation. 
     "They will have to make two trips." 
     That was something the rowers didn't want to hear. They muttered
among themselves. 
     "No need," I said.  "Tahr, you go. . . take these." I gave her the
M-16, then stripped down to my shorts, bundled all my clothes up in my
jacket and handed her the package. The crew stared at my body with a
mixture of amusement and disgust.  I heard whispers pertaining to my lack
of fur and guesses at other physiological arrangements. 
     Tahr looked at the water with distaste.  "You can swim that far?" 
     "Sure.  It is not that far." It was only about sixty metres, no
sweat.  Sathe aren't very good swimmers:  Not only the fact that their fur
bcame waterlogged, but they were just natural sinkers. Too much muscle to
float I guess. "Race you." 
     She wiggled her ears and tossed my clothes down into the boat, slung
the rifle over her shoulder and swarmed down the horizontal slats on the
hull that served as a ladder.  I stepped over the hemp railings and
balanced on the edge of the boat for a second.  The water suddenly seemed
a lot further down.  Oh well. . . With some attention to style I launched
myself into a swan dive and broke the water cleanly. 
     I came up gasping.  The Atlantic was damned COLD!  I looked around
for the rowboat and saw they had already started, putting their backs into
it. I hitched up my shorts and struck out for shore, bodysurfing the
mediocre waves. 
     The beach was just a small spit of silty sand, carried down from
inland by a narrow stream. The rest of the shoreline was rock, worn smooth
from the constant action of the waves. As yet the trees around the bay
hadn't begun to loose their leaves, but it wouldn't be long before they
turned russet red-gold. 
     Puffing and blowing like a seal I hauled myself out of the water,
adjusting my shorts while I grinned at the dingy still several metres out
and riding the waves in. I waded out again and gave them a hand by
dragging the boat up to the watermark. 
     "Show off,"  Tahr chastised me as she leaped out onto dry sand. 
     "Hey," I grinned back at her while splashing ashore. "I am allowed
some fun in life." 
     She spat in mock disgust, then laughed and tossed my bundle of
clothes at me. I caught it and began to sort my clothes out. 
     "So, did you enjoy your swim?" Tahr asked. 
     "Very pleasant," I grinned, then nearly fell over trying to get my
legs into my pants.  Solid ground felt strange after a heaving deck. 
     While the crew filled the water flasks and drew straws for the
hunting detail, Tahr and I struck off on our own, following the stream
inland through the utterly deserted forest. Not a sign of Sathe habitation
anywhere, only birdsong.  The sky was clear with only a trace of clouds,
small animals scuttled through the undergrowth doing whatever it is that
small animals that live in the undergrowth do. 
     "It is beautiful here," I said. 
     "What?" she gave me the Sathe version of a blank stare. 
     "I forget, you grew up with this." 
     As a New Yorker myself, I only recently started seeing anything of
the great outdoors, and even then nothing as outdoor as this. "You should
be grateful, there is not a lot of untouched countryside left in my
world." 
     She looked around.  "Your world sounds like a very strange place. 
How could anyone destroy land?  It is. . . always.  There is just so much
of it." 
     "It is not that hard to do, believe me." 
     She was silent for a while, looking at me, studying me. "You have
changed, strange one." 
     "Huh?" 
     "Your skin. . . It is much darker, and the fur on your face is
thicker." 
     I looked down at myself.  I don't tan easily, but all those days
outdoors had weathered me, and given me restless nights suffering from
sunburn.  Using a knife to shave is a very uncomfortable experience.  The
last time I'd tried it was well over a week ago in The Reptile and by now
my beard was quite distinctive. Patchy, yes, but distinctive. 
     "I think I had better cut it back again." 
     Tahr craned around to look.  "No, do not.  You look better with it
on." 
     "You think so?" I scratched at the bristles. 
     She bobbed her head in an exaggerated nod.  "It hides your. . .
baldness." Then she added, almost as an afterthought, "And it is a nice
color." 
     I laughed: "Flattery will get you everywhere." 
     "Another saying from your world?" 
     "Sort of." 
     The source of the stream was a small lake about two kilometres
inland.  Not very large, just enough to hold the water that drained from
the local land.  It was picturesque:  a small valley between four hills
covered in a canopy of greenery:  oak, ash, beech, birch, as well as a
spattering of pine. 
     We had settled under a tree in a small glade near the lake, me
leaning against the trunk and Tahr lying sprawled out on her cloak near my
feet in that relaxed attitude that only cats can adopt, her fur blending
in with the golden grasses around us. 
     I took a swing of water out of my canteen then offered her some.  She
accepted it and I watched as she put it to her almost non-existent black
lips and tilted her head back, dribbling water down her chin and chest.
Her mouth really was not built to drink out of a vessel shaped like that. 
Sathe canteens are flexible leather bags with long, flattened necks. . .
much like botas. 
     "Tahr, what happens when we get to Mainport?" 
     She wiped a trickle of water off her chin and tossed the canteen back
to me. "Ssaaa. . . You mean what happens to you?" 
     "Uh," I ducked my head somewhat sheepishly, "Yes. . . You are my only
friend here.  I know very little of your customs and I am not skilled in
the crafts that your people value.  There are none of my own kind. I am a.
. . a stranger in a strange land." 
     "Very poetic, K'hy." She reached out and patted my leg. "Do not
worry. You forget; I am not a figure of unimportance there. I will make
sure that you are looked after.  Also our scholars will be fascinated in
you, your devices, and your knowledge." 
     I slowly shook my head.  "That was not really what I meant. Tahr, you
are a friend, but still you are Sathe. You are all Sathe. It gets. . .
lonely." 
     She plucked a blade of grass, twisting it in her hands. "You pine
after others like yourself? There was that other. . . h'man. If both you
and he came here there may be others.  What do you think the chances are?" 
     I shook my head, "I would not have the faintest idea. People - my
kind of people - disappear all the time, but I doubt it is quite the same
thing." 
     There were all those legends and stories of people and machines who
vanished without trace.  The tales of the ancient civilizations of
Atlantis, Eldorado, and Vilcabamba and the more contemporary Bermuda
Triangle, the Marie Celeste. 
     Would Tenny and I be included with these?  Nah, I doubted it.  We'd
just go down in a government computer somewhere, along with that
ever-growing list of missing persons.  How many of them had suffered this
same fate. . . or worse.  If this was another Earth that had just taken a
different turnpike somewhere in time, then how many others could there be? 
an infinite number? every major and minor decision in history causing
another branching with an alternate Earth? or just periodic breaches along
the way. 
     Hell, I could count my blessings.  I could have ended up on an earth
that had never developed an atmosphere! 
     How many could that have happened to? 
     "Tahr, perhaps a few of my kind have come here before, but as you
said, there is a lot of land.  Also, they may have not wished to be found
by your people." 
     "What? Why?" 
     "Think about it." 
     "Oh. . . " She touched her face. "Our appearance?" 
     I nodded and she tried to look indignant. "You remember that when I
first saw you I did not wait around for introductions.  I very nearly left
you in that river." 
     "But it was my personality that won you over, ah?"  She laughed and
ran a clawtip along the strip on her side where no fur grew, then rolled
on her back, spread eagle.  "Am I really that hideous?" she smiled at the
sun - her earring glittering as her ear flickered - and stretched.I
cleared my throat.  From where I was sitting her position was rather. . .
revealing. 
     She stretched a tawny leg out and ran her bare foot up the inside of
my calf, as far as the knee. 
     "Ahh. . . no, I would definitely not call you hideous." 
     She grinned and rolled again to end up on her stomach, resting her
head on her laced fingers;  her expression growing serious once more. 
"K'hy, the last few nights your sleep has been. . . restless. You have
been having those dreams again?" 
     So, so, so.  She had noticed.  For a couple of seconds I stared at
her, then sighed and said, "I was hoping you had not noticed. Why now?" 
     "A boat is not the most private of places, and you are. . . touchy
about this. Is it the same dream?" 
     I shrugged. "Sort of." 
     "Ah. . . what was this dream?" 
     "Look, Doctor Ruth!" I was starting to feel flustered and threatened
by her line of questioning. "Why do you keep prying into my affairs?!" 
     "I do not understand," she said;  genuinely puzzled. "I just want to
help.  It can help to discuss your problems with a friend."  She gave me
her most endearing human-style smile, exposing pointed white teeth. 
     It still startled me.  Tahr saw me flinch and her face straightened,
almost looked hurt.  Damnation, she was for real, caring about my problem. 
I swallowed and relaxed a little.  So, now she's a psychiatrist, okay.
Haltingly, embarrassed, I told her about the dream. Nightmare. Whatever. 
     Afterwards she was silent, looking at me with those eyes the liquid
green of ocean depths. 
     I stared back, all too aware of that gulf between us.  So different,
she with her fur and claws and teeth and predator's manners. Her kind used
to prey upon mine. 
     "Tahr," I choked.  "What am I? I mean, when you look at me, what do
you see?" 
     She pondered over that.  "A friend, I think,"  she said thoughtfully. 
"Perhaps a tall, clumsy, bald, half- blind and deaf friend, but you are a
friend nevertheless. Beside, you have cute fur." 
     Cute. . . I flushed.  "What I said before. . . I hope I did not
offend." 
     She smiled. "It offends me far less than it embarrasses you, K'hy. 
Dreams can say a lot about a person:  what they are thinking, what they
want. . . Saaa, K'hy." She cocked her head and asked, "And what am I to
you?" 
     Oh Jeeze!  "I. . . Ah. . . I have known many females, but you are
unique." 
     She gave a small snort. 
     I continued, trying to explain.  "You are stronger inside. You are. .
. .There is an animal my people often used to represent grace, power,
cunning, and beauty: you strongly resemble this creature." 
     "Are you calling me an animal!" she bristled. 
     "No, no. . . I. . . er. . . that was a. . . a. . . " Damn, I didn't
know the words. It wasn't necessary. 
     Her anger evaporated into laughter.  She moved over and squatted down
beside me.  A claw lightly traced long my jawbone. "I know what you
meant." Then she shifted and there was warm breath on my neck and a second
later I almost screamed when she bit me lightly on the shoulder, teeth
closing, then releasing again. 
     "Jesus,"  I gasped when my heart settled down again. "What was THAT
for?!" 
     She scratched her own neck and looked bewildered.  "It shows. . .
affection. Do you not have such a gesture?" 
     "Uh. . . yes. It is. . . uh. . . " I didn't know how to say it.
Impulsively I leaned over, placing my lips against her cheek.  Just a
touch.  Her fur was warm from the sun, with that now-familiar musty scent.
I hesitated, then impulsively shifted and bit her lightly on her right
shoulder;  she trembled slightly, then relaxed. 
     "That touch," she felt her cheek. "Is that it?" 
     "A kiss," I said, embarrassed.  "There is more to it, but you. . .
you are not. . . I do not think it would work." 
     Ha!  The metal picture of getting into a serious mouth match with a
Sathe was both ludicrous and faintly repellant. 
     "A chiss. . . We both have a lot to learn," she murmured; then, more
loudly. "Come on. I think it is time we went back." 
     I lagged a few steps behind her, discreetly trying to get fur out of
my mouth. 
 
******
 
     But for the rowboat, the beach was deserted. 
     Waves lapped around the dingy where it lay in the surf. Water casks
lay upended on the beach with their contents spilled back to the sea. 
There were also dark stains on the white sand: small droplets and larger
patches of a sticky, reddish liquid already drying. Fifty meters out on
the ship we could see the crew waving their arms and shouting something
swallowed by the distance. 
     Tahr grabbed me, pushing me back toward the trees, hissing, "Out of
here! Move!"  Sathe were waiting with loaded crossbows levelled. 
     I grabbed for my rifle but Tahr caught my arm and stopped me, "No!
K'hy!" 
     "Submit!  Now!" A Sathe snarled.  "Do it!" 
     I hesitated, looked at Tahr in confusion.  It almost got me shot: a
crossbow bolt whirred past my head. I froze rigid. 
     "You!"  the Sathe growled at Tahr.  "Get that thing under control!" 
     "Like this," Tahr hissed at me.  She hung her arms loosely away from
her side and looked up at the sky, exposing her throat. I imitated her
example. 
     Hands grabbed my hair, yanking my head back even further while claws
rested at my throat;  I broke out in a cold sweat. Others took my gun and
tied my hands behind my back: tightly. Tahr was tied likewise, then we
were led at crossbow-point into the forest. The crewmembers were there:
stripped bodies dumped behind bushes. Well enough hidden so we'd missed
them on the way in. Guards pushed me past the corpses, stumbling at a
gruelling pace through the trees, then uphill.  On a windswept hilltop
overlooking the bay, I looked back to see the ship still lying at anchor.
It looked like a toy. That was how the Sathe had known we were there: they
had probably watched the ship sailing in and the rest was easy. How many
crew were left? Could they get help? I doubted it. 
     Wagons and llamas waited on the other side of the hill.  In short
order Tahr and I were stripped of our clothing, had our ropes replaced by
manacles, and were left lying like a couple of sacks of meal in the back
of a cart. Right in front of my nose a canvass blanket covered a lumpy
pile. A corner had shifted and I caught a glimpse of armour hidden
underneath: blood red and coal black. 
     Tahr glared at the back of wagoner, then went back to staring at her
bonds:  two small stocks, one for the wrists and another for the ankles,
chained together and secured with a crude but efficient lock: like wooden
handcuffs.  She had limited movement, but me they were taking no chances
with. 
     They'd crammed my hands into the same kind of manacles - too small
for my wrists - also they'd hog-tied me: linking my wrist and ankle
restraints behind my back with rope, then running another loop of cord up
to my neck. If I so much as twitched my hands the noose began to bite into
my windpipe. 
     Perhaps I could've coped with that, but the sheer terror when one of
the bastards - a female - had jabbed me with a dagger, then held it
between my legs and debated amongst her comrades whether or not she should
take a trophy was like nothing I've ever felt before. 
     They thought it was hilarious. 
     Tahr was snarling and spitting in helpless fury as the laughing Sathe
poked and prodded and jabbed at me until an officer dispersed them,
snarling they didn't want me damaged too badly. 
     Now several hours later - cuts and scratches stinging and oozing, my
muscles aching from lying on hard wood in the back of the cart, shaking
uncontrollably - I wondered what they had in mind for us and why it was
every time we moved, someone jumped on us. Tahr must be really important
to someone. 
     The Sathe on the llama behind the wagon had grown tired of jeering at
us;  laughing at me and making proposals to Tahr, who stolidly ignored
them. However, they still kept a close eye on us. 
     Toward evening we left the road and started through the trees. The
jolting while the cart was on the road was bad enough; offroad it was
unbelievable.  Black and blue, I was almost relieved when we rolled into a
campsite. Several small fires were crackling away and shelters were slung
between trees.  Some were tent shaped, others just a heavy sheet with one
end tied to a rope and the other pegged to the ground. 
     Two Sathe climbed into the back of the cart, two more stood at guard
on the ground.  One of them cautiously untied my ropes, then gestured to
Tahr with sword drawn. "Out." He looked at me: "That too." 
     I got to my feet, my joints popping from being locked in the same
position for hours on end, and waited while our captors removed our
hobbles.  They led us at swordpoint to one of the larger pavilions where
our leg shackles were replaced and chained to a stake driven deep into the
ground. Guards waited outside. 
     I looked around.  Shabby, water-stained canvass draped over a rope.
There were a couple of blankets on the trampled grass, but besides that;
nothing. 
     "They are Gulf Realm?" I asked Tahr. 
     Unable to sign the affirmative with her hands she nodded human style
instead.  "Yes, Gulf Realm,"  she almost spat. "Warriors of Hraasa, that
impotent, fatherless, son-of-a. . . " 
     "Talking about others when they are not present. Where ARE your
manners?" 
     The mild voice broke Tahr off in mid-curse.  We both looked to where
a male Sathe was watching us through the pavilion's flaps. The newcomer
laid his ears back in a smile that held little warmth. "A pleasant catch.
Tahr ai Shirai herself. Almost too much to hope for. I've heard many
promising things about you, and I am pleased to see they are true."  He
settled himself opposite her, his nostrils flaring. 
     "Who are you!" Tahr snarled. "And what is this outrage! Gulf troops
violating all the conventions and interfering with a Candidate and her
entourage. The assembly shall demand a tribunal of inquiry." 
     "Entourage?" the other smirked. "THIS?" he stared at me, "is your
entourage? You are in a bad way, Tahr." 
     "Who are you!" 
     "Ah, my manners!  I suppose I should introduce myself: I am Tarsha." 
     This Tarsha was hefty for a Sathe: about five foot three. His fur was
dark gold in the fading sunlight, lighter stripes running down his muzzle. 
He wore a kilt of black leather outlined with red trim, his black cloak
was decorated likewise. 
     He moved closer to her; his clean features and her ragged fur were
silhouetted against the light filtering through the tent fabric.  When he
combed a claw through her mane she snapped at it, but his hand was already
out of reach. 
     "Huh. . . Yes, you are the one alright.  I think I shall find you
very enjoyable tonight." 
     "Fuck off. . . Get your paws off her you mother- copulator!"  I
lunged forward, straining at the wooden stocks.  They creaked, but
unfortunately held. 
     Tarsha turned his attention to me.  "It DOES talk! You do find some
strange friends Tahr. Strange and ugly." 
     "The best part of you ran down your father's leg!" I snarled at him. 
     Tahr hissed. 
     Tarsha looked surprised, then his eyes narrowed. He stepped towards
me and crouched down.  With a single quick movement he grabbed my hair and
forced my head back.  A black claw traced up and down the curve of my
throat, pausing to circle the soft hollow below my adams apple. I
swallowed. "Tahr, does it not know that it is not nice to say things like
that.  What is it, Tahr? Some friend of yours perhaps?" 
     The claw meandered down to my chest, then started to apply pressure.
I winced, then ground my teeth. Sweat and blood started to flow.  I was
all too aware of how easy it would be for him to gut me with a single
slash. 
     "Stop, Tarsha," Tahr sounded weary. "Don't hurt him." 
     "Huh." He drew back, suddenly thoughtful. "Compassion for something
like this?  Interesting.  I wonder why?"  He withdrew his claw from the
small furrow it had made in my chest and brushed his fingers across my
forehead, frowning at the moisture on his fingertips.  "You hear her,
Creature?  She cares for you." He released his hold on my hair and
signalled for a guard.  "Get it out of here." 
     "Where do you want it, High One?" 
     He sighed, like he didn't really care. "I do not know. Take it and
chain it to a tree or something. Make sure it is well guarded." 
     They did.  Chain me to a tree.  Without clothing, neither beneath
shelter nor near a fire.  A guard sat like a furry idol under a nearby
bivouac, a sword and cocked crossbow close at hand.  A half-hearted tug at
the chain that bound me to the tree only earned me a kick in the side of
the head. 
     Day fled and nighttime stole across the camp, broken only by the
oasis of light around the campfires. None of the Sathe around them reacted
much when the snarls of protest came from that one tent; turning to sounds
of pain and struggle. 
     "BASTARD!" I started screaming also, struggling against my chains
while Tahr cried out. Several guards finally used the butts of their
crossbows to shut me up. 
 
 
End Human Memoirs Part 1 Section C