From howell_g@kosmos.wcc.govt.nz Tue Jun 20 05:32:15 PDT 1995 Article: 32624 of alt.fan.furry Xref: netcom.com alt.fan.furry:32624 Path: netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!howland.reston.ans.net!news.starnet.net!wupost!waikato!comp.vuw.ac.nz!newshost.wcc.govt.nz!usenet From: howell_g@kosmos.wcc.govt.nz Newsgroups: alt.fan.furry Subject: Story: The Human Memoirs Part 16 Date: Tue, 20 Jun 95 23:26:10 +1200 Organization: Wellington City Council Lines: 1378 Message-ID: <3s6b9f$31s@golem.wcc.govt.nz> NNTP-Posting-Host: ix.wcc.govt.nz The Human Memoirs Part 4 Section The Last A warm morning. Sounds of the town woke me. Across the room, early light was trying to peek through cracks in the shutter, throwing dime-sized spots of light on the wall above me. Still half asleep I stretched, then rolled, draping an arm across warm skin and spooning up to a smooth back, lightly nuzzled the short hairs on the nape of a neck, drinking in our mingled scents. Married now. . Well, sort of married. Funny, but I'd always thought I'd have known when it happened. "Huhhnnn?" Maxine made a sleepy noise. "Morning and waking," I greeted her. Maxine stirred, yawned, rolling over and snugging up against me, her breasts pressing against my side and an arm draped over my chest. "Morning to you too, lover," she smiled lazily. "How you doing?" "Ah. Not too bad. Better than I have for a while." I replied. From outside came the cries of gulls, a baker shouting that the morning bread was ready, the best in the Realm. Llamas bleated and hooves and wheels squealed and rattled on cobblestones. A normal morning. "What day is it?" Maxine asked. "Dunno. Sunday?" "Huh? How'd you know?" "Feels like a sunday." She giggled and slapped my arm and for a long while we shared pillow-talk. You know. . . the kind of vital nonsense relationships are built from; just chatting about the weather, each other, whether or not Sathe could play baseball, why exactly do escalator rails move just that bit faster than the thing you stand on. Those little nothings. While we talked and laughed and touched, the sounds outside grew louder and the light brighter until the new day was something we just couldn't ignore. "Ah, shit," I sighed, lounging back into the warmth of the sheets. "I guess we'd better start thinking about going back." "Awww. . . Why?" she groaned and stroked my chest, carefully tracing the raised tracks of the scars that had startled her so much at first. "I was starting to like it here." "Must be the company." She looked thoughtful. "Nooo. . . I don't think so." "Hey!" I affected hurt, clasping hand to my heart. "That wounds." Her gentle touch turned to a playful thump on my chest, then she propped chin on fist and smiled down at me. "A good night?" I let my fingertips play across her cheek. "The best." "Better than a Sathe?" That hurt. "Hey! Sorry. Joke. All right?" she slapped my chest again and stared into my face, concerned. Blue eyes, smooth skin, aburn hair soft like fur like green eyes white sharp teeth. . . Maybe Maxine saw the twitch in my eyes, maybe it was some other cue. Anyway, she smiled, then leaned forward to plant lips against mine. I responded and our breath mixed as our tongues wrestled until she pulled back, panting and smiling. "Is there somewhere around here to clean up?" Ensuite bathrooms are not an option in Sathe inns. The nearest hot water would be down in the kitchens, and there was no room service. So I was the one groping my way down a dark stairwell, fumbling with the buttons on my shirt and trying to avoid splinters in my bare feet. The door at the foot of the stairs opened into the Red Sails tavern and I stepped through, bracing myself for the stares and. . Tahr waiting. The room was empty. Chairs were stacked on the tables as in any human bar after hours. There were a couple of narrow, barred street-level windows adding their dusty streams of sunlight to the feeble sputtering of oil lamps. The fire that had roared in the hearth was just glowing embers now. She was sitting at a single table in the centre of the room, a pitcher and two mugs before her. "Morning, K'hy." Her voice was hollow in the empty room. I stared in shock. "What the hell..? What are you doing here?" "You vanished last night. No warning. You had a lot of people worried." Not really an answer. "How did you find us?" She shrugged. "Sathe see things. They talk. . . " Floorboards creaked as I wove my way through the deserted tables, plucked a chair and lowered myself into it, still nonplussed. "We were followed, right?" She actually shrugged, human style. "A drink? You sound dry." I nodded and took it. "So," she breathed, "Mas also has a new name this morning." "You know?" "I scent. You reek of her. It is hard not to notice." Her hands toyed with the mug, batting it back and forth on the table. "I had thought you were worried about cubs." Yeah. I had been. Thank God for Norplant. "It. . . it is something we do not have to worry about for a while. " "And you claim not to be driven like us," she smiled. "You enjoyed yourself?" Second person that morning to ask me. . . "Immensely. . . but, Tahr, why did you have to play games with us like that?" "Games?" "At the ceremony, could you not have done the same for Maxine there and then? Why this way? It seems so. . risky." "Risky?" she looked confused. "In what way? It is perfectly normal for one of a pair of mates to take the oaths. K'hy, people took you for mates from the instant they saw you. It would have been. . . awkward to name the pair of you. Questions would have been asked. Besides, what would we do if we had to name every bond servant in the Gulf Realm? I could never finish it in my lifetime! Anyway, it worked: you are mated and she is Shirai." "But if we had not mated?" "Why would you not?" she asked. "You are the only h'mans around. You are male, she is female. You are both leery of sex with Sathe. I think that limits your options." "Tahr. . . Oh, Damnation! Tahr. Please, believe me! It does not work like that." Her muzzle wrinkled, then her right ear slowly drooped. "I did wrong?" "Yes," I nodded, then smiled. "But thank you. Your heart was in the right place." She glanced down at her pelted chest, but the ears came up again. I took a taste from my mug: Wine, slightly tart. Uhnn. I put the mug down again and asked Tahr, "How did things go at the Citadel?" "Southerners gave their oaths to the Realm and the Lake Traders. The Northerners were pleased with that. Easy victory and easy land: a couple of lesser seaports around the Gulf. There were questions asked about Hraasa's death." "Oh." "It was not from their Born Ruler. A couple of their Lords were asking some questions that were. . . well. . . enlightened guesses. They got no answers that could help them." She gave me a despairing look, "Strange One, why could you not have been a little more circumspect?" My Furry One, if I'd had the choice, I'd have taken him out with a fucking tactical nuke. However, I kept my mouth shut. "Ah, well," she sighed. "As long as they do not try and follow the scent further, I think things will be interesting enough. Here, there is something I think you would like to see." Outside, a body of royal guards was blockading the front door; that explained why the place was dead. Where was the staff? The guards stiffened to attention as we stepped out, some glancing at my bare feet. Tahr ignored them and pointed up the street to where the walls and towers of the Citadel were visible over the shingle roofs. Beyond those walls a patchwork, tear-drop shape was ponderously hauling its way into the flat, blue sky. The mismatched colours, the reds, greens, purples, blues, greys, yellows caught the sun as it rose from the shadow of the Keep and gleamed like a technicolor rainbow. I could hear shouts rising from the surrounding town and even jaws in the stolid Royal Guard dropped. "You brought it back!" I stated the obvious, in case she hadn't noticed. "Of course," Tahr's greenstone eyes were riveted on the rag-tag orb hanging above the ramparts and towers of the Citadel. "There were protests about your being brought into the Clan. Now that flies to show what you can give us." She smiled, "It has swayed more than a few opinions in your favour. Here, inside. I have a few more words." Inside again. Tahr talking as she led the way back downstairs, "You see, that can be your future. There is no limit to what a Clan Lord would pay for knowledge like that. Enough trade goods or coinage to keep you in luxury for the rest of your days. It was a reason the Lake Traders did not press the land issue: they saw what you were capable of at Weather Rock and suddenly they are being uncommonly courteous in their dealings with us. "You built that machine for the library and the scholars went mad over it. Already they are stretching the paper supplies, but they are sending qualities texts across the Realm." She snorted, "Huh! some of them even began printing sheets of gossip and news complied from traders and selling them around the town and the Citadel." Huh? I blinked. Tabloids already? Sheesh, they didn't wait around. I rubbed my chin. "Tahr, bits and pieces here and there look good and may be fun to play with, but I would like to do more to help your people." She stared back at me for a long while. "Do we need help?" "Uh. . . I did not mean it to sound like that." "Then how did you mean it to sound?" "Knowledge like that is like a part of a puzzle, but only a very small part. I do not know exactly how to put this. . . Umm. . . Humans used to live to only about thirty or forty years." "Wait," she tapped at her ear. "I could have sworn you told me you live to seventy or eighty." "Now we do," I explained. "After many centuries of hard work." I went on to briefly recount the ages leading up to the time I had left behind:The Dark Ages, the Renaissance, the Industrial Revolution, up to our own Atomic Era. "They always took us a little further forward in our knowledge, but we had to make sacrifices. Tahr, I have given it some thought and I think we can show you where some of the mistakes lie. We can save a lot of lives." "But what does that leave us?" she replied gently. "What of our dreams? How would your people feel if a more advanced culture suddenly appeared on your world and told you how you should run your lives?" "Yes," I wagged my head in a half-nod and shrugged, "I can understand that. But look, farmers may work themselves near to death just to try and scratch out enough to see them through winter. If I know ways that would triple their crop yield, would that be interfering? I know that I could not just watch a cub die from illness or injury when there are ways of preventing or curing it. That would be murder. Where do you cross the line between helping and interfering?" Tahr stopped, scratching her jaw while dust motes danced around each other in the sunbeam behind her. "Well, I think we can say that you are not forcing us to adopt your customs. I believe, if anything, the opposite has occurred." She looked pointedly at my Sathe breeks, then stepped closer to reach up and brush her hand against my face, stroke my hair where it hung to my shoulder. "Kelly?" Maxine was at the door, watching us. I should've guessed she'd walk in. . . "What are you doing?" "Having a mad, passionate affair with Tahr," I replied lightly. "Why do you ask?" "Oh, no reason," she smiled as she walked towards us, swinging her hips and jutting breasts out more than normal; trying to catch my attention. She saw Tahr as a threat? Possible. "What's she doing here," she asked in English and that question was silk wrapped around sharp steel. "I asked her the same thing." I spoke Sathe. "We left in rather a hurry last night. She came to see we are all right." "You had a good night?" Tahr asked Maxine, her nostrils twitching. "Very good," Maxine smiled back. I put my arm around her and felt her relax against me. Tahr's nose was working overtime. "What were you talking about?" "Our future," I provided. "With the things you already have you can be wealthy," Tahr said. "But K'hy had some other ideas." "Hmmm?" Maxine looked interested. "Like what, lover?" Tahr's ears flicked like heliograph shutters and I felt my own burning. "Ummm. . . starting from scratch, from the beginning. Tahr, you remember you said we may be able to gain some land of our own?" "Yes. You laughed." I nodded. "I remember. . . Tahr, I do not think we can stay at Mainport and live off your generosity. We have to learn to make our own way in your world. What I am asking would take time and effort before it started making a profit, but I think we can make it work. What I am asking for is a home." ****** The pressurised oil lantern hanging over my desk burned brightly. I'd copied Max's Coleman, improving on the Sathe design by putting a pale glass bulb and chimney around a hollow wick. My dinner sat on the edge of the desk, practically untouched; cold. The light threw shadows around the cluttered room as I rubbed my eyes, and sighed at the lines on the drawing board. Six hours I'd been there, working on a way to improve our vacuum pumps. The filaments in the lightbulbs we'd started manufacturing kept burning up. Filling the bulbs with an inert gas was out of the question at the moment, the best we could do was a vacuum, but our current pumps weren't efficient enough. Yet. "Put that away, lover," came a quiet voice from behind me. "You've been working at that all day. It's nearly midnight." "Oh," I stretched and glanced at my watch. "God, I never noticed." Maxine stepped up behind the chair and put her arms around my neck. "Come to bed," she murmured in my ear. I pushed the board away and reached up to hold those arms. "Hmmm, alright. I'll just clear up here." "No, now." I laughed and got up, hugging her against my chest with a mock growl. She squealed and put up a token struggle before relaxing and wrapping her arms around my waist. We just held each other for a while. "Told you we could make it," I murmured. "Know-it-all," she retorted and a Sathe burst through the door, ears flattening when he saw what he'd interrupted. "Ah, High Ones? There are alarms. Possibly bandits." "Oh, SHIT!" Outside the skeleton of the windmill rose above the packed dirt of the courtyard; wooden bones cutting geometric shapes out of the night sky. Beyond the felled trees on the edge of the lower meadow, the forest was black, the night as dark as night, the branches a wooden tangle shades darker than the nightblue of the sky behind them. Faint light spilled onto the dirt as the doors to bunkhouses were thrown open, the Sathe inside spilling out, still buckling their armour on and preparing their weapons. The best fighters drawing their swords while the rest cocked their repeating crossbows and took their posts on rooftops and lumber piles around the courtyard. The fortified roof of the guard house overlooked the whole area. Sathe waited there in absolute blackness, bleary-eyed workers. The officer in charge of the guards met us as we came up the stairs. "Sir, the alarms on the main road gave them away, then there were more on the game trails circling around." "Not animals?" "Not a chance." "Alright," I looked out toward the main road. Clouds were blowing across the moon; at some moments I could see as far as the treeline across the meadow, at other times hardly the Sathe in the guard tower with me. Sathe weren't so handicapped. "How many?" "They must be feeling lucky." In the dimness his teeth flashed. "About twenty on the main trail, another fifteen around the back." Altogether our forces numbered sixty-five, but there were only a dozen professional guards. We never intended to do much fighting, but we could look after ourselves if we had to. I unlocked the cage covering a series of knife switches and pressed a small button; a needle clicked. The cells were charged and ready. "Tell me when they reach the markers," I muttered at the officer. He nodded; a mannerism some of them had picked up from me and liked to copy for some reason I never had been able to figure out. We waited. "There!" one of the Sathe pointed. They coagulated from the utter darkness of the trees. One minute the meadow was empty, the next silent shadows running up the track towards us. Their hope was to take us by surprise. Fat Chance. "They are about to pass the markers. . . NOW!" I flipped half the switches down. Down in the field, flashes of flame lit the night. Gouts of dirt and dust were flung into the air, preceding the pile-driver retorts of the explosives. The screams started before the echoes had died away. The mines were intended as anti-personnel devices, jury-rigged claymores. Just an angled trench with a sealed barrel of powder at the bottom and a mixture of heavy and small rocks stacked on top. When the mine was detonated it sent a spray of debris blasting out across the fields before it like a beehive round in a field piece. They were surprisingly effective. The echoes of the explosions resounded off the distant hills of the broad valley, fading away, leaving only the cries of wounded and shell-shocked raiders: Piercing screams and whimpers that were even more horrible for all their helplessness. From the buildings behind us came a few final snaps and yells as crossbows finished off the raiders. Darkness is no great handicap for a Sathe archer. Howls rang out and metal-wielding silhouettes dashed out from the buildings, running towards the ruined figures of the raiders where they sprawled and huddled. The few raiders who tried to flee were quickly brought down. I pulled the key from the console in front of me and tucked it into my shirt before going to join the workers as they rounded up the survivors. All five of them. I looked down at them huddled in the dust, hands bound behind their backs. Their clothing was tatty scraps of leather cobbled together to form some semblance of armour; grime seemed to be the only thing preventing many of the filthy outfits from falling apart again. All their swords were clean and gleaming, showing that care had been lavished upon the tools by which the bandits hewed their living. At least there weren't any glimpses of Gulf armour beneath the rags. I picked up the weapon of one survivor: it was an Eastern soldier's scimitar. The wounded owner frantically tried to scramble away from me as I pulled the scabbard from his waist and sheathed the weapon, then lifted his kilt and took the dirk concealed on the inside of the leather strips. Seeing that, the workers searched the other captives for hidden weapons. A small arsenal stacked up on the ground. "Sir?" Tlase - the Sathe I considered the foreman - was waiting, a crossbow cradled in his arms. "What do we do with them?" he asked, pointing at the bandits. "Lock them up under guard," I said. "We will turn them over to the garrison in Last Hunt tomorrow. The bodies. . . Bury them. They will make good fertiliser." The foreman signed assent and stalked off, hissing orders as he organized the workers into guard details. I grabbed one of the bandits by his scruff and hauled him to his feet. He whimpered at my touch; a pathetic sound. They were locked away in a small, sturdy building normally used to store wheelbarrows. There was a commotion from over where the Sathe were dragging corpses from the road and stripping them before burial. I started over in that direction and several of them saw me coming, breaking off and running towards me. Their excited gabble came so fast I was swamped, unable to follow them: "SHUT UP!" They fell silent. "Now, what is the matter?" "Sir!" One of the workers - a young male, grey in the darkness - held out a handful of trinkets: rings, a few strips of intricately embroidered cloth, a small chain with pendant. "Sir, my uncle. . . Nresan. These are his. He has a farm just north of here. These are his!" "Are you sure?" "Yes! Sir, my father gave this armband to his mate just last summer!" My heart lurched. Were we the bandits only targets that night, or had they been busy. . ."When was the last time you saw them?" "Ah. . . A few days ago. It was after. . . " "Oh, shit!" I was already halfway to the shed where the ute was kept, yelling over my shoulder: "Tlase, get four of those guards! Now!" The engine ground a couple of times, then turned over with a growl I hadn't heard for a long time. I revved a couple of times, watching the gas needle climb and settle at just over half-full. The passenger door opened and Maxine jumped up into the cab, the VP-70 still clutched in her hand. "What's up?!" I tried to explain as I snapped the lights on, shifted into gear and floored it, the wheels spinning and throwing dirt against the shed walls. Tlase was running towards us with the four Sathe guards in tow. They all shied aside as the headlamps swept over them and the truck skidded to a halt. "Get in!" I bellowed out the window. The Sathe fumbled with the lock, then yanked the door open. Three piled into the back while the other two vaulted into the bed behind the cab. I put my foot down weaving through the buildings that turned to forest flashing through the lights as the truck barrelled down the narrow track, trees whipping past on both sides. Behind me, a Sathe in the back seat was keening in terror as the truck bounced and crashed on tortured suspension, the ruts twisted and wound in the headlights. For that split second it was something I'd been through before: road gone, headlamps sweeping across bush and grass, metal protesting. . . A Sathe yelled and a wagon appeared across the road in front of us. The ute slewed sideways, not far enough, and wood splintered, crashing across the hood and windscreen and then the smashed remains of the wagon were vanishing in the glow of the taillights, the llamas tangling themselves in their harnesses as they struggled in panic. ****** The silence after the engine shut off was palpable. I stepped from the cab, one hand resting on the door as I stared at the remains of the farmhouse. Fully a third of it was charred rubble. By some fluke, the fire had died away, but that hadn't saved the rest of the building. The door was lying several metres away, amid the remains of smashed furniture and tattered clothing strewn in front of the small house. The front porch had collapsed at one end where the supports had been eaten away by the fire and what looked like a bundle of rags had been wrapped around a post flanking the steps. As we got nearer I saw they weren't rags. I've seen a lot of senseless, horrific things over the years; they've acclimatised me to violence, but things like that. . .it was the remains of the farmer tied there. He'd been skinned and gutted, his innards dangling from the gash in his stomach, castrated. What was tied there didn't resemble a Sathe at all. There were rumbling growls from the Sathe. Maxine turned green and bit her lip. Tlase and I found the remains of his mate in the bedroom. Naked, stinking, and skinned. The remains tied spread-eagle on the stained furs of the small bed still had fur on the hands and feet and head, like her mate. . . Why? Why skin them!? Who the hell would buy a Sathe pelt?! It was sick. I didn't let Maxine go in there. We staggered out of that charnel house and slumped down in the cold glare of the Ute's headlights. I looked around at the faces of the other Sathe. One of them was the one who had said this had been his uncle. He stared at me with wide eyes and all I could do was shake my head. "I am sorry." "They had cubs," he said in a faint voice. "Two." What?! While Maxine and three of the others searched the outlying farm buildings - the barn and ploughshed - the rest of us searched the little farmhouse from top to bottom. Finally a shout from one of the Sathe brought us running. She was kneeling over a hole in the floor of the main room. The cover that had concealed the crawlspace was flung aside. It had been hidden by smeared ash spilled from the fireplace. The Sathe reached in and lifted out a couple of bundles of cloth and laid them on the floor then looked at me. I knelt and looked at the tiny balls of fur in the bundles, neither larger than both my spread hands. The little one squealed as I picked it up, wrinkled face with shocking blue eyes baring its minuscule teeth in an instinctive snarl. The claws were still soft as the hands grasped at my finger when I touched the thin fuzz of fur that covered its face. "Kelly. . . " Maxine stooped down beside me and gasped as she saw the cubs. "My God," she murmured and I smiled as she scooped the other bundle up, cradling it against her breast and touching the tiny muzzle with a delicate finger. "Two cubs," Tlase was staring openly. "They were very lucky." Lucky. . . In some ways, yes. I looked up at the Sathe; the nephew of the deceased farmer. "Would your Clan take these in to care for them?" I asked him. He gaped back at me and his ears went back in shocked surprise. "Sir. . . it is impossible. . . you know. . . " he trailed off, nervous and uncomprehending, looking to Tlase for support. Oh, shit. Yeah, I remembered about Sathe and their offspring. No matter what happened, it was only a matter of time. Shocked and lost, I looked down at the mewling bundle in my arms, then up at the faces of the Sathe. "They cannot just be left here. . . " "No," Tlase agreed with a mournful look at the cubs. "All we can do is make sure that they do not suffer." "You cannot mean KILL them?!" "Well there is not much else we can do," he said sadly and with perhaps a touch of anger. It was a deep-seated wound in the Sathe psyche that I had touched; their inability to nurse another's cubs. It was natural - a part of them - but they were never able to completely accept it. Children were a rare and precious thing to them, and to be forced to kill them out mercy rather than let them die of neglect. . . that hurt deeply. "No!" Maxine stood up and put her foot down. Tlase stepped back, afraid of his employer's anger. "Max. . . " I started to say. "Kelly!" she snapped, horrified. "You can't! Look at them!" I did. I looked down at the minuscule bundle of life I held in my arms. The tiny buzz of a purr was coming from its throat as it nuzzled up against me. Maxine moved over to me and leaned her head against my shoulder, the two purring cubs nestled between our bodies. I gritted my teeth and made my decision. For better or for worse. . . ****** The snow was being driven before the wind in a howling, opaque blizzard. From the windows of the house it was only occasionally possible to see the dark blades of the mills and the warm fireflies that were lights in the other dwellings as the flurries shifted and moved. A few Sathe muffled in cloaks and parkas pushed their way through the drifts as they tended miscellaneous tasks. It was amazing the way a small town had erupted from what had been a cluster group of buildings only two years ago. And it was still growing. There were Sathe immigrants of all descriptions and professions, many of whom had just been drifters, passing through on their way from nowhere to nowhere, attracted by the jobs and technology that promised if not riches, at least a living. Even so, we were usually short-handed. I let the heavy drapes fall back across the window and turned to look around the room with pride. The A-frame house was the product of two years hard work by Sathe and humans; a test of the construction techniques used for the other buildings around the growing community. It was also our home. The living room was large and open plan with a sunken living area in the middle and a dining are situated off to one side. The circular stove in the centre of the living space was the first fruit of the cast iron industry we were firing up. The copper coils encircling it were part of the wet-back water-heating system, but would also become part of the central-heating once our steel-working techniques became refined enough to manufacture the necessary pumps. Above, the room stretched upwards to the peak of the roof while a mezzanine balcony led to the rooms on the second floor. Wood proliferated throughout the room. The strong grain of varnished and sanded oak softened and highlighted at the same time by the illumination of gas and pale electric lamps. There were rugs on the bare wood floor and pieces of furniture scattered about: a couch, cushions, a low table, and a couple of chairs in the living area. The stove door was wide open, the fire inside throwing light and heat upon the massive bearskin lying before it. Maxine and I didn't have many possessions as yet and we definitely weren't what you'd call wealthy; both the funding we received and all the profits we made being invested in new ventures, but the trade our community was doing in textiles and other goods such as cast-iron stoves, spinning wheels, medicinal alcohol, clothes pegs, safety pins, cement, lumber, extruded wire, tools and a multitude of other utensils was booming. I'd seen the bearskin among the wares of a merchant passing through Last Hunt and brought it on impulse. For 'sentimental' reasons if you will. I sank down on the cushions before the fire and relaxed in the warmth that poured from the open door. Within the stove the coals were glowing red, orange, and white; like untouchable gem stones. "Dreaming again?" I looked around and smiled as Maxine came down the stairs and padded bare-footed across the room to curl up beside me on the rug. She hadn't changed much: perhaps slightly taller, darker, and more muscular. . . well, we both were. We had to work hard to live. "What are you staring at?" she murmured. "The only thing around here worth staring at," I smiled and accepted her noncommittal 'hmmp' as my due. "How are they?" "Out like lights." "Busy day for them, huh?" "They loved the kite, lover. You know, you spoil them with those toys." "Huh," I chuckled and caught her around the waist, snuggling up, just lying there together in a warm glow. Now we had a home. Beside me Maxine relaxed and for a while we both just stared at the fire before I got up to fetch some wine from the rack. However the two goblets sat forgotten on the low black-lacquered table as we lay entwined in one another, her fingers playing with the small hairs on the nape of my neck. The wind moaned as it sought its way around the walls, but from the snow that seared the sky outside in cold flurries there wasn't a sound. But the woman beside me was warm, so warm, and my fingers were beginning to wander. . . Of course the doorbell jangled. "Oh, shit no!" I groaned. "Not now! Who the Hell's that?!" Snow whipped into the small reception room as I pulled the front door open. It was well below zero out there and already drifts over two metres deep were banked up. Even with their fur, the Sathe waiting on the landing were bundled up against the cold: our guards wearing new quilted, down-filled jackets and carrying crossbows, the other three Sathe wearing ice-encrusted animal furs and cloaks, frost on the pieces of cloth pulled over their muzzles for what little protection they offered against the biting wind. One of them reached up wearily to snag the mask with a claw and pull it down; smiled stiffly at me through the frost beading her fur. "Tahr?!" ****** There were guest quarters that any Sathe noble would have considered extravagantly luxurious with insulated walls, indoor plumbing, centrally heated rooms, double layers of glass in the windows and rugs on the floor. The guards at the gates had already taken the liberty of having the Shirai's escorts boarded there, dripping melting ice and looking half-frozen and slightly numb at some of the devices around them. It was going to be necessary to provide a staff to assist the guests who had no knowledge of stoves or electricity. Tahr and H'rrasch would stay in the house. I helped them hang up their frozen clothes to thaw off and dry out. The ice and snow covering them was beginning to melt, soaking them through and through. Incredible that they could actually walk through that blizzard outside without any footwear whatsoever, not a touch of frostbite. I opened the inner door and led them into the house proper. Their eyes went wide and they stared at the alien architecture and the steady glow of the lamps. "My Ancestors," Tahr rubbernecked. "K'hy, you have been busy!" "There is still much to do." I smiled then as she moved to hug me. Her fur still held that old, familiar scent of sun-dried straw, brushing against me as I returned the embrace. "Tahr, I have missed you." "A year is a long time," she agreed. Maxine was waiting to greet them, hugging both Sathe with abandon, then offering them clothing. The Sathe politely declined, they were quite warm enough in their fur. Together they sank into a chair before the fire with every indication of relief and H'rrasch stared at the cast iron oven with a wondering eye. "Now," I said. "What the hell are you doing out here? I doubt that you were just passing and decided to drop in. What is up?" "Kelly," Maxine touched my arm. "Haven't you noticed?" I blinked. "What?" "Dammit!" She punched my arm."Look at her. She is pregnant!" I did. My eyes wandered down to her midriff. There WAS a slight bulging. . . "True?" I asked. "True," she smiled and burrowed a little nearer to H'rrasch's side as he slipped an arm around her and nuzzled at her neck. "I am surprised you did not notice, K'hy," she said. I realized I was still staring and broke into an uncontrolled, shit-eating grin. Tahr would understand what it meant. "Congratulations!" "You asked why we are here," H'rrasch said." That is the reason. Would it be possible for Tahr to stay until her term is done?" "It will be a few months. I need a quiet place. Somewhere I can leave easily when the need takes me," Tahr added quietly. "Of course!" Max answered instantly. "I'll get the spare room ready." "Tahr, H'rrasch. . . You are always welcome here, you know that," I said. They thanked us profusely and unnecessarily. I left the Sathe curled up on the chair together to get more wine and goblets. Perhaps some day we'd have crystal glasses and decanters, but that would be way in the future. We sipped at the rather. . . ah. . . immature table wine whilst our guests recounted the affairs of Mainport and we reciprocated with new of what had been happening in our enclave. Tahr suddenly broke off and was staring past us, at the staircase where two small faces were peering through the railings. "K'hy, Mas. . . who is that?" she asked. "Some members of our house you have not yet met. . . Kids, come over here!" I called. There was a moments hesitation then the two cubs stood and clattered down the stairs. Brother and sister, still with their thick spotted baby-fur, neither of them taller than my hip. They scampered across the room - forgetting their toe claws again - and stopped, suddenly shy, staring at our guests. I held out my arm and they burrowed in against my side, still staring. "This is our son, Shane, and his sister, Sasha," I smiled. "Adopted of course. Kids, this is the Shirai and her mate, H'rrasch." "Tahr?" Sasha craned around to look up at me. "Yes. That's her." "You told us 'bout her," Sasha solemnly told me, then left my side to walk across to Tahr, staring up at her. "You are pretty," she said, "Like father said you were." Tahr blinked at me, then looked down at Sasha's upturned face again and slowly reached out to stroke her muzzle, obviously confused. I could see the questions and incredulity stirring; questions that Maxine and I had answered innumerable times before. With a final ruffle of the children's manes I said, "Come on, back to bed with you." "Aw, father," Shane protested. "Hey," I cautioned with a gentle tweak of his ears. "It is late and there will be plenty of time to talk to them later on, okay?" "'Kay," Sasha went willingly, but Shane was a little more truculent. "I'll take them," Maxine volunteered. "Shit!" Shane mumbled under his breath as Maxine herded the pair of them back upstairs. Where'd he learned that?! "K'hy," Tahr was still staring after them with her ears wilted like dying plants, "I do not understand? How is it. . . Who are they?!" I sighed and leaned forward. "Their parents were both killed - murdered. We found them, looked after them as best we could. Tahr, you know we are unable to have children of our own. . . they are all we have; they are our family." "But how?!" she demanded. Her fur was starting to bristle. God knew I'd done a lot of things Sathe found new and strange, but this. . . I knew Sathe had been trying for so long. For us to succeed where so many of them had failed, it couldn't help but touch some tender spots. "To raise another's children as your own. . . ! How did you do it?!" I shrugged. "I am not entirely sure myself. Perhaps because we are not Sathe." "Explain." "You live by your noses," I said. "Your Times, reflexes, and childbirth are ruled by scent. The way you respond has been deeply. . . uh. . . built into your minds. H'rrasch, you know how you feel during Times. You cannot help yourself." He signed assent. "Sathe cubs probably learn their mother's scent when they are born, but it is not the absence of that scent that make them refuse to feed, I think that rather it is the presence of another Sathe scent." I looked at my hands then back up at the Sathe. "If the newborn cub scents a mature female who is not its mother - perhaps even mature males - it just will not feed. I do not know why." "But why did that not happen to you?" H'rrasch asked. "As I said, because we are not Sathe. Neither Maxine or I make nor respond to Sathe scents. . . You could say that we are neutral," I gave a small grin. "But that is just a theory. I could be completely wrong." "K'hy - incorrect or not. . . " Tahr stopped speaking and huddled even closer to her mate staring at me with an expression of wonder. "What you have done is just. . . impossible! It is against everything I have ever. . . " again she trailed off and just stared at me. I said to her, "I could never leave them to die without trying to do something. You know that." The fire had died to a pile of small, glowing coals that scattered into a shower of sparks when I threw a pair of logs in. After a few seconds they caught and were soon blazing away. I closed the door and stood with my back to the stove, my hands clasped behind me, staring at the Sathe as they stared back at me. "Yes," Tahr finally acknowledged as Maxine came back downstairs, "I know, but what about the cubs? I mean no offence, but does it not. . . uh. . . disturb them to call you 'Father' and 'Mother'?" "They know we are different from Sathe," Maxine said. "There are enough other Sathe and cubs out there for them to see the difference, but they have grown up with us. To them we are family." Tahr's head went back but she kept her eyes locked on us. Finally her muzzle wrinkled as she said, "And they are all you have. I think I can only wish you well with them." Outside, the snowstorm had died away as quickly as it had sprung up. The black lid of the clouds were sliding aside and the stars were casting their aloof light down over the countryside made white; harsh angles softened by drifts. Inside, the fire burned low while the Sathe ate a small meal, then - warm, full, and extremely tired - collapsed in the spare room we'd prepared. Tahr had caught a glimpse of our human-style bed in our room: "Alien," she said, shaking her head and grinning in her imitation of a human smile. "Square beds. . . You never told me about that, K'hy. Does it make sex more interesting?" Max and I left them to laugh themselves to sleep. ****** Spring was a time of sudden warmth and growing things pushing their way through the retreating crust of snow. Grass grew, foliage returned to trees' canopies, and blooming flowers proliferated. The mills were turning again and the foundries coughed smoke, steam, and gouts of molten metal. They were small by modern standards, but considered incredibly efficient by the Sathe of the day. With the refinements in glass manufacturing I had introduced - the addition of sodium carbonate and producing sheet glass by congealing it on a bed of molten tin - the demand for the clear, glass vessels and sheets we could provide had taken off. By employing mass-production techniques the profits were quite considerable; enough to build a school and employ Sathe teachers for the growing number of cubs in the community. That was something else that happened in spring. Sathe females began disappearing into the virgin forest that surrounded us on all sides. The remaining Sathe treated it as absolutely normal and over the past years I had learned not to worry too much about it. Until Tahr vanished. "Do not fret so! She will manage," H'rrasch assured me as we stood on the edge of a meadow at the outskirts of town looking out towards the tree-covered hills, the mountains blue shadows in the distance, snow still heavy on their peaks. He had brought me the news that his mate had gone on her sabbatical. "She will be fine." I stared at the treeline. The last time I'd seen her she had been uncharacteristically crabby, almost hostile. Her abdomen was swollen, her six breasts had tumefied and turned pink, poking through her fur, sometimes leaking droplets of milk. She'd vanished two days ago. I worried about her. Damnation, it was dangerous out there and she was unarmed, probably naked as she discarded clothing in her maternal madness, with only her claws and fur for protection. "It will be enough," H'rrasch insisted. He touched my arm and looked at my face, as if trying to fathom my emotions. "There are very few things out there that would want to tangle with a female near her term." A few bison - massive, shaggy mountains of stupidity - eyed us dispassionately as we stopped beside the fence around their pasture, then returned to tearing up mouthfuls of grass. "So, are you looking forward to being a father?" I asked the Sathe. He started to laugh then stopped and looked puzzled. "I do not really know," he confessed. "Come on," I said. "Yes or no." "Really, I do not know." His muzzle wrinkled. "I have watched you playing with Shane and Sasha and I envy you, but I also fear the responsibility. By my Ancestors, I do not know what to do!" That took me back to the problems we had had raising our Sathe children; those sleepless nights and the headaches. But there were also the fun times, the happiness and pleasure they brought Maxine and I. We may have broken every rule in the Sathe child-raising book, but at least we'd done something, we had something to show for all our labours. "H'rrasch, you will know what to do. You can bet on that. It is hard work. . . " what was he smirking at. . . ? Something small, furry, and muscular tackled me around the knees from behind, knocking me over into the grass and another furry something landed on top of me. I rolled aside, roared with mock anger and scooped up the two squealing cubs, one under each arm. The Shirai's mate was leaning against the nearby fence, hissing his amusement. "It can also be a lot of fun," I grinned at him as the cubs hung themselves around my neck with furry little arms. ****** It was seven days later, the dead of night, when Tahr returned. Maxine heard the noise first, dragging me out of bed by an arm even as she was bolting for the door. I untangled myself from the sheets and stumbled after her. H'rrasch had beaten us both. Below us, in the living room, Tahr was a dirty, haggard shape dressed only in scraps of clothing sitting cross-legged on the rug before the glowing remains of embers in the fireplace. She looked up as H'rrasch slowly approached and her muzzle suddenly distorted into a snarl, the bundle she was cradling tucked protectively against her breast. Slowly, oh so slowly, her mate went to his knees in front of her and for a while they just stared at each other. Then her head lowered and in the dying light from the fire she seemed to make up her mind, reverently passed her precious burden to H'rrasch. He took one of the tiny fists in his hand and bent his head low, his muzzle touching in what seemed an almost human kiss. I put my arm around Maxine and drew her close, taking in the scent of her hair as together we watched the silent ritual taking place below. It was only when Tahr slowly collapsed into an exhausted heap on the floor that we went down to help ease her off to bed. She wouldn't sleep soundly until the baby boy was placed in her arms and H'rrasch was curled protectively around them. Later that night as Maxine and I lay in bed, barely awake and listening to the wind in distant trees, Max touched my leg, "Kelly?" "Uhn?" "What do you think about having a child." "We have kids," I replied, stupid through doziness. Her hand lightly thumped me, "I mean have a child," she berated me. "One of our own. Human." Human. I didn't know how to answer that. A child. How could we. . . a child, here. What kind of a life would it be? I thought of our adopted offspring asleep down the hall, two children, not human but they were our children. We loved them. A human baby, part of us, raising it into this world. She caught my hesitation. "I never meant we should. Just asking." "Oh." It raised awkward feelings. "I don't know." "Just asking," she murmured, then in Sathe, "Just asking." Dreams that night: Sathe playing with human children, tall buildings of glass and steel and streets alive with people. Through it all the feeling of my wife as I moved close to her and went back to dreaming of a place I'd once called home. ****** AFTERWORD Introductions first I think. My name is Shane ai Davies. If you have not heard of me, then you have probably heard tell of my parents: the most. . . unusual in the known world. As for myself, my only claim to fame is that I am also somewhat unique in the world, being the only person who can claim to even approach fluency in the noises and writings that humans call English. It has not been easy. This, the translation of the first of my father's journals, has been the real test of my abilities. The years of reading, re-reading, referencing, and trying to understand have - as my parents would say - 'paid off'. You have just read the result. And I can understand the shock you are probably feeling. It came as just a great a blow to myself to learn what really happened at the Battle of Weather Rock and I have debated long and hard as whether or not to pass this on, finally deciding to leave this particular manuscript where it will be found. . . eventually, long after my parents are gone. I only yearn that this revelation will not disrupt the peaceful and productive relationships that have grown between our realms. Many Sathe and two humans have devoted their lives to this cause and I would be loathe to see the successful results rendered and scattered to the wind by an incident far in the past. And the future is not going to be kind to them. In the eighteen years since they adopted my sister and myself they have hardly changed; perhaps their hides have grown darker and thicker in appearance, but that is all. I look at the Shirai - the one whom in my irreverent youth I knew as aunt Tahr - and I see how grey her fur has grown, the age catching up to her. She is still strong, still many years left, but I know the day is inevitable. And I know that with her end, a part of my father will die. Pain to be added on pain, it will not end there. I know that they will outlive all the Sathe friends they have known since their arrival, and - I am fairly certain - they will most probably outlive myself and Sasha. They will have to suffer the deaths of so many friends. But what they have done for us. . . I can look out my window and see how my home has changed; grown. In my memories of a small town with few buildings and Sathe and many open spaces I was a cub, carefree and living for the present. Now, in these memories of the present that I am chronicling, I am an adult, nineteen years and mated with a cub of my own, and I see a city made of dreams. The roads of New Home are broad and clean, never flooding. Buildings of stone, wood and amounts of glass and metal unthinkable ten years ago flank the tree-lined thoroughfares, their positioning, shape, and materials such that they remain cool in the heat of summer and warm in winter. As darkness falls, the streets and buildings glow with lights that burn steadily in wind and rain. A strange and wondrous place, but indisputably beautiful. And the population has grown incredibly. With the trained healers and improved sanitation there has been a drastic drop in the mortality rate due to illness and accident. Sathe are healthy and happy and well-fed, with well-groomed coats wherever one looks. It would seem that once the wheel of progress has started rolling, it is self-perpetuating; indeed, it actually gathers momentum. Cubs, adolescents, and no few adults are trained at the new crafts and skills available. Their invaluable labours open time to such as myself, artisans and thinkers whose work does not directly contribute to the survival of the community. That work can produce more ideas to produce still more leisure time for thinking. Distant clans and the great Clans of other Realms are willing to pay great amounts to have their craftsmen - even their cubs! - sent the distances to be educated here. To the surprise of and consternation many in Mainport my father wholeheartedly endorses this, steadfastly refusing to ban the other Realms from Home. If it was not for his relationship with the Shirai and the prosperity he was bringing the Realm there would have been an outcry demanding a trial on the basis of treason against the Realm. You really have to know him to understand that what he does he is doing for the good of all Sathe, not just the Eastern Realm. He freely shares his knowledge and ideas, but he makes a point of encouraging students to think of new ways to utilise and improve the tools. I suspect that several times he has deliberately designed inefficient devices to see if Sathe could see the ways in which they could be improved. And he refuses to have anything to do with accepting commisions to produce anythings specifically intended for warfare, although as he justly states, a toothpick could be used for murder. He learned that some students were attempting to emulate the substance he calls 'gunpowder'. On receiving the news he just bobbed his head, as if he had been expecting something like that. I know that that night he went to the university to speak with the students working on those projects. I do not know what he said to them, but from that time there was no further news of their work. It is not as if they stopped what they were doing, just that there was no news of successes, nor of failure. The deans claimed to know nothing of what was transpiring and I tend to believe that. If the students are working under anybody's direction, it is my father's. I think he knows what he is doing. The maps he and my mother have drawn have led great ships across the seas to discover new lands and civilisations that are only now beginning to be explored. Huge vessels ply the skies between Realms and towns, carrying trade goods and those passengers brave or foolhardy enough. Messages cross the distances between cities with the speed of thought. Two beings have given us the keys to a new age and with them they have entrusted us with the vast responsibility of using it wisely. Let their faith in us not be in vain. ****** EPILOGUE The final page of text on the wall screen faded to whiteness. With ponderous, overly-dramatic slowness, the tome swung shut, its cover gleaming with texture-mapped polished leather and gold trim. An arm reached out to tap a key on the board. The screen snapped off and the only light in the room was the unobtrusive glow from the terminal monitor. There was a moment of silence in which the hum of the ventilators seemed loud. "So? What'd you think?" he finally asked, swivelling his chair around to watch her. She was highlighted in the muted glow from the screen, a subtle aurora that changed her, bringing her features out in sharp contrasts: highlights and shadows, sharp bone and smoother curves. The chair's leather creaked and rustled mutedly as she settled back into it, one hand coming up to stroke her angular cheek. "Strange. . . I guess. An outsiders view of us. Those are really his words?" "It probably lost something in the translation. And he makes references to things nobody but nobody understands; like that 'god', whatever or whoever that is." Mas nodded vaguely, still staring at the wall. He blinked, then leaned forward to touch her arm lightly. "You all right?" he ventured. "Huh? Yes, fine. Just thinking." She abruptly glared at his intruding fingers and he reluctantly pulled his hand back. Her fur, a deep blue-grey, had a softness that belied its almost metallic lustre. Actually, he reflected, he wouldn't mind touching her in a more tender manner, perhaps she. . . "Don't even think about it! " she snapped, ears back. "I can wait until your Time," he said with a grin, then ducked back to avoid a clawed hand that hissed through the space his face had been occupying a heartbeat before. "Just kidding!" he yelped, casting oil on dangerous seas. "I'm sorry!" She rumbled a growl deep in her throat; mollified, but barely. There it was again, he reflected, that damnable wall she built around herself whenever anybody tried to approach her. He couldn't believe that anyone with her looks could be a virgin, but there were tales about her, that she actually took suppressives when her Time came around. He doubted that, but what did it take to reach her? What kind of upbringing could possibly do this to someone? The growl faded but those eyes still smouldered. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "Back to business. Alright? Any questions?" Mas hissed and drew a deep breath. "Does anyone have any real idea of what happened to them?" "Nothing you could build a house on," he replied. "Let's see. . . It was a hundred and fifty years ago, fourteen years after Shane's translation. Tahr had acquiesced her titles, her only son winning the challenges and becoming the new Shirai. She lived to see her grandchildren born, then Tahr ai Shirai died in her sleep. Peacefully. Fifty-three years old. "The K'hy and your namesake left a few months later. Nobody knows where they went. One night they took an airship and headed west and vanished into history. The other h'mans couldn't or wouldn't say where they were going. People are still saying they've seen them; like that sighting last week." "That would make them about a hundred and eighty years old." "About that," he chuckled. "No other traces?" He scratched himself. "Nothing. But, it's a big continent. Maybe one day we'll find something." "Or perhaps they went home," she wondered aloud. "That's one theory. Home; or perhaps somewhere else." He waved a hand toward the screen. "As K'hy said, who knows how many other realities there are." Mas reached out for the keyboard and hesitated, a claw clicking against plastic as it described small, indecisive circles on the console. She was drifting again. Thinking. Had that narrative actually touched her in some way? Now she leaned forward and began pulling more pictures from the disk, displaying them on the wall screen. He settled back in his chair and watched, just an observer. Images. Light and colour: monochrome and truecolor. Oils and watercolours, charcoal sketches, portraits, anatomical details, ancient photographs that - despite their poor definition - were made all the more forceful by the knowledge that the subject before the lens was REALITY, not an elaborate costume. They flowed past in a mesmerising collage of high resolution images that imprinted themselves upon the retina and in the memory. The student glanced sideways at his companion. Her profile illuminated with flickering reflections, glowing eyes locked on the screen. Then her hand twitched, freezing the display. When his eyes returned to the monitor, he understood why she'd stopped. "That one," he nodded at the screen, "is hanging in the Hall of Memoirs. Very nice." It was a portrait. Two portraits actually. A strikingly beautiful middle-aged female gazed coolly outward, levelly meeting the eyes of any observer. The other figure stood at her left side, hairless fingertips lightly resting on the fur of her shoulder, gazing past her with the eyes that had captivated so many. "He looks so. . . terrified," Mas said. "The white around his eyes." He knew it was normal for humans, that forsaken gaze, but it certainly appealed to the females. For some reason it drew them in like flotsam into a whirlpool. It fascinated him too; the look of a lost cub. "You can see it there," Mas said. "What?" She flicked a hand toward the screen as if trying to snatch the words out of the air: "That rapport between them. It's in the eyes, the way he's touching her. . . Hard to explain exactly what it is." She stared at the picture, her head cocked to one side. "You know, the artist has done an incredible job on him. Far better than the other pictures I've seen. All the others make him look too. . . sathelike." The student flicked his ears as he answered. "She should have. Sasha ai Davies was quite familiar with the subject." "His daughter?" "The same." Mas slouched back into the chair. "Saaa! I had no idea she was an artist." "Oath! What planet've you been on? Never mind. She's done scores of portrayals of Sathe and humans. They're all down in the Hall of Memories and the museum." He studied the picture again. Ah, but Tahr had been beautiful: lean, muscular, ears with a few nicks, her mane plain and unadorned in the old style. Beautiful and. . . He blinked. Familiar? He glanced at the female sitting beside him, back to the picture. Was it. . . "What?" Mas was glaring at him. No. No way. "Uh, nothing." Coincidence, or a trick of the light. She was still watching him suspiciously and any resemblance was gone. He yawned and stretched - sinews crackling - then glanced at his watch, blinking the glowing numerals into focus. He blinked again and swore, "Chastity! We've got lectures tomorrow. . . today. . . whatever. The other volumes are going to have to wait." She hissed softly and slapped the arm of the chair. "I guess so. Do you think we'll have time to see them all?" His ears twitched. "You a fast writer?" "Yah." He shrugged. "Then we should be able to fit them in. You coming?" "Go ahead. I'll catch up." "All right. Don't forget the disk." Again Mas was staring at the wall screen, the chromed claw of her index finger idly scratching at the arm of the chair. Almost lazily she reached out and pressed two keypads simultaneously. The printer hummed, spat out a glossy ten by ten. Mas took it and stared at it. Those eyes had round pupils. Human. Where are you? "You ready?" came a voice from the door. "What? Huh! Yes, coming," she slipped the picture into her bag and took the disk from the drive, still thinking. She'd learned a lot that night, more than even her lessons back at the Manor had taught her: things about the Sathe past, and also some of her own history. They had told her there was a resemblance, but she herself had never been able to see it. Still, perhaps someone else had. Thoughtfully she touched her face as she left. He closed the door behind her, sealed it. "I guess I'll see you in lectures, a?" "All right. Oh, and thanks for your help." "Anytime," he smiled, then took the plunge. "Ah, I was wondering: are you going to be doing anything this coming break day?" Mas stared at him, waiting as his ears slowly wilted under her scrutiny. "You had something in mind?" she finally asked. "I. . . I thought maybe a meal? a play or film?" She stared again, then flashed a smile, "All right." "I just. . . All right?" She almost laughed at that befudled expression. "Why not? Just one condition." "What?" "You help me finish this. Work with me." "Done." That hopeful way his ears perked up again - her own twitched. He was useful: a little naive, but useful. It wouldn't hurt to humour him. Anyway, she found him less objectionable than many of the other males - even some of the tutors - who'd tried to paw her. Not unattractive - and cute; in his own naive sort of way. She smiled and patted his arm. "Perhaps we should get some rest now." He fell in beside her as they walked back across the library floor. "Good idea. Your place or mine?" "Don't push it, male." "Just asking. . . " The voices and padding footsteps of the Sathe faded into the vast silence of the Citadel, the miles of corridors. Overhead, the huge banks of lights snapped off, one by one, leaving the broad foyer permeated with the almost imperceptible glow filtering through the high dome and storm beyond. Rain drummed against old glass, but there was nobody to hear it. Away in the distance lightning flashed: once, then again and again . . . The end? ----------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------------- ------------------ Phew! Well, that's it. The last of them. As you can imagine this story took a while to write, so don't be expecting a sequel any time soon. The Human Memoirs originally started as a writing exercise I set myself way back in the late eighties. It's been through several permutations and refinements before the version that's been posted emerged, but it's been fun and I think that's what counts. I've got other stuff in the pipeling, but most of those have still got some ways to go. So far I've had some great responses from the readers of The Human Memoirs (Thanks and cudos to you all; You know who you are). If there's anyone who's got some good suggestions or can point out any glaring errors, I'd be glad to hear from you. Cheers, G.Howl HOWELL_G@kosmos.wcc.govt.nz