Into the New Millennium: Trailblazing Tales From Analog Science Fiction and Fact, 2000 - 2010 (64 page)

"Rulii, they see something there—a medicine—I don't know how it is delivered, but I know it hurts you."

Molri—he knows of the
molri!
I will be named impostor, chained to die of exposure on the Dominator's Teeth! My voice quavers. "This is not help, Parker; you ruin me."

"I don't ask for reasons," Parker says. "It shall not bear on your honored sponsorship. You have helped me; now let me help you in return."

"Wauuunn!" I cry. "Parker, you will
end
me!" On fours I stumble to his door, struggle into the street. The flood of spring-wake breeze dizzies me with need—yes, there is molri-scent at last! I know where I must go.

Parker follows. I hear him calling behind me—press faster, every fiber of my muscles strung with threads of pain. At last his noises fall behind.

Now I take to hind-toes, to walk cleaner and with less public notice. The scent of Majesty's favor draws unfortunate attention, but it somewhat confuses my own scent, and its authority lowers heads around me, shielding me from curious eyes.

Every roundabout turn is mudded with spring-wake and with shame. Above, a slim-moon sky weighs of alien star territories; the close streets are more familiar, my own furred people walking between the fat-lamps that invite welcome above the doors. How fortunate that I scent only strangers.

The death smell of the tanner's district thickens ahead: prey-hide torn from bodies, mature molri-bark torn from twisted trees. But the fresh scent remains. New shoots are here somewhere. Disgust and desire churn together, and my feet begin to tumble over each other. I shouldn't rush like this. What if others also seek the shoots? What if the tanners' patrols walk their fences late?

Does it matter tonight if I'm seen, when Parker knows what even my own littermates do not? Would he protect me, if only to advance his own cause?

Sheer habit forces me to caution. I fall to fours and creep low past the tanning houses, hoping that no one has put nose to guard.

Outside the stone fences the wind blows colder. Pain-threads knot beneath each of my standing hairs; I begin to shiver. I start my search in the safest place, by the woodland edge, following my nose between dirty humps of shaded snow, over rough ground softened here and there with sprouting grasses.

Others have been here today. I smell musk, overturned dirt, crushed molri, but find nothing. Molri shoots loom in my waking dream as tall as the Dominator's Teeth; I groan aloud.

I must go closer to the fences.

Scent grows in my nose along with danger. There—where a thick root twines beneath the stone fence of the tanner's yard, a clump of fresh suckers has sprouted as yet undetected by patrol. More, and taller than I'd hoped. I draw a musk-perfumed cloth from my purse, hold my knife with my thumbs. My hands shake, while I press the shoots between blade and finger pads. I feel around to wrap any fallen shoots in the cloth. Their fresh-cut odor drowns me.

I can't wait; I bring a hand to my mouth.

Aaaah—

A wet thaw-feeling—my hand is wet, saliva drooling from the corner of my mouth, my stomach sparking fire. My thoughts clear suddenly at a sound of footsteps.

How much have I eaten?

I never chew molri by the fences, only inside my house where it is safe! Fool, fool!

I gather knife and cloth, push them into my waist-purse, then drop to fours and go. Past the tanning-houses I race, ears turned backward. No one emerges pursuing, but I won't make it home before I am altered—my body can't go fast enough!

Or maybe I do have a chance: gradually the pain-threads come undone, my muscles ease and lengthen, strand by strand. A longer stride; now a full stride, a reaching stride, delicious! Faster, faster, avoid the street of Parker's house, yes, I can make it home in time.

Faster, faster, running feels good.

So good!

The cold night can't touch me, open streets on every side beckon outward—I run too fast to turn, could laugh,
hahuu
, but would rather run, run. I shoot inward through the old city gate, a stone from a sling.

Why do I go home when I could hunt?

Why hunt, when I could leap to the stars?

Star territories in my stride!

No, home; I must go home, go home. Someone ahead, so go around? But just watch, they'll never catch me, I am too fast-fast! A race, a game: who will get to Rulii's home first?

Rulii will! Hahuu, no one is faster than I!

Round the corner I scent Human; I tumble to a stop, laughing. There Parker stands at my darkened door, tense, small.

"Parker!" I butt his chest, cuff-embrace, lick his face. "Cheer yourself, brother Parker, cheer, come in, make welcome!"

"Whouu, Rulii?"

"Hahuu!" I hop through my door, light lamps, fetch my best cushions for the empty floor, stoke the fire but I am hotter—oh I love my house! I twirl, dance, "Come in, Parker, make welcome, come play!"

Parker shuts the door, poor fellow, so slow. "Rulii, are you all right?"

"Hahuu, Parker, shall we play a game? Such a funny pup!" I pounce and tumble him, catch him in my arms, roll him over me, pin him on the cushions.

"Rulii, what—what are you doing?"

"Hahuu!" I burrow my nose into his funny false fur to his pup-skin, sniff-laugh-laugh. "Parker, my funny brother—hahuu—you are as smooth as—as a big nipple!"

He pants like me. "Ru—"

I cry it out. "Ruuuuuu!"

He tries to get up; I pin him again, nuzzle his neck.

"Parker, I have no
friend
, no
friend
but you, Parker-brother-
friend!
"

My stomach lurches suddenly; I jerk away, vomit on the stones—green of crushed molri.

"Ghaad." Parker stands up, shakes his hands. "Stop, Rulii, stop!"

I toss my mane. "Hahuu! Now it's out, Parker, oh, I hate molri! Now it's out I am happy-happy!" I leap, fall to fours, chase in a circle with my tail high, pat the floor at his feet. "Come again, Parker, come play."

"No, Rulii, you scare me, you need help."

"I am fine-fine." I pant at him, pat the floor again. "Come come."

"You need medicine, before this kills you, whatever it is. I prepared for this, I brought—" He turns, takes two steps toward the outer door.

NO!

"No doctors!" I bunch leap bite throw—

His limbs splay, his head hits, he falls—

Parker limp, crumpled on my floor. Sour blood on my teeth, blood soaking fast from his hip, blood of one color whether Shiverer-Tributary-Barbarian-Human-Rulii-Parker! Oh, I have killed him, what have I done, what have I done?

Get help. Get help, how can I get help, no doctors, no doctors? What can I do? Oh Parker oh brother brother Parker!

He moves. Opens eyes, curls on his side in pain. His hand creeps to his chest.

"Parker," I moan, reach for him, "Parker belly sorry Parker what can I do? Wauuunn!" I can't turn away; I can't stand still, my feet stamp, stamp, I turn in a circle. Now he holds a small gleaming object beside his mouth.

"Hada," he says. I can't understand the rest.

My door bursts open. I jump backward—Hada stands fierce pointing something at me. A weapon—must be a weapon, I have not seen its like.

Parker struggles to sit, falls back.

My words tumble tangle, "Hada, help, help Parker, quick, help!"

Gharralli-black eyes. "Bow-bow belly down," she shrieks. "Hold still, Councilor, or you die!"

Hold still? "Wauuunn!" I back to the wall, rock, stamp, swish my tail, toss my head. Hold still? Hold still? I will burn up!

"Leave him," Parker grunts. "Me first."

Hada puts away her weapon, takes her eyes off me. I hop-hop backward, run a circle back to Parker. Hada holds a case open—jewelry, liquor-jars, and light inside—pulls back Parker's clothes—blood, blood—everything so slow, so slow, is she in time? Have I killed him, Parker my brother? Slow, slow, she works; slow, the blood stops. Now only closed marks of my teeth on brown pup skin.

"Parker, Parker," I cry, "belly, sorry!" My body fists, my stomach heaves, I fall to fours, off my feet. Parker says something—Hada comes at me—I can't release arms, legs—dizzy—Hada's face all fear, no weapon but a needle in her hand. Plunges it into my neck.

Cold.

Human voices speak across the room.

Hada, angry. Parker, weak—and a third, unexpected, calm but oddly far away like a voice around a corner.

I can't turn to look; my body quakes in shiver-shame, reliving an ancient invasion. Cold overruns Warm until my every vein flows with snowmelt. "I have ended my own hunt," I mutter through chattering teeth. "I will die." Yes—climb the Dominator's Teeth before anyone can chain me, and leap the cliffs.

"Hark." Parker's voice, soft, in Aurrel. Wauuunn—I felt him my brother, but like Barruna now he will hate me! "Rulii," he says, "You won't die. We gave you our medicine at the right time. Hada, we must help him. Find blankets."

Hada speaks low in her language, harshly.

"Yes," I say. "Show no mercy. I'll kill myself if you do not kill me first."

But a warm thing drapes over my shoulders: Hada stands over me, tinier without an outer layer of her
clothes
.

"Rulii," Parker's voice speaks full of sighs. "You didn't mean to hurt me. You were not yourself."

I manage to turn my head, find him close by, lying on the cushions. Ah, the sight of him, his
clothes
torn and blood-soaked! I remember my teeth sinking into him—my stomach heaves, but I am already empty. I moan, "I belly to you, Parker—belly, sorry!"

Hada bends over me, presses on my neck, mutters to a gleaming object in her hand and a voice comes from it. It speaks and speaks as she moves around me, nudging, poking, pricking. At last she looks at me Coldly. "Hark-hark: you and Par-parker will both mend, but you have made a grave error."

I try to hide my nose with my hand still shaking. "It is my shame, honored Hada. I did not know Humans were so—fragile."

"Bite-bite," she says contemptuously. "No, your error was your medicine."

"Molri," I sigh. "Indeed." No heat left in me. As yet, no aches or hungers to replace it, but for how long?

"Hada," Parker says, "help me closer to him." He groans as he shifts nearer, even with Hada half lifting him. He lays a warm flat hand beside my nose. "Rulii," he says. "I have known of your medicine—molri—months already. It's been one of my major projects."

"It has?" Dizzying thought.

"Yes. Else I could not have helped you tonight. I don't wish you to eat it again."

Were he not touching me, I would hide my face. "My need—"

Hada snorts.

"We have something else," says Parker. "A different medicine, which I asked my
scientists
to fit to you. But it won't give the pleasure you have known, which may be difficult."

"What?" I raise my head to look into his eyes. "Is this what you think of me, Parker? That I would submit myself to molri merely for
pleasure?
Such a thing merits no suffering nor sacrifice!"

Hada's voice is brittle. "Sniff-sniff: what
else
can it be for?"

I push up on my elbow, shake my mane. "A singular reason: to stop me shivering. Else I could rise no higher than any other Lowlander."

"Shivering!
Ghaad
." Parker hides his brown face with his hands, muttering. "Rulii," he says. "Truly is this separation in the Clans not about appearance, about
seeing
fine or heavy fur, but about
shivering?
"

"For certain!" I toss my mane. "The Shiverer is weak, unworthy, as I am without my molri. Though tonight I have shown unworthy even with it." What a puzzle—can he have run here for so many years and never understood this?

Hada blinks her dark eyes, shakes her head. "Sniff-sniff: why do you not wear
clothes?
"

Parker scoffs even before I do. "Hada, no one wears
clothes
here. Cloth itself is a great luxury. Rulii tells me I need not flaunt Human riches as I do, but I would prefer to show wealth by wearing cloth than poverty by wearing skins."

"Parker—" I must ask. "Your new medicine—will it stop me shivering?"

He sighs. "I don't know."

"Wauuunn!"

"Yet it may—Rulii, it may, I'll ask for you." He bends close. "It's not fair, that you could be forced to this, an
addiction
, a—a dangerous medicine, simply because of the fur you were born to. Humans have experienced things like this; I've told you we don't like to see people scorned for such reasons."

Hada rouses. "Par-parker, bow-bow: we cannot intervene in Aurrel ways. Do not let this personal thing influence our project here."

"But if Majesty Gur-gurne despises Lowlanders just as he despises us, it has every bearing on our success. Of all Lowlanders only Rulii has risen this far—and at such a cost! It is no wonder that he dislikes Rank!"

That gets me up. I struggle to haunches, toss my mane, indignant. "Parker, how can you say this?
I
, dislike the Rank I have fought my whole life to gain?"

Parker shows me his hands. "Belly, sorry," he says. "But you say you want to advance your people, Rulii. We understand this: our world has worked hard to free itself from Rank, and we could do more than offer riches here. We could press your people's suit with Majesty!"

"Stop!" I show my teeth. "Attempt to do so, and I will shame you for Barbarians myself!"

"Par-parker," Hada says. She rises now, claiming Cold dominance. "Bow-bow: remember who is the negotiator here, and who the talker. If these people will not rise above such simple distinctions, we cannot help them."

"
Simple!
" Their strange disputes are suddenly explained—in fury I surge to my feet. "Bow-bow, you Humans, listen to me! Are we simple, we Au-aurrel, just because we know natural order when we see it? Hark-hark: simple, yes: simple and
true!
Bite-bite: you claim you do not like to see a people lowered unfairly, but you lower
mine
, only because you see Rank in us! Bow-bow: look at yourselves, in Rank dispute amongst the two of you since Ha-hada first came here. You have not risen above Rank, only denied it while defending it in smaller pieces! When Par-parker treads the negotiator's role, he must submit—when Ha-hada treads the expertise of the talker, she must bow!
That
is where the truth of your Rank lies. How dare you lower us!"