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Fun in the Woods

by Anne Marie Talbott and S. M. Stirling

Chapter One

"Ohhhh, my god, I broke a nail..." the plumply-pretty brunette girl wails, holding up her mangled digit for everyone to see. I sit up, holding my head, wondering what in the world has happened. Everyone else is quiet, dazed. The crashing has stopped, and the van slowly wobbles back and forth.

"I think we have bigger things to worry about, Julie. Shut up!" Bill says, his round face clenched in worry. Julie glares at her boyfriend and begins digging through her purse for a file.

The van has come to rest at an angle, with the right rear tire up off the ground. The front end is...gone. Cut off, in the middle of the first row of seats; sharp metal edges gleam in the sunlight. Trees overhead sway gently in the breeze, and the surroundings are silent save for the gentle sighing of the branches. The smell of fresh cut wood penetrates the van; it's crushed several smaller trees in its descent down the steep hill. Another smell is slowly making its presence known, but no one really pays much attention to it. We slowly seem to wake from our collective daze, beginning to realize something very odd has happened.

The first to scream is a middle-aged, matronly woman, Sandy. She had been sitting in the left hand seat in the middle of the van, and she looks forward to where the driver had been sitting, and the front seat passengers. The driver's gone, somewhere, with the front end of the University van; but what's more disturbing is what's left of the front seat passenger. Professor Taung slumps boneless in the seat, held only by his seat belt.

Sandy climbs shakily to her feet, and now stands frozen in horror, her hands pressing against the sides of her head. The body in front of her has been cut in half; below mid-thigh, there's nothing. Blood splashes onto the floor of the van, pooling and running down the floorboards toward the opening in the front. "Uh uh uh uh..." I start to stand, to go to her, and a burly figure shoves past me.

Frank, clambering over the seats in his hurry to see what was wrong, slides next to her. He reaches over and slaps her, gently at first but then more firmly. Her rhythmic moans stop suddenly, and she looks at him. He's tall, broad-shouldered and trim; his red-brown hair is in a buzz cut that emphasizes the strong bones of his face.

"Stop that, now, Sandy; it doesn't help," he grates, turning her away from the gruesome sight.

Phil and I untangle ourselves from bookbags and cameras, joining Sandy and Frank in standing up. Hesitantly, Billy and Julie join us, looking around in confusion. The van had been on a highway, heading into the Smoky Mountains for a biology field trip; a flash of blinding, stunning light has left after-images on everyone's eyes, and a clap of what sounded like thunder followed it within nanoseconds. My ears still hurt from the slam of noise. Then the wild, careening slide down the hill, branches and vines slapping the sides of the white van in a frenzy; finally, silence, followed by Julie's discovery of her personal tragedy.

Carter unhooks his seat belt and stands up as well, and then opens the emergency exit back door of the van. He leaps agilely to the ground, and looks about. The trees are huge, first-growth forest of oak and hickory; towering tulip poplars spot the slope. "I didn't think there was a stand like that left in the Appalachians", he wonders out loud to himself, staring.

The van rests precariously against some bent saplings and limestone rocks; there's a raucous crying out of hundreds of birds, apparently disturbed by our tumultuous arrival. Undergrowth is luxurious and verdant; I watch as Carter walks carefully through a foot-catching thicket of rhododendron crushed by the van's passage. He stops to wipe sap off on his khaki hiking pants, and looks up the hill for the road he expects to see. "Jesus!" he mutters, and begins climbing up the hill.

"Hey, man, where're you going?" Frank calls through a window. Carter ignores him. "Four-eyed mother fucker probably spotted a goddamned bug!" The burly Marine makes his way out of the back of the van.

We others follow, wanting to move but mostly wanting to get away from the stink of blood and loosened bowels that's quickly filling the van.

The elderly dead man stays behind, his glazing eyes wide with the shock of mortality. I'm the last to leave; I stay behind briefly to check and make sure that our teacher was really, truly dead. The rapidly cooling flesh I touch, checking for pulse, holds no life, and I sigh, saddened. It just doesn't seem real. I make my way carefully out the back of the van, unconsciously rubbing my hands down my jeans as I do so. When I get outside, I notice Frank is heading up the hill, and Carter's reached the crest.

Carter reaches the crest of the hill with arms and sides aching from the strain of pulling himself up the last few almost vertical feet. He's followed the path of the van, clearly marked by its debris trail and damaged plants. There's no blacktop, no highway, at the top of the hill; nothing but more forest. He looks around, bewildered and frustrated.

Well, maybe I just can't see it from here, he wonders. He looks appraisingly at a nearby magnolia tree, its dark green, leathery leaves shining in the dazzling sunlight. Low branches beckon, and he decides. Climbing easily into the tree, which is taller than any he'd ever seen before, Carter, with cat-like, agile grace moves smoothly up into the crown of the behemoth. When the branches begin to sag a bit, he stops, and looks down. The ground below is a long way away, and he swallows nervously. He sees Frank moving up the hill, arms and legs milling through the thick scrub. Not long till leather lungs gets here; better see what I can see, Carter chuckles to himself.

Bracing himself on parallel branches several feet apart, he strains to see past the heavy foliage in his way. The hills unroll in fabulous, fantastic variety of autumn colors; golds and reds predominate, but there's still some green, and the darker tones of the firs and cedars make a sombre undertone. As far as he can see, there's nothing but more forest. No sign of habitation, no road, no high wires, no microwave towers... Not even a hint of human presence. The sheer overwhelming size of the trees, dwarfing the one he's climbed, is stunning, in itself. But we were on a state highway, his mind chatters, and a flood of terror threatens to loosen his grip. He shudders, and takes one last look around.

In the distance, the steep hills and their accompanying clefts, hollers, he remembers — that's the term the natives use — these all drift into a hazy blue-green smear. But as far as his light blue eyes can see, straining, hoping, there is nothing remotely related to human habitation. Birds whistle and chime in the trees around him, and he sees hawks glide past his perch in the magnolia. Closer still, a few turkey buzzards have begun circling, and he looks to see what they've detected. They're focusing on the crushed remnants of the University van. Already? he asks himself, and winces, remembering the kindly old professor and his immense knowledge of botany and biology.

The thought of the old man's death reminds Carter Hahn that he's uncomfortably ensconced on a branch of a tree at least 60 feet high, and that perhaps it's time to get down. Nothing up here to see, except more trees, he mutters, and begins his descent. Carefully, slowly, he retraces his earlier steps and comes to ground just as Frank makes it to the top of the ridge. He's still stunned, though, and speaks out loud, more to himself than Frank:

"Where is the road? Where is it? Where are we?"

Frank rests against a smashed tree stump, and stares blankly. "What the—where's the highway, man?" He scans the forest. "Hey, look, at those trees up there—those real tall ones. They're all crushed, but up on top. What's that mean? Where's the road?" His voice's becoming more and more shaky. "Fuck this; get a grip, Gyrene," he says to himself, under his breath, hearing the edge of hysteria in his own voice.

The others gather below, and Sandy calls up to them. "Any sign of other cars? Can we flag one down?"

"What am I supposed to tell them, Carter? Any ideas, brain?" Frank's eyes are wild, but his voice is less shaky, almost angry. He glares at the slight, blond-headed man, who nervously straightens his wire-rimmed glasses.

"Um... Well, the truth, I guess. Maybe we went off the road and over a ridge, coming down this way airborne or something. Maybe the road's over there, past these trees. I don't know. I'm not sure where we are, to be honest, Frank," Carter replies. He looks down at the group below, and rubs his right elbow, wincing. It had taken most of the impact of his body slamming into the side of the van as it fell, and is now growing stiff and achy. He flexes his fingers, and returns Frank's glare with a level look of his own.

"Yeah, great. Lots of help you are..." the burly man says, the flush going up his face, coloring his scalp under the short reddish-brown hair. He bunches his arm muscles, and turns to our small gathering of classmates below. "Not a one of them military," he says, mumbling, "so they're going to start running around and screaming unless I do something. Jeeze, what a total snafu. I just don't understand..."

He calls down to the others: "Hey, folks, we can't see the road from here; we must have slid a pretty good way down. We're going to come back down there, though. Stand clear of the van, too, 'cause it's not so stable." He turns to the biology grad student, who's looking closely at a tree.

An elm... Carter wonders, noting the foliage and the bark. But all of them had died out, years ago. Only recently had genetic engineering begun to develop a strain that would resist the ravages of Dutch elm disease; the one he stared at is at least 70 feet tall, and as old looking as the crusty limestone hills surrounding them...

"Duh, man, like there aren't enough trees? What the fuck are you looking at? We need to get back down there. Come on." Frank reaches over and yanks on Carter's sore arm.

Carter turns smoothly into the grip, and slides free just as quickly. "Don't try anything, Frank. Bigger isn't necessarily better, in this as in a lot of things. Don't ever grab me again, understand?" he says quietly, seriously. A glint in his pale blue eyes flashes warning.

Frank's surprised at the eel-like suppleness of the young graduate student, and even more surprised at Carter's response. A ham-sized fist gathers, tensing. "Listen, you..."

"Are you coming down, or what, guys?" I call out, my clear contralto coming up the hill. The two men stop, and look down into my tanned face. The others, Billy hugging Julie, Sandy on her knees in prayer, and Phil sitting with his head in his hands, pay no attention to the conflict going on above them. But I have; I've heard the tension in the men's voices, and decided to intervene. That's the last thing we need, idiots, I think silently to myself. Great, a fist fight. Let's just get some branches and start whacking the crap out of each other while we're at it. Despite my inner anger, I manage to smile up at them, holding Frank and Carter's eyes.

The two men glance down, and sideways at each other; this isn't over yet. Carter waits for Frank to move, and then follows him carefully down the steep embankment. The van looks oddly out of place in the foliage, its white paint scratched and smeared green with sap. The University logo on the door is still visible, though, and lends an air of reality to the scene. Sandy's prayers waft up to the sky, earnest and pleading. "Oh, Lord, our God, help us in this time of need. You say if You are lifted up, You will deliver us into freedom. Oh, God, give us guidance to do your will... ull ull ull yu yu ah ah ll ll..." Her eyes are tightly shut; her face is screwed into a mask of religious intensity as she breaks into her Holy Roller speech.

We stand down the hill from the van, near some tulip poplar trees and a few shrubs. Waiting for my two classmates to descend, I watch Billy watching them. Carter and Frank come to a stop in front of me, to talk, and I notice Billy's gaze resting on me now. I wonder what he's thinking, and then focus on the two young men in front of me, fire in their eyes.

I meet Carter and Frank at the van. "Guys, let's get organized here and try to work together, ok? I know everyone's sort of freaked out, but we have to get some priorities set, don't we?" I set my arms akimbo, and look at the two men as calmly as I could. Inside, there's a voice wailing, yammering, but I stifle it and focus on what needs to be done. Time enough to go loopy when we've got shelter, and found the road, I silently think.

"Well, little lady, you're about right," Frank says, in a heavy parody of a famous actor. "We do need to get some priorities straight around here. The first is, I'm in charge. Period."

Carter and I stare at him, in shock. Carter's the first to respond. "What the hell gives you the right to elect yourself el supremo, Frank? We could at least vote or something." He tenses, waiting for the expected assault.

I open my mouth to respond, as well, and-

The sky splits with white light and thunder, loud enough to shake our clothes. We fall to the ground, holding our ears, trying to cover our seared eyes, writhing. A shriek builds, and suddenly the air's cloven again. This time, from the clear sky, if any of us had had our eyes open, a sleek black aircraft tumbles.

It's an irregular triangle of dull matte black ten meters across, its only marking the crimson glyph of a bat-winged dragon. Staggering in the air, it regains enough stability to avoid arrowing into the ground and wavers downward in a controlled crash, slashing through the tops of trees like a giant knife. The shadow of it passes over us prone humans with a shower of leaves, branches, and bark and into the forest on the next ridge as the black shape plows to a halt. The sound of thunder fades, echoing off the stony hills, replaced by a dying crackle of broken timber and falling trees.

Frank's the first to look up, followed by Carter and me. We see the shape of the plane come to rest between two huge oak trees. Brushing off the debris, Frank's on his feet in an instant. "Damn! It looks like one of those Stealth bombers, the ones the Air Force has... Looks like she made it okay, sort of..."

"Looks like they did better than we did, that's for sure," I agree. I sweep the last of the leaves off my dark blue sweater, and dust my jeans off. "Is everyone here okay? What was that noise, and the light? My ears still hurt..." Looking around, I notice that the others are all on their feet again, except for Phil. He slumps face down on the ground, his hands to his head.

"Phil? Hey, Phil, what's wrong? Can you hear me?" I say, voice sharp with concern.

Quickly, I walk down the hill to him, and kneel by his side. Frank can wait, I think, as I roll the chubby boy over, and I'm shocked to see blood coming from his nose. It coats the bottom half of his face, which is plastered with leaves and dirt mixed in with the bright red blood. His sallow face is ashen, and his eyes are tightly shut. I check Phil's pulse. It's light and thready; his skin is cold and clammy, sweaty. I stand up, and call out, "Frank, Carter, get me a blanket or two out of the van, or a sleeping bag. He's hurt, and going into shock. Please, help me!"

The two men glare at each other, but rapidly begin going through the packed belongings, sorting through the gear they had packed that morning for the camping trip. Carter finds his ultra-light weight sleeping bag, and runs to Mickey's side. Frank follows, more slowly, carrying his web-gear encased pack, and a first aid kit. "Here, I don't know if I have anything that will help him, but look through it. You know first aid?"

"Yeah, I do. Thanks, Frank, Carter." I spread the bag out on the most level piece of ground I can find. Frank lifts the chubby young Japanese boy easily and lays him down on it.

I go through the first aid kit, but don't see anything I can use for Phil. The others gather around, fresh worry on their faces.

Sandy immediately kneels again, and begins praying, loudly. Everyone looks at her, unsure of what to do or say. Billy rolls his eyes, and shrugs disgust.

A few hundred feet away...

The craft has been piloting Chryse and Nikateros, and a few of their assorted chattel, from the research center just established in the mountains of former Appalachia, towards Archona. Nikki has been delightedly beating Chryse in a game of three-dimensional chess, with a wager of a night's pleasure from her kawtuh as an incentive. He has just captured a bishop, and turns to smile hungrily at Talonta, the transgene Chryse has been given by the Archon himself, when—

The aircar lurches. Alarms wail into the Draka's minds through their transducers. They respond with inhuman speed, hands clamping on extruded emergency controls. The craft is almost level again when a flash of unbearably white light pierces the shields, and it lurches into another fall that seems to go on impossibly long. Rage-snarls from the Draka and the kawtuh make a bass counterpart to the shrieks of fear from the three servus.

Even with her eyes shut, Chryse feels protective tears washing her eyes; her tragus clap automatically over her ears as the thunderous noise bells through the aircar. What in the name of Race Spirit-runs through her mind as she feels some enormous force wrenching and twisting at the memet of the hull. Power drains from the storage coil with unbelievable speed.

"Overlords, save us! Oh, great ones—" Chryse hears the sweet voice of Marko, her male servus secretary, rising above the sobs of Fela and Heidi, Nikateros' serfs.

Talonta's growl is higher than the guttural Draka sounds. Chryse ignores everything but her bladepoint focus on the task at hand.

The craft shudders, and she can feel its mechanical analogue of pain through her transducer. Suddenly the roof above comes three feet closer; the memet hull is flashing into its default-emergency shape, a broad flying wing with the passengers in its middle rib. Power levels have dropped so low the momentum-transfer drive can't help keep the aircar aloft without aerodynamic lift.

"Gods damn it to Samothrace!" Chryse screams in uncontrollable frustration. Narrowing in concentration, the startling blue outer ring and the light green of the wide-set eyes of the Draka nearly disappear, covered by her dilated pupils. Everything's happening so fast...

The clear section ahead shows ground, far too close. Lift drops away to nearly nothing as the AI throws its remaining power reserve into a braking vector, and she pulls savagely to get the aircar's nose up. Memet flexes at the trailing edge of the wing; the forward edge is a knife, sharper than a razor, harder than diamond, stronger than any metal. It clips through the tops of oak trees like the hedge trimmer of a berserk giant, but the tugging impacts slam her hands through the controls, threatening to turn the fall into a tumble that will smash the passengers into jelly against the walls.

A sudden sensation of falling; Nikateros' limbs splay themselves to absorb the anticipated shock of landing. He snaps to the chattel behind Chryse's seat and his, "Get ready for a rough landing, sweet ones. But a landing nonetheless!"

Trees slash by them; he feels thumps as the hull sliced their trunks in half; a last braking surge from the drive that near-emptied the power coil and flings them forward. A flash of color in the trees on the next ridge catches his dark blue eyes, and his mind wonders. No servus settlements or plantations near where we were going, but if that was a mole hole we just went through...

The ship sighs to a halt with a slight lurch, as it chops deeply into the sides of twin oak trees. The servus are gasping, and Talonta yelps. "Hey, that's my tail you're crushing, Fela! Watch it, or I'll..." the rest was a low growl; Talonta's hackles rise, and her black muzzle draws back, revealing sharp, long fangs. The servus cringes, and hastily gets his foot off the kawtuh's prehensile tail.

"Please, Sera Talonta, forgive me—I was off balance," Fela bows, and thinks frantically, I've offended her/it, and with Master Nikateros so busy landing the ship, this kawtuh could easily cuff me into Defrag... she's a high status creature: her rarity, the fact the Archon Himself had given her to Muhmis Chryse, and the fact that Chryse herself was one of the First, well over 400 years old, and immensely powerful. Reverting to familiar things in an attempt to block out the terror around him, he prays to Glitch, godlet of compinsets, and squeezes the Holy Chip he wears around his neck in an amulet. A very pretty one, he reminds himself; Master gave it to me for my last birthday, my eighteenth. It's gold-encased, and decorated around the edges with pearls, black and white. That had been a lovely present, as had been the following night of pleasuring the man who owned him and his twin sister Heidi.

Heidi picks herself up off the floor of the aircraft, and touches a tentative finger to the swollen, bloody mass that had been her nose. Her eyes are swelling shut, and she sends a mental command to her body to stop bleeding. It doesn't, and she feels an unaccustomed start of fear. Not as bad as the fear she felt when the Overlords snarled, and fought with the controls as the white light blasted in on them; but this fear is accompanied by a growing pain. Her eyes water, and she whimpers, softly. Her flaxen blonde hair, tied so carefully back in French braids this morning, as she watched her brother and Master play in the pool, is in disarray, hanging in strands, some blood-stained now.

Levering herself to her feet, balancing easily with leopard grace on the sloping floor of the craft, Chryse walks over to the wobbling serf girl, and puts her arm around her, comforting. She adjusts her pheromones to increase the level of comfort the pretty blonde girl would feel, and cups the young woman's chin. Tilting the servus' head back, the Draka coolly examines the wounded face.

Sighing, she murmurs to Heidi, "Brace yourself, child; this will hurt but only for a moment."

Heidi nods, bravely, and winces as Chryse pinches her nose, and tugs. There's a sharp popping noise; the cabin swims around her for a moment. She feels herself supported by the terrible strength of the other woman, an Overlord, and relaxes, as the pheromones take effect on her system. Already the pain's receding, the bleeding slows; her eyes stop puffing shut, and Heidi looks up tremulously at the tall figure beside her.

Chryse stands, dressed in loose walking blacks, with a layer knife at her side; at 6'2", her lean form towers over the slight servus woman. Muscles slide and bunch under the uniform with the unpurged stress of combat hormones, as the Draka fights to relax after fighting the aircraft to a successful landing.

The snarl has vanished from her face, leaving it calm and open. The startling green-blue eyes look into soft brown ones, and seem to smile. "All better now, Heidi?"

Nikateros comes to a hatch; the AI has shifted to permanent openings as the power dropped, obeying an instruction designed to avoid trapping passengers. It might almost have been steel under his hands as he spins the dogging wheel and pushes the round hatch open to let in a wave of cool crisp air scented with forest, sap, leaves, distant lives. An Appalachian autumn, not much different from the one they had left, except-

The Infoweb is gone. Their transducers carry nothing but the identity codes from their serfs and the aircar's AI, shutting itself down into standby mode on a trickle of power from the craft's damaged coil.

"Chryse, do you think what I think?" He turns to her, questioning. He catches her eyes, and holds her steady look for a moment, before casually looking back out the door. That's the only communication between the two drakensis, but he's clearly accepted that she's dominant. For the moment.

Glad that's out of the way, Chryse thinks. Enough to do as it is, without teaching some young pup manners. Although he is a cute young pup, she continues to herself, carefully not subvocalizing her thoughts. Draka ears can hear a thought spoken under one's breath as clearly as if the speaker is whispering into an ear; Draka can hear heartbeats, breathing, even digestion sounds if they choose to pay attention to them. "A mole hole? Yes, that's what I think. The question is, did the emergency beacon deploy?"

He turns, considering for a moment. "Yes, I queried the ship. It did deploy, successfully, but the ship says we should remember that it can take up to an estimated three weeks for Prime Line to focus on this time line to rescue us, Chryse. Not too bad, all in all; looks alright outside..."

Talonta has been grooming her leopard-mottled light-brown fur. Now she speaks, her voice high and sweet, with a slight chittering accent. "Good hunting, master, muhmis? That would be fun to do for three weeks..." She grins, lifting her black lips in a friendly way, barely displaying her teeth. Her muzzle twitches. "Although there's a scent I am picking up that's unfamiliar..." She advances to the door, crouching by Nikateros.

Chapter Two

"All right, listen up, all of you. Professor Taung is dead; let's face facts. I'm in charge; I've got the leadership qualifications," Frank grinds out, his legs spread, his fists clenched. We all look at him in surprise; outrage flickers across Carter's face, but my hand on his thigh signals him to be quiet, at least for the present. I slowly stand up from where Carter and I have been kneeling next to the unconscious Phil.

"Frank, let's not be too hasty about this..." I start out, unconsciously smoothing my thick red hair back from my face.

He grunts, and reaches into his pack. "I think this solves the problem, doesn't it, Miz Know-It-All?" He pulls out a dull silver handgun. He drops the pack on the forest floor in front of him, and grins as we all move back in unison. "I said, I'm in charge. No whining, no complaining, understand? I know how to use this, and I will, if I have to." A muted, metallic snick-snack echoes into the treeline as he easily cocks the .45 in his hands.

Billy's the first to speak. "Well, folks, I think Frank's right. I mean, he's an Army guy, so—"

"Marine, by God. Not some Army limp..." Frank's voice trails off, as Sandy blanches. "I mean, I'm a Marine, not some Army wimp. Get that straight, right off, Billy-boy."

The slightly chunky boy runs his fingers through his carefully maintained hair, grinning towards Frank. "Sure, sure. I'm only a civilian, you know. All that military stuff runs together for us... But guys, we need a leader, and it looks like Frank should be the one. On top of that, we need to see about those Air Force guys over on the other hill; they might need help. Any ideas, Frank?" Billy finishes, ingratiatingly.

Frank slips the safety on, and places the .45 in a black web holster. It, and the belt that held it, go around his waist in a smooth, practiced motion. He glances over at the still aircraft, and shakes his head no. "First things first; let's get all our stuff out of the van and away from it. It's not very stable right now as it is. Come on, people, let's go."

The group leaves Phil to lie quietly in the sleeping bag; I leave him reluctantly, only after a glare from Frank. Carter, Billy, Julie, Sandy and I join the muscular man in unloading the van. The camping equipment makes a small, very small, pile under a hickory tree, upslope from the wrecked van. Carter's getting his stuff, Phil's books, and my bookbag, when he feels the shift.

The van's weight has been held by some bent, semi-crushed trees and a couple of limestone boulders, finely balanced; the shifting weight helps gravity win the struggle, and the van lurches free, beginning a terminal slide down the hill. Sandy and I scream, and Frank lunges toward the vehicle. Carter, his martial arts training coming into play, slams out of the open emergency exit and rolls into a tight ball. His trajectory carries him away from the van's path, but when he hits, he begins rolling uncontrollably down the hill. Roots and rocks dig into him, and he splays his arms out, trying to grab onto some solid surface.

The University van crashes down the hill, its momentum increasing until it's moving almost as fast as if it was being driven. Trees and branches flutter out of its way, and the sound of metal crumpling is loud in the forest. Brilliant leaves make the scene almost pretty; the effect's spoiled by the knowledge of what was in the truck. The body inside bounces and shifts, loosened from its seat belt in a macabre dance. The van continues down the slope to the bottom of the holler, and comes to rest with a resounding crunch. There is a dull whoomp, and flames burst forth, enveloping the white van, and its contents. The gas tank has apparently been punctured on the way down; sparks from the dragging metal undercarriage have struck off the numerous limestone rocks peppering the hillside.

A sickening stench of roasting flesh and burning rubber fills the air, drowning out the milder scents of the forest we're standing in. Julie gags, harshly; Billy looks at her in horror, and moves carefully out of the way. The rest of us stand quietly, shaken by the latest disaster. My head aches.

"Well, shit!" Frank mutters, ignoring Sandy's glare. I don't pay him much attention, though, as I've slid, in a controlled fall, down to where Carter lays, stunned by his precipitous exit. He shakes his head, trying to clear it. He unhooks his arms from around a stubby cedar tree, and sits up.

"Oh, god, are you ok? Carter?" I sluff to a stop in the leaves and twigs, panting. He smiles, and I relax a little. "You should have seen yourself... That human cannonball trick is pretty impressive," I grin back. "Although I'd recommend a pool, not the side of this—" I gesture, "ski slope." Taking him by his left hand, I help Carter up. Together, we brush off the hickory nutshells, leaves, twigs, moss and cedar trimmings. Suddenly, I begin to laugh, low at first but growing into a slightly hysterical giggle.

Carter looks at me, brushing dirt out of his hair. I shake helplessly as tears roll down my face; a parody of humor. My red hair, short and curly, is studded with brilliant yellow leaves; my eyes, tear filled, are green like the nearby cedar trees. His hand reaches out, grasping mine. "Hey, now, Mickey, it's OK. Really. Come on, don't lose it; here comes Macho Man."

Frank makes his way down to where we two college students stand. He hears my laughter, and knows I'm on the edge. "Hey, everybody in one piece down here?" he asks, glancing at us. We nod, and he continues: "Good, let's get back up the hill then. We need to have a meeting, and figure out our inventory." Turning, he marches back up the hill.

The scent of cedar's sweet in the air. I take a deep breath, shake myself, and look at Carter, who's still holding my hand. "Thanks, Mr. Hahn. I needed that." My formality's a joke; I squeeze his hand, hoping he won't misinterpret a friendly gesture, and am reassured when he returns it, and nothing else. You could never tell about guys that way, I think internally. But he seems ok. Billy and Frank give me the creeps, though. Shaking my head to get the leaves out of my thick hair, I try to brush the rest of the debris off me. Carter looks beyond me, towards the hill where the black aircraft rests. I turn, following his gaze.

"For some reason, he doesn't want us to get over there very fast. That doesn't make much sense, Carter. I mean, they'd have radios to call for help, wouldn't they? If they're alive. We need to find out, and soon. It's already midafternoon," I say softly, looking down at my watch. "Listen, here's a plan. I've got to take a, um, break, so I'm going down to those trees and shrubs. After I'm, ah, done, I'm going to go check out the Air Force guys, ok?"

Carter smiles. "A real break, or a made up one? Frank's not going to like it much."

"A real one; my bladder's about to bust. And so if he follows me down to yell at me, and play soldier, he'll get a lovely thrill. But listen, when I am over there by the plane, if everything's ok, I'll give you a 'rebel yell'. You know?" My eyes sparkle, and I look down the hill. Carter nods, and I go on: "If it's not ok, like they are four headed Venusians or something," Carter laughs out loud at that, "I'll give a 'yoo-hoo' call. Unless they vaporize me first. That means run for them thar hills, boys an' girls! Right?"

"Yeah. Good plan. You do this often?" Carter Hahn jokes.

"Well, if you count playing cowboys and Indians, or roving medieval knights, or whatever... But, no, I'm not a Marine!" I counter.

"Just a minute." I pause. "Mickey... Up on the ridge? There was an American elm there, a big one... Seventy years old at least. And it was alive, Mickey."

"You mean..."

"We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto. Be careful."

I squeeze his hand one more time, and start down the hill. My jeans are dirty and grass- and leaf-stained, but I don't care. The trees have taken up their quiet whispering again, and birds are calling. The smell of the woods, a dry, dusty autumn aroma, rises about me as I make my way carefully down the slope, past the smoldering, stinking wreck of the van.

Carter looks on, admiringly, and then climbs up the hill, joining the group gathered around the packs. They have dragged the semiconscious Phil to lie next to the pile, still encased in the sleeping bag. As Frank holds court, the thin biology grad student gathers some hickory nuts and sits down to crack them, half-listening.

"Chryse, what do you think?" Nikateros asks, looking at the other drakensis. Her brow furrows in a brief moment of concentration, and she smiles, reminiscing.

The last time she had taken that particular scent, the one Talonta and Nikki have noticed, was four hundred and thirty one years ago. Perfect memory is a skill her kind had hard-wired in. So many years ago, and the memory's bright. Bright as the fires that had lit the Yankee town; the penned refugees and survivors of the kill-sweep were cowering behind the wire. The kills that night had been enjoyable; these damnyanks might be cattle, but some had horns, and remembered how to use them. Just enough danger to add a little spice, to a well-armed member of the New Race.

Chryse savored the memory of human screams of horror as two ghouloons tore the... mayor, that was the word, apart; the female ghouloon feasted on the human's guts as his eyes bulged in shock, and then rolled back into his blood-spattered, battered head, while her male companion enjoyed an arm, ripping the flesh loose with his long, sharp canine fangs.

This is the same scent, she thinks, grinning. "Humans, Nikateros, ferals. Six of them, three males and three females." She's silent for a long moment, considering the data available. The aircar tells her, through her transducer, that no radio or neutrino emissions have been detected; that indicates a pre-technological line. But she can scent, besides the individual humans, a stench of burning flesh and hydrocarbons, which indicates some kind of technology...

Eager, Nikateros breaks in on her reverie, his young 80-year-old face animated. "I've seen documentaries on the Pacifications, but you know, I've never seen a real one. Stuffed, in museums, of course, in Archona. Are they good hunting?" His eyes glint, and he licks his lips in anticipation. His hands clench, unconsciously, at his sides. Talonta whimpers with joy, tail whipping back and forth as she scents the Draka's rising excitement.

Chryse nods, grinning. Given the datadump from the aircar, and what she can smell, the hypothesis arises: have these humans been caught in the same mole hole event as they have been?

The servus gasp at their Overlords' words, wondering. Humans are extinct; something like a bogy man or a creation of Glitch, you use humans to frighten folk at night on Feast Day. They aren't real. Marko clears his throat inquiringly, and his Muhmis, Chryse, turns from the open hatch to face him. "Are they really humans, Muhmis? Live ferals? I thought they were only legends, like elves."

She laughs, and caresses his smooth, dark face. "Well, dear, in our time line there are a few still out in the woods; in this time line, we may be surrounded by them. But they aren't Samothracian," she reassures, seeing the fleeting worry cross all the serfs' faces. "They smell different, like metal and human combined. These are true archaics, good hunting, fun mounting. We'll go see what they are up to, Nikateros."

Chryse slips the layer knife free of its sheath; the light shimmers on the thin, supple surface. The young male Draka smiles, white teeth showing in a predator's grin.

"Stay here, near the aircraft," Chryse commands the serfs, who were only more than happy to obey. Talonta purrs, hopeful; the woman turns to her pet, her newest serf. "Darling, we are going to do a recon; I'll save some of them for you to enjoy tracking down. Stay here now and guard the servus." As she slings herself out the hatch, she's followed by Talonta's disappointed whine.

"Muhmis, but I've never gotten to see a human, yet alone hunt one... please?"

Nikateros follows Chryse out the hatch, chuckling. "Believe you've made a certain kawtuh quite pitiful, Chryse! Poor thing!" His blond hair shines in the dappled sunlight; he turns his deeply tanned face up into the heat, and takes the humans' scent again, inhaling deeply.

The tall Draka woman laughs, quietly, and stretches. For a moment, clearly outlined under the black uniform, her muscles stand out like steel cables. Her eyes dilate, startling light green, enclosed by bright blue; her body prepares for the hunt. Her companion's eyes do likewise, and the Draka share a friendly growl of anticipation. Their hair bristles, and they wolf-grin. The blood lust is strong in their race, and a hunt brings it out as much as a duel.

I, meantime, quickly find a spot to squat, and get my business over with. Now, on to more exciting things, I think, and begin making my way up the ridge in front of me. The undergrowth's thick; wait-a-minute vines, and what I'm sure is probably poison ivy snags at me, slowing me down. Occasionally, pieces of bark or limbs thud into the ground nearby, as the damaged trees shed their burdens. Dense thickets of rhododendron, wild rose, and blackberry bushes yank on my blue sweater and jeans.

Doggedly, I keep at it, though, pausing only to brush hair out of my eyes and to eat the thick, juicy blackberries. They're bigger than my thumb; I've never seen ones this size before. Better not eat too many of these, my mind cautions me, and I snicker. That's all I'd need...

Wrestling my way over chunks of trees, as cleanly sliced as if they've been through a lumberyard, I approach the dull black shape of the airplane. No noise comes from the site; are they alive, I wonder about the pilots. The quiet susurration of the wind through the trees, and the dappled sunlight, make the scene look tranquil. I stop, wondering. How could the plane have sliced these trees the way it had? Metal isn't that sharp. I remember my father talking about that, and crashes he'd seen in his years as a search-and-rescue pilot in the Air Force.

What if it's going to blow up, what then? Well, I'm so close it won't make any difference either way, so may as well look and see... Shrugging my shoulders, I straighten my sap and dirt stained shirt, brush leaves out of my hair. Primping, are you? Hoping a cute female pilot's waiting for you with open arms, kid?, I grin to myself. I prepare to enter the ring of flattened trees, and pause again. No bird sounds. Nothing. The birds, hundreds of them, seemingly, had rapidly resumed their calls after the van wreck, even after the van's final demise... But now...

The hairs stand up on the back of my neck, and I shiver, despite being sweaty and hot from the arduous hike up the holler's side. I'd like to holler, that's for sure, I say vehemently to myself. I walk into the clearing.

Approaching the airplane, for that's what I assume it is, I look for signs of life. The glyph of the dragon puzzles me; my father had been career Air Force, and I've got a huge collection of patches. Nothing like this one, though... Maybe it's Canadian, or something, my mind speaks calmingly. Reality, and years spent watching aircraft with Pa, speaks more loudly, insistently. A cold chill spreads through me, as I realize the forward edges of the plane have sliced through oaks wider than I am tall, and haven't even been dented... The plane's a black hulking form in front of me; no visible openings. Hairs standing up on my arms, I gather my courage, and call, "Hello, the plane!" My voice carries through the silence, and echoes slightly. Nothing else makes a sound.

"Hey, guys! Anyone able to talk in there? Bang on something if you can't, if you need help... Hello? Hey..." I approach the craft, and look more closely at it. The dull matte black finish seems to absorb the sunlight, reflecting very little. The only sound is that of the trees still remaining in the clearing, whispering to themselves. A cold shiver traces down my ribs, leaving ice in my belly.

I look up into the blackness of the hatch, ten feet above my head. "Oh, god, don't let them be dead... We need help! Phil, especially..." I realize I'm talking to myself, and shake my head, red curls tossing. A piece of branch is just long enough to reach the edge of the hatch, and I tap. Still no sound from the ship, or any of its inhabitants.

I bend to pick up a piece of bark, and straighten, arm cocking back to gently toss it into the hatch. Maybe this'll get their attention, I hope, and start to bring my arm smoothly forward—

It's grasped by a black-clad hand, halting it as though I've struck a wall invisible in the clearing. Another hand, unseen, snaps around the back of my neck, gripping in a tremendously strong hold. I'm lifted in an instant a couple of feet off the ground. My arms flail wildly, legs kicking uselessly, and a brief shriek bursts from my lips: "Aaaaaiiiiiieeeee—"

The hand holding me in the air shakes me, roughly, and my teeth snap together, cutting my lips. From behind me, in my peripheral vision, I can see another person approaching, sliding an arm-long sword into a sheath as she walks toward me. A sword?? my mind gapes.

The woman stands in front of me, startling blue-green eyes staring into my own hazel ones. A smile crosses the aquiline, tanned features: "S't wuhtz h'yah? Nai'm a-muh, bayshmun."

The guttural, slurred syllables mean nothing to me; my mouth open, I fight for calm. "Pl-please, put me down! Please! You're hurting me... I came over to get help, and no one answered my calls... please, ma'am!?"

"What in the world is this pretty little bunny saying, Chryse?" Nikateros asks, his arm, fully extended, easily holding me suspended in the air. He gives me another shake, gentler this time.

The Draka woman looks at me; my face twisting into tears. The arousing scent of fear from her captured prey tugs at Chryse's lean, hard body with an erotic rush. She thinks for a moment, accessing data with her transducer's built-in memcore. "Why, gods, Nikki, it's..." she pauses for a second or two, "It's 20^th century AmEnglish, I think. Been so long since I heard it... You've got the data, yourself. Access it, and we'll try to talk to this pretty pony again."

Nikateros nods, his eyes momentarily blank. He blinks and then smiles. Chryse tries again:

"So, wha-yat duz we-ah hayev heyah? Yoh name, fey-ral..."

I jump, hearing some semblance of English coming from the tall, athletic, dangerous looking woman facing me. I hang tensely from the other one's arm, my mind racing. Say something, anything, dummy, my mind commands. "Please... Let me down... My name is Mickey. Mickey Horton. Please, I didn't mean anything, banging on your airplane..." I spread my hands in a gesture of appeal.

The woman hesitates for a moment, and replies. "Mickey Mickey Horton is yoh name?" A chuckle, and she steps closer, signaling Nikateros to release me, apparently.

I feel the steel clamp unlock, and fall to the ground, free of the man's hand. That was his hand? I wonder, and begin to climb to my feet. A black boot pushes my shoulder down, and I find myself on my hands and knees in the forest scrub. Hey! What th—

A tanned hand, feeling like a thinly fleshed marble statue's hand might feel, cups my chin, forcing me to look up. The sunlight dapples down through the remaining trees, and I can hear other people talking. They are speaking in the same guttural, lilting tongue the woman had used at first with me, and are close by. My neck aches, but my eyes are held by the red-blonde haired woman's gaze.

"Yoh name, wench, this time slowly." The accent's much more like my own, now, somehow.

"Mickey... Horton." Her eyes are so strange, I can't look away... And why am I feeling horribly horny all of a sudden? I wonder, my heart racing. Sweat beads on my brow, my upper lip. The hand holds my head immobile; sharp edges of rocks and pieces of wood dig into my knees through the jeans.

"Well... Mickey Horton, it is your lucky day... Ah have some questions for you, and if you value that pretty little face of yours, you'll answer me. Understan'?" The Draka woman shakes my head slightly, and shark-smiles down at me.

Chryse sees pupils enlarge, hears the heart rate increase... The patterns of heat on the human's face shift in response to the increasing sense of fear. Smells good, the drakensis thinks to herself. Sweet, but with an edge. So different from one of the Race, or a servus; very different from a kawtuh...

Curious, Talonta approaches. Eyeing me as I kneel in front of the black-clad woman and her companion, Talonta snarls, her lips curling back from pearly white fangs. Her whiskers bristle, but her ears stay erect; the threat's merely a warning. Anyone would know that, Talonta thinks to herself, otherwise, ears would be laid back flat, and fur puffed. Just a friendly hello..., the kawtuh laughs to herself.

The effect on me is rather traumatic: after everything that's happened today, up to and including meeting this strange woman and her companion, having some sort of leopard-looking, bipedal, fanged creature snarling at me is a little too much. It pushes me over the edge. Screaming, I windmill backwards, mindless of the red welts caused by pulling my chin out of the Draka's grip. Scrambling, trying to get to my feet, I look madly, left and right, for an escape.

Chryse's hand slaps the side of Talonta's muzzle, hard enough to stun. "Gods damn it, serf, I told you to stay with the others. Now get out of my sight." She strides over the prostrate form of her kawtuh, who's whimpering on the ground, holding her sensitive nose with both hands. She pays no attention as Talonta obeys her, slowly picking herself up and limping to the aircar.

The Draka easily catches up with me, and snakes an arm around my waist. Chryse's surprised at my strength, fueled by a state of near-madness, as I twist under her arm and fight, scratching, kicking, trying to escape. But even the strength that fear has lent me, a college girl, is nothing in comparison to that of a drakensis; Chryse sighs and taps the side of my head with the heel of her free hand.

I gasp, the world going red then gray; the forest spins around me, and darkness comes.

My flailing body hangs still, breathing loudly in the quiet of the woods; Chryse slings me easily over a shoulder and carries me back to the aircar.

"Bring me my satchel, Marko," she calls, and her serf scrambles to obey. The other two serfs, brother and sister, crouch near Nikateros. He's gazing down the slope, over to the other ridge. Marko, his black eyes flashing fear of the feral laying unconscious across his Muhmis' lap, hands her the leather bag, and she rummages for a moment.

"Aha, here we are," she murmurs, bringing forth a slender silver band and a small controller device. Chryse slips the band across my unconscious brow; the metal flows under her hand until it made a perfect fit. The Draka activates it, and watches my eyes flutter open. A slight adjustment, and the girl's vision clears. Putting the device to one side, Chryse sits her up. Marko lingers, fascinated despite his fear.

"One of the new controller bands, developed for managing those humans being sent back from the Earth/3 line, Marko; it helps control their emotions. Easier to deal with them if they aren't trying to gnaw their own fingers off, you know. I've found this to be quite useful; the three pretties Tamarindus Rohm sent last month to me are working out just fine." Switching from Talk to the 20^th century dialect of English, Chryse cups my chin again, and speaks:

"Girl, listen to me. As long as you obey us, no one, including my kawtuh, will kill you. Do you understand that?" A nod, slowly; my eyes still wide, I reach up to the side of my aching head, touching the lump the drakensis's hand had raised a few moments before. "Now, answer me, and don't try to lie. I can tell if you try to deceive me, and that annoys me. You don't want to do that. 'Kay?"

I look into the aquiline, aristocratic face next to mine, and shudder. "Yes, I understand," I say, in a small, frightened voice. My eyes stray to Marko, who's sitting nearby, close enough to hear and see, but not in Muhmis Chryse's sphere of personal space. His handsome, high-cheekboned ebony face is alight with curiosity.

"Where are you from?"

"Tennessee... I'm from Tennessee, ma'am. We were on a field trip with Dr. Taung, and the van crashed..."

The Draka looks at her. "Tennessee? You are American, then, aren't you?"

"Well, yeah... Please, Phil needs help. Can't you call for help?"

"Obviously, you don't know who we are, do you?" I shake my head no, and wince at the pain the movement causes.

"You don't know who we are, and you're American?" asks Chryse, wondering.

"No, ma'am... I thought maybe you were Air Force or something, but I've never seen a plane like yours," I answer, looking into the fascinating blue-rimmed green eyes. "Who are you?"

Chryse feels the increasing tension in my muscles, and strokes my back. She also adjusts her pheromones; best not to spook this one again, so soon after Talonta's little game. Talonta would learn not to do that, Chryse thinks, and smiles. "We're Draka, of the Domination of the Draka. And you don't know of us?"

Nikateros walks over and squats down behind Chryse. "She doesn't know who we are?"

"I... I've never heard of that. Is that your unit, or your rank, or something?" I stutter, looking back and forth between Marko, Chryse and Nikateros. I shift uneasily in the woman's grasp; the strength that holds me is inhuman, somehow. Way too strong for a woman that size, anyway, I think, and am surprised at my lack of emotional response to my internal voice. Something strange is going on here... maybe it's my head... I reach up to stroke the sore spot, and encounter for the first time the cool metal of the controller band at my temples. I stiffen, touching it warily.

"Put your hand down, wench. It's just a way to keep you calm enough to question. Down," Chryse orders, gently tugging at my blue sweater. I obey. "No, Nikateros, she doesn't know who we are. Surprising... But there has always been some doubt about the Domination surviving in all the parallel universes... apparently it did not in hers."

"Who's Phil? And what's a van?" she continues, directing the questions again to me.

"A van? It's a car, sort of. A big one, you know? You ride in it?" Chryse nods, and I continue, faster: "Phil's another one of us students; he's hurt. He hit his head, when we crashed off the road. There was lightning, and a terrible noise, and then it's like... Like we fell. He's not really very conscious right now; a concussion, at least. Please, you've got to help us, Draka lady. I don't know where we are, or how we got here..." A sob chokes off my words; the emotional stress rises even past the ability of the controller band to damp it.

Chryse nods toward the small black controller regulator, and Nikateros hands it to her. She makes another adjustment, increasing the band's power, and I groan slightly, reaching up to the silver crescent.

"Ssssaaa, girl, don't touch. Just let it work. I know you're upset; I need information from you, though. Do you know who the Samothracians are?" The hackles rise slightly on both the drakensis' necks at the mention of the feral humans from Alpha Centauri, the descendents of the Alliance survivors of the Final War. "Have you heard of them?"

"Nnnooo... There's a place called, or it used to be called, Samothrace, sort of near Turkey and Greece, I think... Is that what you're talking about, ma'am? My head aches," I answer, sinking my head into my hands. The heat from the Draka woman's body is amazing, I think; is she fevered, or what? "Please, can you at least give Phil some first aid? We have a little first aid pack, it's Frank's, but I didn't see anything in it to help..."

"Is Phil her sib, do you think, Chryse?" questions Nikateros, using Talk. He smiles down at my red curls and tear-marked face as he speaks. His two servus, Heidi and her brother Fela, have drifted closer, and sit near Marko.

Talonta stays out of sight, in the aircar, nursing her sore muzzle, and dreading her Muhmis' punishment for frightening the silly little human wench. Now, on top of a throbbing headache and a muzzle that feels stomped on, I'll probably not be able to sit down comfortably for a week or so, she thinks grumpily to herself.

Chapter Three

Mickey's screams, short but loud enough to carry across the intervening ravine, startle the group. Both Carter Hahn and Frank Host leap to their feet; the others stare wide-eyed into the woods. "Shit, man, what's going on? How come she's been... goddamn, you fuckin' civilian worm, she's not out taking a crap, she went over there, didn't she!?" Frank's fists grab up the shirt around Carter's neck, tugging him to his toes.

The biology grad student's eyes go flat, cold; as cold as the clear blue of an alpine lake. He inhales, and strikes out, his cupped hands slapping the sides of Frank's head sharply, but not hard enough to kill. Not yet. "Kiii-hup!"

Frank's head reels back from the unexpected blows, and his right hand loosens its grip. Carter drops his weight, yanking himself out of the husky Marine's ham-fisted hold, and crouches, in a modified L stance. Pivoting on his left heel, he raises his right knee hip-high, cocks, and with a fluid motion slams his right heel into the side of Frank's head.

The burr-cut head, crimson under the thin lawn of reddish-brown hair, snaps sideways, and the man slumps to the ground bonelessly.

"You've killed him!" Julie shrieks.

The others—Billy and Sandy—stand horrified, unsure of exactly what had happened. Carter draws himself up from the reflexive crouch he had dropped into, and looks calmly at the hysterical young woman.

"No, I didn't, I assure you. And I'm going to make sure he doesn't kill anyone else, either." He tugs the belt loose from the prone Marine. He turns the man's head to one side, too, in case Frank vomited. You could never tell with a head blow; his foot aches, but he knew he hadn't cracked the redheaded skull. It was pretty hard, after all. He slings the black web belt over a shoulder, and faces the others.

"Mickey went down to the airplane, to ask for help for us. Apparently, she needs it now. I'm going down there; if you hear gunshots, run for those hills over there—" he points at the nearby hills towering above them in riotous fall foliage, "and don't come down until you're sure it's safe. I don't know what's going on, but I aim to find out. Sandy, you're the oldest, so be in charge."

"Hey, wait a minute, I mean, who put you—" Billy's cut off in midwhine by the look in Carter's eyes.

"Frank put himself in charge, and you thought it was cool. Now I'm suggesting that the person who's oldest, with the most life experience, should be in charge. If... I mean, when, I get back with Mickey, all of us will vote on some sort of setup, and work things out until we get rescued." If we get rescued, he thinks to himself, and continues glaring at the sweaty, greasy face of the good ole boy.

Billy, mumbling to himself, drops his gaze to the ground, and crosses his arms. Sandy clears her throat, nervously.

"How will we, ah, know it's safe, ah, to, ah, come down?" She stutters, wringing her hands. Julie nods, face blotched and mascara making black raccoon tracks down her plump-cheeked face.

"I'll use the same thing Mickey suggested before going down there," Carter calls over his shoulder, as he moves swiftly down the hillside. "A Rebel yell for ok, and a 'yoo-hoo', or nothing, if things aren't right." He disappears behind the bole of a huge pin oak, his back dappled with shadow and sunlight.

"Hmmm... Sounds like the other ferals are yelling about something," Chryse replies to Nikateros, still squatting next to me. My head had flicked up when Julie's shriek had echoed across the holler, and my eyes are wide, with fear and worry. "Sounded like, 'you killed him'."

"Oh, God, it's probably Frank and Carter. Frank's got a—" I stop myself. "...a bad attitude. He's scary, trying to take over since Professor Taung is d-d-d-dead... Carter's a graduate student, really smart. He's a biologist, I think..." My voice trails off, looking into the Draka's faces as they watch the woods, listening intently. My eyes grow even larger when I notice Chryse's ears pricking forward, like a cat's. I shiver, uncontrollably, despite the controller band on my forehead.

"One's coming this way. Nikki, stay here. I'll capture this one. The rest of you, back on board. They're ferals, but they might have some sort of weapon. I'll be right back," Chryse grins, a growl of hunter's anticipation building under her dulcet tone. She springs to her feet, and noiselessly sprints down the hill, moving in and out of the trees like a mountain lion. Her walking blacks automatically adjust themselves to the surroundings, mirroring the foliage so well that I lose track of the Draka almost immediately.

A snarl beside me; I look up into a beautiful face, a face more handsome than any I've ever seen, twisted into a mask of primal rage. I gasp, and cover my face, cowering. He's going to kill me, my god, he's gone crazy or something...

Nikateros forces himself not to lash out at the feral; it takes all of his strength to control the flood of anger that threatened to turn him berserker. Just because she's over 400, she thinks she can order me around like a pretty buck or serving wench... Just wait, Chryse, you'll make a mistake, and I'll drink a blood toast to your bones... The thought thrills him, and he settles back on his haunches, hands running through his thick blond mane. All I have to do is wait...

The servus have joined Talonta in the aircar, simply leaping up into the open hatch meters above their heads. Simply, because their owners have genetically designed them that way. They crouch near the opening, listening, nervous. The kawtuh pointedly does not deign to join them, curling up on a padded couch the aircar thoughtfully extrudes. More hunting, and I'm still missing out, she whines resignedly, and continues to groom her leopard-mottled light brown fur.

Carter advances slowly through the thick undergrowth, skirting around trees whose trunks were wider than he is tall. If it hadn't been for his worry about Mickey, he knew he'd want a closer look. It took hundreds of years to grow trees like that, and everything around here had—should have been—second growth, not these primeval monsters.

The sunlight, beginning to fade and turn a deeper amber color as the fall sun begins to descend past the crests of the surrounding hills, leaves forbidding shadows and hidden traps of prickly vines to dig through. This really isn't very much fun, he thinks sourly to himself, disengaging the last of a series of wait-a-minute vines from its hold on his hair. But Mickey needs help, that's plain.

Nervously, he looks again at the pistol in his hand. Now what am I actually going to do with this? I'm not Ah-nold. Or Stallone. I'm just a biology graduate student, specializing in ecosystems documentation. Haven't even finished my thesis yet. What am I doing here, and when can I go home? A chuckle escapes Carter's lips, despite his caution, and he curses silently to himself. Fool; what if they're listening for you? No way to run a rescue. He tucks the pistol, gun metal flat black in the dying sunlight, into his jeans, checking to make sure the safety was on. Wouldn't do to shoot yourself, old boy.

Chryse hears his muffled chuckle, and his curse. She smiles, anticipating. Hunting makes her blood thrill, as it always does. Hunting something fairly sentient is even more fun. Hunting feral humans is rare enough to be truly exciting, in more ways than one. Her ears perk forward, listening to the human approach. He makes enough noise to alert a whole tetrarchy, she mused, and he's trying to be quiet. Not a soldier, or much of a hunter, then. She leans against the rough, flaking bark of a shagbark hickory, and waits.

Carter stops, becoming aware that something just didn't feel right. The bird songs have faded to silence, and the hairs on the back of his neck, and arms, struggle to rise through the accumulated sweat and grime deposited during his adventures this strange day. The young man looks around, seeking a source for his growing discomfort and unease. Nothing stands out from the surrounding, crowding trees and shrubs; he hears nothing but the slight noises of the trees swaying and creaking in the breeze. Eyes wide, he scans the area before him as his right hand slowly draws Frank's pistol from his jeans.

A piece of the tree he's next to detaches itself in a smooth, sinuous rush... As Chryse flashes toward him, moving impossibly fast, he realizes it's a person, one in camouflage that matched the surrounding woods almost perfectly. His hand whips up, aiming the weapon automatically, and his finger squeezes the trigger.

Nothing happens. He gapes down at the .45, and realizes, just before Chryse leaps upon him, that he's left the safety on. Damn it, I've got to—the rest of his thought is slammed out of him as he, and the leopard-moving woman who attacks him, land on the forest floor. His teeth clack shut, and he feels like he's been hit with a steel club. A deep-throated snarling roar fills his ears, and he looks in shock at the human-like face, now fixed in a wolf-grin, that floats above him. Carter gasps for breath, and tries to roll out from under the woman.

Chryse slides to her knees, straddling the prone human male. His fear-scent fills her head with its erotic tang; she works to restrain herself from taking him right away. Plenty of time for that, Chryse, she chides herself, and instead smacks the pistol from the boy's right hand. The gun skitters through the leaves and rhododendron bushes, coming to rest against one of the thick-leaved, squat shrubs. She looks down at the human, and says, still growling, "So, what have we here? Another feral. A handsome one, at that. Your name, human."

Carter gives up trying to get out from under the woman, and lies still, looking up at her impossible, stunning beauty. Terror threatens to overwhelm him, but he knows he needs to respond somehow. His mouth opens and closes several times, and finally he manages, "Carter Hahn." His sweat-streaked face is pale, but composed.

"Admirable control, for a human, Carter Hahn." She stands, and drags him after her, her arm supporting him effortlessly in the air. Chryse checks him quickly for weapons, and then drops him to his feet. He lands in a slight crouch, and his arms come up into a defensive posture. The Draka looks at him, her predator's eyes direct and open; a slight smile, an odd closed curve of the lips, crosses her face. "Feel like playing more, hmmm?"

Her walking blacks adjust themselves, obeying the command from her transducer, and their black color seems to drink in the surrounding light. She tosses her hair, arrogantly, and waits. Chryse watches with amusement as fear, and respect, crosses Carter's face. He slowly relaxes, although he darts a glance toward the resting place of the pistol, longingly.

Carter knows an opponent that's more than he can handle when he meets one; fighting this person, this woman, whose grip felt like a hydraulic press, is not going to be easy. Or advisable, as long as she has the drop on me, he muses, and glances toward the gun. I can't get to it; I'd have to go through her to get to the bush it's under. Damn it, I should have known to undo the safety before trying to fire it... His arms drop to his sides. "Who are you, and where's Mickey?" Even though his voice is a little shaky, his tone's firm.

"I'm a Draka, Carter Hahn, and Mickey is back at our vehicle. You're an impertinent one, aren't you?" Chryse's voice is cold.

He feels the color rising to his face, and the hairs on the back of his neck bristle in primordial reaction to fear. "A Draka, you said? I don't understand. Is that some military thing? Is Mickey alright, please?"

"She's fine. Where are the other humans, pretty buck?"

Humans... Other humans? What's she talking about? Pretty buck?! Carter wonders. His eyes flick back the way he had come, and he watches as the drakensis woman slowly smiles. "Hey, I don't understand... Aren't you Air Force, or something? And what do you mean about humans? What the hell's going on?"

"Air Force? No, I'm with the Technical Directorate, myself," Chryse laughs, chucking him under the chin. "Lots of questions. Curious lot, humans. Come back to the aircar with me, and you can talk with Mickey. I'll explain more." Seeing him balk, she sighs. "It's easier if you walk back with me, but I'll sling you over a shoulder and bring you back to camp like a deer, if you'd rather. Which, boy?"

Carter looks her over again, and realizes, with a horrible sinking feeling inside, that she's as good as her word. He can go under his own power, or like a sack of potatoes. Shrugging, he looks up at her. "I'll walk, if you don't mind, Miss Draka."

"Good." Chryse bends down, scooping up the black-metal pistol from its resting place. She looks it over with interest. "A 20^th century powder propelled hand weapon. Fascinating. So archaic. Good souvenir," as she tosses it from hand to hand casually. "Yours? Did it misfire?"

"Ah, no, not mine, and um, sure. It's broken." Carter flashes a grin, and tries to sound convincing.

He picks himself up off the floor of the forest, blood trickling from his nose. A handprint stood out in angry relief on one cheek, and his head rings. Chryse's next to him, having moved so fast he never saw the blow coming. Her eyes hold his, and a low rumble echoes from her throat.

"Don't try to lie to me, Carter Hahn. That's not wise. Next time, I'll break something. Clear?"

He nods, numbly, and wipes at the blood trickling down over his lips and down his chin. "S-sorry. I've never been very good at that. It's not broken; I just didn't use it the right way. I'm not much of a gun shooter, myself." The taste of blood, warm and coppery, fills his mouth.

"That's obvious. You can show me the correct way to fire this later. Back to the camp. Let's go," answers the Draka, her face near his.

He's startled to discover that his body is very definitely responding to the closeness, and it embarrasses him. His pulse thuds in his throat, and sweat begins to roll down his sides, clammy under his sweaty shirt. What the hell is going on?

Frank blearily opens his eyes; sitting up slowly, he groans, and cups his head in his hands. Julie, who's been perched by his side, calls out, "Oh, look, Frankie's awake, guys," and solicitously runs her hand through his short, red-brown hair. Unfortunately, her hand runs over the throbbing lump on the side of Frank's head, and he bellows.

"God-damn! That hurts! Quit, dammit!" He stands up, nearly knocking the plump girl on her back. Her eyes look up at him with adolescent hero-worship, and well full of tears. "Aw, Christ, woman, don't do that. Damn, my head. Where's that prick Carter?"

Billy answers, glaring in the meantime at his erstwhile girlfriend, "He went down the hill and over there, Frank," pointing up the opposite slope, "to help Mickey. He's got your gun, too."

A wordless exclamation of frustration bursts from Frank, and he balls his fists. Walking slowly over to a tree, he pounds his hands against it, still making the growl under his breath. Billy, Sandy and Julie watch in horrified interest as the tree sways back and forth under the ham-fisted, powerful blows. Julie decides it's safer next to Billy, and sidles his way.

The group's quiet for a moment. Frank is left alone by the swaying tree; the others group around the semi-awake form of Phil, wrapped in the sleeping bags. The sound of a hawk's strident call echoes through the trees, and the sounds of branches squeaking together overhead seems loud. The bird songs that have been filling the air earlier, even after the van had crashed down the hillside, are quieting, as evening steals over the steep hills and hollers. A chill begins to settle, as the sun's warmth is replaced by twilight.

Frank comes over and squats down by Phil's side. His face still mottled by his anger, his voice is surprisingly soft. "Hey, man. Stay here, okay? Everything's cool now." Frank stands and looks at the three others. "I'm going down there after them, god knows why. I want my piece back, anyway. And I've got a little score to settle with someone. Some two, actually. So stay here, no arguments. Get a fire going, Billy. We'll need the heat."

Forestalling any debate, the burly Marine turns on his heel and begins descending the hillside in the brief fall twilight. He hurries, to make the best use of the remaining light available, stopping only once. He yanks a large branch loose from the broken pieces of tree that scattered the slope, and snaps smaller branches off it. Hefting it like a club, he takes a couple of practice swings, visualizing their effect on Carter's head.

"Knock those fuckin' granny glasses off his face, that's for sure," Frank mutters, and continues on down the hill.

"Another one, Chryse? How nice," Nikateros comments, as Carter precedes the Draka into the campsite. Marko has emerged from the aircar to build a small fire, using some dry cedar wood he found near the vehicle. It crackles merrily, and tosses shadows about the clearing. I look up, hopeful at first, but with resignation settling over my face as I see the pistol in Chryse's hand.

"Yes, the more the merrier, I've always said. This one is called Carter Hahn. A friend of yours, Mickey?"

"Yes, ma'am." My eyes glint in the firelight. The silver controller band's still around my temples, and it prevents me, seemingly, from going absolutely insane. Although I can still think about going nuts, I muse, and watch Carter's face.

"Marko, fetch another controller band. I believe there are two more in the satchel, the brown leather one of mine, there's a dear," Chryse calls to her servus, who quickly bows and goes to get the tiny machine. He returns with it, and bows again before handing it to his Muhmis. She strokes her hand across the smoothness of his shaven head, and a blush rises beneath his ebony coloring.

Grinning to herself, Chryse snakes out a hand, catching Carter as he's about to speak to me. Before he can struggle loose, she's placed the controller band on his forehead, and then she releases him. The hand-held control unit adjusted the band's effectiveness, and Carter cries out: "What—what..."

"Don't worry; it won't hurt you. It's just to keep you manageable, calm. Easier than beating the shit out of you, though not as much fun in some ways," Nikateros says, coming up behind the human and slipping an arm around his shoulders. The Draka eyes the boy, appraisingly. "You are a pretty buck, aren't you? What are these for?"

Without his glasses, Carter's effectively blind, and he reacts fearfully when Nikateros reaches to remove them. "No, stop..."

Nikateros' hand raises up, ready to slap, and begins an arc towards the young man's face. "Why you insolent little pup..."

"No."

The word hangs clearly in the glade, and Nikateros' fist freezes in its downward descent. He doesn't move, but his eyes stab toward Chryse, who stands waiting. "What?"

"I said no. They're valuable to us, both for the Race and for our own collection. I won't have them beaten unnecessarily, Nikateros. It makes them harder to handle. We have enough to do. He needs those things to see; they're called 'glasses'." Her voice is calm, almost conversational in tone, but her posture and her eyes speak a different message.

Nikateros steps away from Carter, his movements slightly stiff with the sheer muscular effort of self-control. "Fine, fine, Chryse. I just thought he was being impudent. What about the other humans, the ones still over there? Are we going to hunt them tonight?"

Carter sinks down next to me, and hugs me. He starts to speak, but I put my finger to his lips, quiet. "Later, Carter. OK?" He nods, and begins rubbing his right elbow, still sore from the crash. We huddle close to the fire, relishing its heat. The servus, Marko, Heidi, and Fela, sit near the aircar, warm still in their memory-molecule clothing.

A sniff comes from the hatch of the aircar, and Chryse turns toward it. "Come out, Talonta. I'm not annoyed with you any more. Come on out." The leopard-mottled kawtuh burbles with joy, and springs from the hatch, fur bright in the firelight. She lopes to her Draka owner, and sinks down on her knees, placing her face on the black boots in front of her.

A contented purr arises from the kawtuh, and a slight purr returns from the drakensis. "Up, now, Talonta. We have to think about the other humans, and how to catch them tonight."

Carter and I have stiffened in terror, even with the effects of the controller bands. Having people who look human tell you they aren't is one thing; seeing a bipedal, furred, fanged and verbal creature like Talonta is another thing altogether.

Talonta, on her part, looks eagerly at us humans seated by the fire, wondering. The brown-haired one, the female, is not too bad looking, but the blond male is definitely interesting, she thinks, and smiles. The humans' fear increased; its scent, with its appealing tang, drifts to the drakensis and the kawtuh.

Oh, when will they quit... Now, they're actually doing quite well, for ferals, old girl, Chryse thinks to herself. She turns to the two humans, and smiles. "Talonta's a kawtuh, a transgene. She belongs to me, and I've told her not to frighten you. She won't harm you, unless I tell her to. Clear, all of you?"

Carter and I nod, our eyes still fixed on the transgene's face. Talonta looks up adoringly at her Muhmis, and chitters. "Yes, Muhmis... I was stupid to scare the human girl. I'm sorry. When will we go hunting for the others?" Her yellow-black eyes flash, and a long red tongue lolls out, over her fangs. Her black muzzle twitches hopefully in the general direction of the humans, and her chest rumbles with a growl.

"Soon, soon. Be patient, as hard as that may be for an adolescent." Chryse runs one hand across the broad brow of her kawtuh, stroking the thick, soft fur. "We'll be hunting soon, I think."

Nikateros, seeking privacy and a place away from Chryse until his anger receded into a safely controlled, tightly held fury, has wandered off, to the edge of the glade. "Sooner than you think, perhaps, Chryse. Here comes another, and this one seems to know more about being quiet than either of these two did. Come listen."

Frank creeps slowly up to the campsite, hefting the club. He steps carefully through the thick underbrush and tree debris, trying to make as little noise as possible. He hears voices ahead, several. "That sounded like a child, or a ...something," he says, thinking out loud. "I'll be damned if I know exactly what that sounded like." Behind the trunk of a tree on the edge of the clearing, he pauses.

"It's now or never. Should I recon more, or just charge in there and take names later? Hell. Straight up the middle," he chants to himself, and charges round the tree, club at port arms. And rebounds from what felt like a steel mannequin—

"Oooph" bursts from Chryse, jarred slightly from the impact, and she looks down, amusedly, at the prone human. She grins, but all he can see, she knows, is her form, backlit by the flickering fire in the glade. The human begins to scuttle away, on his hands and heels, and she reaches out a foot, stamping lightly on one of his legs.

Frank twists savagely, trying to get his leg loose from the black-clad person. It's pinned to the ground and he makes no progress at all; veins stand up in the burly Marine's throat as he tugs, trying to get free. "God-dammit, get off my leg!" He remembers his club; grasping it, he swings in an overhand arc toward the knees of his opponent. "Uuuuu-rah!"

The Draka let the wooden stick hit her leg. If it had impacted a human leg, it would've left a shattered kneecap. The club, instead, shatters against the reinforced drakensis bone, her subcutaneous molecular armor spreading the impact to lessen its effects on Chryse's body. Her foot doesn't move.

Nikateros approaches the human male from behind, and Chryse relents on the pressure of her foot. The male drakensis yanks Frank, still struggling, to his feet. "My, we caught a big buck this time. Not a scrawny one like the blond," he grins at Chryse, speaking in Talk. He gives the Marine a stiff shake, knocking the wind out of him temporarily.

Frank's hands are on fire, inwardly, from the shock of the club hitting the calf of the Draka in front of him, and his mouth gapes incredulously as he feels himself lifted effortlessly off the forest floor by someone behind him. Then the world gyrates madly, and he struggles for breath.

"What the fuck is happening here? Who are you? Why didn't that bastard get a broken leg? What language is that?" Frank looks back and forth between the two Draka frantically, and then freezes, his eyes bulging with shock and fear.

Talonta glides up to the two drakensis and their captured prey, her tail erect with interest. "He actually tried to fight, didn't he, Muhmis?"

"Yes, I believe this one's been trained to fight. He's quite a specimen, as Nikateros has pointed out. And no, we won't kill him yet, silly girl." Chryse gently pulls Talonta back, as the transgene's fur bristles and her fangs show. The human watches, silently, barely breathing. "Instead, let's tie him up securely, and fetch the two or three others over on that hill. I'd like to have them all in one place, for one."

Chapter Four

After the two Draka and Talonta left, Frank waits for a few moments before rolling to face Carter and me. "See what dickheads you two are? If I hadn't had to come play hero, and rescue you, we'd be..."

"We'd be in the same boat we're in now, we just wouldn't know it yet. So shut up, Frank." My voice is cold. I turn away from the lurid face of my classmate, struggling to find words that fit his rage, and look at Carter, instead.

"What do you think these things," I touch the silver band at my temples, "do? I mean, it's not like they're beaming their thoughts at us or anything. I'm trying to stay focused on something, Carter; if I don't, I'll start screaming and I won't be able to stop."

"I know, I know." He ignores Frank's steady stream of obscenity, which is, to be truthful, pretty impressive. He's never heard such creative combinations before. He forces himself to stay attentive to Mickey, whose voice is shaky. He looks over at her, noticing how wide her eyes are and how pale her face is, even in the rosy glare of the fire. "I know. I feel the same way. I think this thing somehow puts a damper on your emotional status. Perhaps with electrical signals, or something. I can't feel it shocking me, though. I don't know how it works."

We grow quiet as three shrill screams rend the night air. "That's Julie," I whisper. Carter nods, silently. The woods grow still again, except for the normal night noises. An occasional bat flies overhead, catching moths drawn to the glow of the cheery little fire.

Marko advances, slowly, a piece of wood in his hands. "Shit, man, he's coming to kill us! Stop him, Carter!" yells Frank, noticing the servus' approach. He tries to sit up, but his ankles are roped to his wrists, behind his back, and all the man manages to do is roll from side to side, frantically.

Carter and I jump at Frank's yell, and Carter stands, eyeing the smooth, ebony on satin countenance of the serf. "Hey, please—what are you doing?" Carter says, slowly, his hands spreading out on each side, palms open.

Marko wonders what the human has said, and decides to try and communicate. "It's all right, ah, human. I just want to put some more wood on the fire..." He raises the log, slowly, non-threateningly. A smile, startling in its brilliance, splits his handsome face. "For the fire." Marko points with the log at the fire, and mimes throwing it in.

"I think he's telling us he wants to refuel the fire, not kill us, Frank. Quit thrashing around; you're just scaring him." Carter smiles back at the strange man, and nods at him.

I'm not sure they understand Talk, thinks Marko, but they don't seem ready to attack me. He puts the log into the flames, and stirs the fire up. Sparks flutter up into the sky like tiny meteors, and a branch pops. Turning to the ferals, he mimes being chilly, hugging himself and shivering dramatically. Then he turns halfway to the fire, still holding their eyes with his, and rubs his hands together. He smiles again, gesturing.

"We're to get warm. That's what he's telling us. And he was using that weird language they used, too. I think maybe he works for them. He bowed to the woman, Carter, when he brought her the leather bag." I grin at the tall black man, and move toward the fire, slowly.

Marko nods, and turns to walk back toward the aircar. He feels something hit his legs from behind, and he falls towards the ground, twisting to land on his back. The tied-up human is on top of him, growling something to the others. Fear washes through the servus, fear of humans, fear of ferals, fear of the unknown. And his Muhmis is out there somewhere... He gasps, and tries to push the heavy man off him.

"Damn it, Frank! Stop! Stop it, you idiot!" I yell, as Carter springs toward the struggling men with a silent curse.

"I've got him down, man, let's take him out. Untie me, you peckerwood! Come on, while they're gone, we can get away! Help me, you stupid fucker, not him! Not him! Hey!!" Frank's voice rises in horror as Carter shoves him roughly off the prone man, who scrambles to his feet.

"I'm going to tell you only once, Frank. Try something stupid like that again, and I'll... I'll..."

"You'll what? You don't have the balls to do anything, Carter. You've never had any, never gonna get any, and that's the way it is—ugh!" Frank's speech is ended prematurely by the tip of Marko's soft leather boot slamming into his belly. He tries to double over, but the ropes hold him tight. His face turns deep red, and involuntary tears star his light blue eyes.

Marko yells, "No!" That word's clear enough. Now how do I tell him he's a bad feral, wonders Marko, disgustedly brushing leaves and dirt from his tunic. Bought just the other day, while they had been in Archona, at a delightful little shop near one of the museums... "Humans... Don't do that! No! Bad!" I feel like I'm scolding a puppy, or a little kawtuh, he muses, looking at the human who had helped him get free.

"Well, there's one word we can all understand. 'No', right?" Carter shakes his head no at the servant, and smiles back as the man nodded his head. "You don't know a thing about my anatomy, idiot, and if you try something like that again, I'll knock you out. Got it?" He glares down at the writhing form at his feet, and wonders what to do next.

Chryse carefully lowers Phil to the ground by the fire, still wrapped in his sleeping bag. "Lie still, little one," she murmurs, and straightens. For a moment she stretches, her muscles clearly defined through the blacks. "Aaaahhh..."

I hurry over to Phil, and brush his hair back from his forehead. "Hey, Phil... How are you doing? How do you feel?" I smile thanks up at the Draka woman, who looks down at us kindly enough.

The young Japanese student tries to grin. "I feel okay. That woman carried me like I was a kitten or something. How come it takes us getting lost, a van crash, and all this to meet the woman of my dreams?"

"You must be feeling better, if you're able to joke. You old thing," I fuss at him, affectionately. I sit down next to him, my hand resting on his shoulder.

Carter looks at Julie's blotched, tear stained face. "Are you okay, Julie?"

"I'm fi-fi-fine," she sobs, collapsing decorously into his surprised arms. "That ma-ma-man hit Billy..."

Sandy's standing dully by the fire, looking lost. Billy's crouched next to her, glaring wildly at Nikateros. Blood drips down his face; his left eye is puffed shut.

Chryse grimaces; the problem with Nikki is approaching a climax, and she really doesn't want to deal with that and a passel of ferals, as well. But needs must...

"You hit too quickly, Nikki," she begins, quietly, using Talk so the humans can't understand her. The servus have sensed a storm brewing between Nikateros and Chryse, and have chosen to retire to the aircar. Talonta, on the other hand, is lurking nearby, eyeing Nikateros in a somewhat unfriendly fashion. "If you hit these too much, they go mad; if you hit them too hard, they die."

"Stop telling me what to do with the stupid ferals," Nikateros snarls. His hair bristles, eyes dilate as his anger overwhelms a lifetime's control. "They're just humans, stupid smelly humans with no more sense than a... than a... human!"

Chryse's eyes dilate, too. Her anger pheromones assault him like physical blows, and he realizes he's overstepped his bounds once too often. A sincere apology might placate her for now, but she'd always remember... He shrugs, loosening his shoulders. A growl rips its guttural way through his throat, and his ears lay back flat against his head.

We humans cringe, getting both the effects of Nikateros' appearance and the dual blasts of pheromonal communication between the two drakensis. Julie's sobs sound loud in the sudden silence.

"Are you challenging me, Nikateros Vashon?"

"Yes, Chryse Von Shrakenberg. I'm calling challenge. I'm tired of your shit." Even as he replies, using the formal words and then adding his personal touch of insult to them, he wonders, briefly, how this all started. Too late now.

"I choose weapons. Bare hands," Chryse replies, following the ritual. Her body begins to prepare itself for combat, and the thrill of bloodlust runs through her veins. Regret touches at her consciousness briefly, but is swept away in the hormonal rush.

"Bare hands for weapons. I choose, to the death." Nikateros had fought to the death twice before, but never against one of the First Generation. His veins pound with the need for combat release, and his growl becomes deeper.

The Draka woman's answers his. "To the death. I choose the time and place. Now. Here." Struggling to control her features, which are twisting into a wolf-grin, gaping, snarl, she turns to the humans. "Get back next to the aircar. Now. Take the wounded one with you. Stay quiet, and away from us until this is," she glares at Nikateros pacing back and forth, "finished. Move!"

To the kawtuh, Chryse says, "Stay out of this, Talonta. I mean it. I order you to go back to the aircar."

Talonta, snarling herself at the insult to her Muhmis that this upstart Draka had offered, bows obediently and stalks slowly to the aircar. I hear and obey, Muhmis, she thought, but if he hurts you, I may just forget what I heard...

We scurry over to the aircar, Carter and I lugging the helpless Phil between us. "What the hell are they snarling and growling at each other for, Carter?" I whisper as we gently set Phil's form down. Sandy, Billy and Julie all sit near us, quiet now. Even Frank is quiet.

"I think we're witnessing a struggle for command. And I don't think it will be very pretty, either. Remember, if they come over this way, we've got to get Phil out of the way 'toot sweet'. Okay, Mickey?" Carter watches the two drakensis circle each other, hands out to their sides.

The firelight makes strange shadows as the two Draka stalk each other, and a screech owl calls mournfully into the darkness beyond.

A blur of motion; Chryse waits for Nikateros to move first, commit himself to a course of action. She could afford to wait; years of experience, of survival have taught her the best offense is sometimes a good defense. Especially in hand-to-hand combat between drakensis... Everything happens so fast, she thinks, that by the time you've thought about where to be, it's too late...

Nikateros leaps straight up, into the night sky. He's momentarily silhouetted against the myriad stars, a black cat-like form suspended in air. As he comes down, his heels lance toward her chest, or where her chest had been. He's fast, Race Spirit, he's fast, she thinks as she does a backflip, crouching down, bunching her thighs as she lands without a sound.

The bunched muscles release as he comes down from the night, and she kicks him just as his feet tap the ground where she had been standing. The solid thud of impact sends a shock through her, and she moves again, this time in a sliding sweep of her feet. He's landed several meters away, the breath knocked out if him involuntarily with a resounding huff. She meets his advance with the slicing arc of her legs, and this time he knows she's coming.

He grabs her legs and follows through her movement, adding momentum to her own, slinging her beyond him, into the light of the fire. She jumps erect, hands held loosely guarding her chest and abdomen, eyes flashing in the flickering, wavering light. He advances slowly, snarling loudly, his hair bristling. Chryse's ears lay themselves flat and she feels her own answering growl rumble from her chest. Let him come, let him try to take her. It would be his last mistake, of many made since the gods-damned mole hole. Her lips peel back from her lips, showing all of her teeth in a death's head grin. "Come on, little boy. Wanna play some more?" Chryse grinds out, her voice deepening as the combat hormones sing in her bloodstream.

"Aaaaaaarrrrrrrrrr!" The Draka male screams, loudly enough that the horrified humans by the aircar crouch even closer to the ground, hands over ears. Nikateros gives them no heed; time to play later with the human chattel, he thinks, as he charges Chryse. They meet in the circle of firelight, and a flurry of blows is exchanged. Blood spatters, black in the glow of the fire. The two drakensis close on each other, seeking the grip or the blow that would cripple. Short gasps for air and the meaty thuds of bone-jarring impacts, flesh on flesh, are the only noises for long moments.

Suddenly, Chryse ducks, an unexpected move on her part. Nikateros backs away, and in doing so, loses his rage-combat focus for a nanosecond. That's all Chryse is waiting for; she slams into him, wrenching at his throat with clawed hands. His hands fly up to meet hers, and block the blow, but she's faster, surprise giving her a fractional second's advantage.

The sound of tearing flesh and cartilage is loud in the silence... A brief groan from Nikateros as he sinks, holding the pieces of his throat together with one hand... His other hand curls into a fist, and swings upwards into Chryse's chest with all the force he can still muster.

Chryse gasps, the wind knocked out of her; but she's expected the last-ditch defense and is already moving away as he strikes. Several ribs crack, but she wills away the pain with a savage effort, focusing instead on the kill at hand. Nikateros is trying to rise, still holding the ragged remains of his throat with one hand as blood courses down his body, glistening on the walking blacks he wears. Time to end this, young and foolish Citizen, Chryse thinks, and moves in for the kill.

The female drakensis sharply kicks into the male's face, a full-force kick delivered in only a few feet of space. His head snaps backward, his eyes going wide as he struggles to keep his throat from rupturing completely and to maintain his balance. The struggle to stay upright fails, and he falls heavily to the floor of the glade.

He begins to scrabble backwards, away from her, from the death that was only seconds away.

Too soon, too soon... This can't be really happening... She'll call the fight, like we always did in the practice ring... My throat, the blood... Nikateros attempts to say something, anything, to keep the moment away, but nothing but a strangling whistle of air emerges from his open mouth.

"This challenge was to the death, Citizen. And so it is."

She lands on his chest with her knees, slamming what air remained in his lungs out through the rents in his throat. He grunts as the air leaves him, but his eyes are wild. His free hand seeks her, to blind or maim her enough so that he can get back to his feet somehow, as her hands grasp his head in an iron grip. She squeezes, the muscles standing out in sharp relief against her blacks, and he lets out one single, despairing cry. Still with the immense pressure on his skull, Chryse twists as she sits astride him, wrenching his head around with a sickening crunching noise. Vertebrae, even the reinforced drakensis ones, can only stand so much pressure; his snap and break into fragments as his head rolls loosely in her bloodstained hands.

Chryse sighs, almost orgasming, as the kill is completed. She looks down at the blood and foam-flecked face of the younger Draka, his eyes still wide with fear and rage; they are slowly starting to glaze. She yanks once more, putting all her strength into it, and his head tears free, raggedly. She hefts it in one hand, gazing into the now-lifeless eyes.

"Shouldn't have challenged me, youngling. I win. I always win," Chryse says to it, and rises to her feet. She points her face to the stars and howls, a long, lusty victorious call into the wilds. Wordless, it still chills the huddled humans; inside the aircar, Nikateros' chattel are sobbing quietly. A second call answers hers and she turns to see her transgene, her kawtuh, standing by the fire, muzzle raised to the moon, howling victory for her Muhmis.

Her pulse slowing, the combat hormones ceasing to be pumped automatically into her system, the Draka stalks over to the fire and her serf. Tossing the head down next to the blaze, Chryse slides one arm around the kawtuh's waist; the other cups her long jaw. Lips meet, and Talonta shudders with delight as Chryse tongues her, deeply, savagely. Her purr of arousal is answered by Chryse's own, and the two begin stripping there by the fire.

"Fetch me some water, Marko, and a hand cleanser," Chryse calls out, and her personal servant hurries to obey. Talonta continues to undress her Muhmis, being careful not to jar her ribs.

Marko has been holding his breath throughout the challenge, fearing the worst. Now that she's alive, and relatively unharmed, his heart sings with relief. He carries a container of water to her, and hands the hand cleanser to Talonta, as he bows low before his owner. She smiles at his bow, and strokes the ebony smoothness of his shaven head.

I stare at Carter, eyes wide. "She just tore that Nikateros guy's head off, Carter, like twisting a piece of bread off a loaf... Jesus, what have we gotten into?"

"I don't know. I feel like I don't know anything anymore, Mickey..."

That question haunts me for the rest of the night. Carter and I take turns sleeping, while one of us keeps an eye on Phil. His head wound concerns me; you never know how they're going to turn out. The boy seems coherent enough when he's awake, but in his sleep he mutters and prays in Japanese. I wish I knew more than good morning and thank you very much in the language, so I could whisper something to calm him in his sleep.

The night only gets wilder after the fight. Marko and the other two serfs drag the body of the male Draka off into the woods, and I hear sounds of digging. Soon, they return; Marko is carrying the bloodied black clothes of the dead man in one hand. His face is tear-stained, as are the faces of Heidi and Fela. Marko kneels by the side of Chryse, the Draka woman, who herself is kneeling between the splayed legs of... that thing... Talonta. Talonta is growling and groaning with delight at what the Draka is doing to her. When the two of them started, I couldn't look away... It's so erotic, but weird. I've never seen someone do some of the things they get to doing, too. Even if one of them is covered with leopard-like fur and has a long black muzzle and big fangs... and a tail that is obviously quite... handy.

I reach to touch the cool metal band around my forehead. Is it this that's keeping me so calm? I wonder what would happen if I just took it off? The metal slides, of its own accord, under my fingers, and I snap them away, chilled. Maybe it's better to leave it on for right now... My eyes go back to the figures by the fireside.

Barely pausing in her energetic motions, Chryse nods at the man kneeling by her. "Thank you, Marko. You did bury him deep enough, correct?"

The serf nods, his eyes wide and glazed. I realize he's about to faint with desire; the physical effect on the man is rather obvious. Chryse grins whitely, and chucks him under the chin, kindly. She looks down at him and them back to his eyes, and her smile widens. "Get the others to bed, and then come join us, Marko. You've been good today."

I feel Carter tugging at my sleeve, and I turn to him. "These folks are...weird."

"Yeah. You've got that right. Your turn to nap, though." His voice is kind, and I find myself liking Carter Hahn more and more. He has managed to keep his head on straight throughout this entire ordeal. As for me, I'm just trying to stay sane from moment to moment, hoping against hope that this is all a dream. When do I get to wake up? Is this all the result of that pizza I ate last night? The joke falls flat as I feel my stomach rumble, and I go curl up next to the sleeping bag that Phil's in.

The others, I notice, before falling into a light and uncomfortable nap, are quiet. Julie is buried in Billy's coat; no noise out of her. Billy is raptly observing the fun in the firelight. I think given half a chance, he'd be glad to be over there himself. Frank is sullenly staring into the fire, pointedly ignoring the goings-on just a few feet away. Like I believe that one, Frank. You'd have to be dead not to notice, I think sarcastically to myself. Sandy is over by a tree, kneeling, praying softly. She got loud right after the fight, but a snarl from Chryse nipped that in the bud. Now she's just mouthing words to herself, over and over, almost in a trance. Oh well, we all have our coping skills. Carter is looking up into the night sky, looking puzzled. As sleep wins over my nerves, I make myself remember to ask him what he's looking at when I wake up...

The ribs are knitting, I think, as I come awake in the cool of the morning, just before dawn; the fire has died down. I blink, feeling the warmth of Marko and Talonta on either side of me under the thinfilm blanket. The humans are all asleep, wrapped similarly from the aircar's supplies; good enough. Time to deal with them today, with Nikateros out of the way. His serfs—his former serfs, I suppose they're willed to some friend or relative—are inside the aircar, probably still stunned with grief. Poor little chattels; losing the only owner they've ever known is a hard blow.

I prod Talonta awake. "Up, sweet," I say. "Keep the fire going, and guard the camp. Keep the humans under control, but don't harm them. I'll be back shortly."

She yawns and stretches, wincing a little and letting her tongue loll in a kawtuh grin; I rode her hard last night, my beautiful shaggy pony-wench. One way of flushing the combat hormones out of your blood, and by far the most pleasant. Marko snores slightly; let him rest for a while.

The morning woods are chill, damp; leaves are beginning to fall, and there was frost last night. Scent lies well, and I pick up a trail quickly. The ribs slow me down a little, and I circle carefully to get upwind. I ignore the smaller prey that swarms here, rabbits, squirrels. I have to provide for ten, now, and all but Talonta with stomachs less versatile than mine.

Ah. There. A yearling whitetail doe, just awake herself, shaking dew from her spotted coat, looking around with huge dark eyes, ears flickering, taking an occasional lick at her coat. I freeze, eeling forward through the undergrowth only when the beast's attention is elsewhere. At last I am within arms' length, when a sudden shift in the wind gives it my scent. I pounce, grip head and nose, wrench. The beast kicks, voids, dies. I throw it over my shoulder and trot back towards camp, nose and eyes alert.

The others are stirring; Nikateros' serfs are about, red-eyed and silent. They're working with Marko, too; water boiling over the fire, and the appetizing smell of coffee, and instant grits steaming in a pan. There are only a few days emergency rations in the aircar, but they'll help eke out what I hunt and direct the serfs to gather. This is a rich wilderness; no problem in surviving for a few weeks, even if we won't be living in the lap of luxury.

I hang the deer from a limb and butcher it, set Marko to cooking; he's quite skilled, and there are a few utensils and condiments among the supplies. My belly growls, demanding fuel after the exertions of last night, and I wolf down the deer's liver and heart, and pounds of the grilled meat. The humans are hungry too... Probably haven't eaten in nearly a day. That done, I stand while Talonta and Marko wash me, and go over to the injured human. Hmmm. The first aid is keeping him stable, or improving slightly. He'll probably recover on his own, although I'd prefer to have a clinic scan him.

"Line up," I say to the humans when they've eaten. They do, looking at me with... fear, bewilderment... Ah, the stocky redheaded male is angry. I deactivate the controller circlets; they have to be themselves for this. They jerk a little, looking around with eyes that have lost the slight glaze of emotional suppression.

"You've had some hours to think about what I told you," I say in their language. "You're from a timeline where my people don't exist, and it's the twentieth century. I am from another history, that split off from yours two centuries before your 1997, and I am from five centuries further on in time as well. Some time ago on my personal world-line, we—the Draka —learned how to travel between timelines, but the process is expensive, experimental and uncertain. And, as we've all found out, making... moleholes... between the universes can case spontaneous accidents—that's why we can never have very many of them on any one line. The Prime Line has as many as it can take, or rather more. In three weeks or so, my people will be here to rescue me; it'll take that long to locate my beacon and drive a new molehole from a suitable null-line to here. From what I've seen, this continent is empty of sentient life, so we shouldn't be bothered."

"Now, since we're settled in and my colleague and I settled our differences—" I wolf-grin, and several of them shudder. "—there's time to deal with you."

"Will you send us back home?" one of them asks—the wench I captured first, Mickey. She falls silent as I stalk closer, and thrust my face close to hers.

"I... did... not... give... you... leave... to... speak," I bite out. She turns pale under freckles and her eyes grow enormous.

After a pause to let them reflect, "No, you will never return home. Silence!" as one of them begins to blubber. Again I pause. "We probably can't locate your home line; if we did, of course, we'd conquer it." Ironic. A Samothracian invention, giving us an opportunity to destroy the Yankees again and again. Despite the ribs, I'm feeling playful, good... The afterglow of triumph.

"You'll be taken back to the Prime Line or one of the Conquest Lines for disposition," I say, and watch the words slug into their minds. Or what passes for their minds; one or two of them are struggling with utter bewilderment.

"First, you have to make a choice. The same choice my people always present those they conquer. Do you understand?"

Slow, slow. I throttle back frustration. You have to learn that, if you don't want to end up like Nikateros.

"You have three choices. First choice. Kneel and pledge yourselves to me. That means you become mine; my saafn, my serfs, my slaves, my possessions, my tools, my playthings." I grin slowly and lick my lips. "You saw last night one way you'll... serve me. I'll keep those of you who please best, and give or trade the others. In any case, you'll live, and be treated quite well... as long as you submit absolutely."

"Second choice. Death. Chose death, and I'll kill you swiftly, with one blow."

"Third choice. Run into the woods, without tools or clothes. Run, and I'll give you, oh, six hour's start. Then I'll hunt you down, play with you, and kill you... not very quickly. And I'll enjoy that, tearing your hearts out with my hand and watching your eyes as you die."

"Now... choose!"

Billy surprises me by being the first to speak. "Listen, dammit, we're Americans, and you can't just—"

Chryse stalks over to him, eyes wide. "You don't understand, do you? There's no America here, just Draka law, Draka custom, Draka rule... Choose!"

He starts, and his mouth opens and closes. No one dares say anything... The silence builds, painfully.

"Fuck this. I'll choose the woods, bitch. And you might see the tables get turned, too..." Frank grinds out, voice steady, furious. His eyes flash at the Draka, and his arms tense.

"Fuck?... Oh, my pretty pony, I'll fuck you before I rip your lungs out... Strip first, though. No clothes, no tools, no toys. Shuck, pretty buck." At his momentary hesitation, she shouts, "Now!"

His body pale in the morning light, Frank sprints off into the woods, bare legs flashing. We watch him go; I'm still trying to convince myself this is really happening.

Billy speaks up again. "I'm going, too... you... you..."

Chryse rolls her eyes. "Just shut up, shuck, and go get ready to die, all right? Move."

Stumbling out of his designer jeans, expensive sweater, and underclothes, Billy covers himself with a hand, and charges off in the general direction of Frank. He soon starts yelling, and comes back. "Hey, I can't run barefoot. I want my shoes, damn you, bitch..."

Ssshhhiiinnngg-whunk. There's a collective gasp as Billy's head rolls lazily to a stop in front of Sandy. "Fetch me a rag... Some of those white garments, Talonta." The Draka cleans her arm-long sword, humming. "Next?"

Sandy, eyes bulging, slowly raises one hand. "Ma'am?"

"Yes?"

"May I pray, first?"

"Hmm-mmh." The Draka walks over to the middle-aged, matronly human, as the woman sinks to her knees and folds her hands. Eyes raised to the azure sky, she never sees the blow that crushes the side of her skull in, as she's in mid-sentence. Her body slumps to the ground, twitches galvanically, voids, and dies.

Chryse sighs, and looks at the rest of us. I'm turning green, trying not to get sick. Carter's gray-faced with shock. Phil's crying, softly, holding his head. Julie is...

Julie's stripping, ripping her clothes off in her haste. "Come on, guys, we've got to get to Frank... She's... She's psycho or something... I'm not hanging around..." Dropping the last of her clothes in a heap, she daintily runs off into the woods, following Frank's trail.

"Ah, she'll be a sweet one to bring down; I may let you have her, Talonta... How about the rest of you? The whole day awaits..." Chryse sheathes her layer knife, and walks over to me.

"I... I... don't want... I don't want to die," I whisper.

"No one does. Choose."

"How do I... I mean, I'll... I'll serve you. Please. I don't want to die." Tears trickle down my face, making the world into some sort of evil carnival fun house. The Draka stands before me, considering. She nods, finally, and says:

"Kneel to me, Mickey. Pledge yourself to me by placing your face on my boot. Now, if you want to live."

Oh, god, this is so weird... I can't believe it's happening... I sink to my knees, then drop my face down to one of her boots. I'm aware of the silence of my friends standing next to me, and wonder if they hate me for not running off into the woods, or asking for death now. My forehead rests on the black foot, and I wait, unsure of what happens next.

"It's done, then," Chryse smiles, and reaches down to touch my head. "Rise, Mickey d'Von Shrakenberg."

I'm confused. "I get a new name?"

Chryse chuckles. "More like changing your surname. That's formal acknowledgement that you're mine—mine personally, and my family's; of your obligations to me, and mine to you. You're part of my family now, in a way."

"You've got obligations to me?" I ask. I belong to someone? I think to myself, shocked.

"Yes, of course. I'll see that you're fed and cared for, disciplined if necessary, protected from danger, taught useful skills—generally speaking, that your life is happy and productive in a way suited to what you are," Chryse says conversationally, ignoring my shock. "In return, you now submit absolutely to me, human. My will is your own. I'm a predator, but you're not my prey any longer—I've caught you now, and you've chosen submission. I'm your protector; now you're mine, forever."

I look up at her, craning my neck to look her in the face, to see that she's not joking. Her eyes meet mine, steady, direct. "Up, now, wench. Stand over by the fire."

I climb to my feet, dusting off my knees and palms, and wander over to the fire, to wait uncertainly.

"I... uh, I'll serve you, too, ma'am..." Phil says, in a tiny voice. He begins to kneel as she walks over to stand in front of him, and he places his face on her boot. It's humiliating to watch; painfully humiliating to do. My heart aches, and tears continue to trace their paths down my face.

"Rise, then, Phil d'Von Shrakenberg, and serve me the rest of your days." Chryse says the words with the weight of ritual behind them, and points over at me as he gets shakily to his feet. "Over there, and wait. You may sit, if you prefer, Phil. I know your head is still giving you pain."

Carter's left alone with the Draka. She eyes him appraisingly, looking him up and down like a side of beef. "Well, Carter Hahn? Which is it?"

"I... it's so damn... I..." He coughs, clears his throat. "I'll serve you. Where there's life, there's hope. The ones in the woods don't have that, and I don't want to be butchered just yet." He sinks easily to his knees, following the ritual.

She stares down at him, a slight grin on her aquiline, high-cheekboned face. "It's permanent, you know. Try to change your mind once a serf, and the consequences are... gruesome, even if I do say so, myself. Are you sure, Carter?"

His head bowed, he silently nods yes, and touches her boot with his face, his glasses bumping up on his nose. "Yes, I know... I gathered that, ma'am. But death is just as permanent..."

"Wise boy-child you are, then. Rise, Carter d'Von Shrakenberg, and join my other serfs by the fire."

Chapter Five

I stand, shaken to my core, by the fire. Its embers glowing still, I enjoy the warmth from it in the chill fall morning in the mountains. The servants, the servus... they're busy, folding up blankets, cleaning plates, straightening things up. I shudder, watching, realizing this is my new job description. A shadow falls across one of my shoulders, and I spin, coming face to face with the... kawtuh, Chryse had called it. Her, I correct myself. The black, fanged muzzle hovers inches from my face, and then Talonta speaks:

"Remember, wench... Muhmis said I won't hurt you... as long as you obey, instantly... otherwise..." She smiles, lifting lips to bare her impressive, white, sharp teeth. I feel the threat, and my knees quiver, part of me wanting instinctively to fight or run like hell. I manage to look at the kawtuh's eyes, gold and black, and I nod. A tail, impossibly soft but strong, caresses the side of my face.

"Don't frighten her back into hysteria, silly wench. She... they all... need time to grow accustomed to you, especially, but to all of us and their new place in life." Chryse's voice soothes me somehow, and Talonta bobs her head, looking adoringly at her owner.

"All right. Now that we have the main thing taken care of, the disposition of you ferals, we have two bodies to bury and food to gather. Marko, I want you to be in charge of the camp while I'm gone; jump inside the aircar if anything remotely dangerous-looking comes by, and yell for me." The servant bows to her, and the rest of us wait to see what else the day has in store.

"Hmm... Talonta, Mickey, come with me. Take this satchel with you, human. The rest of you," the Draka woman catches each person's eyes as she says their names, "Heidi, Fela, Carter... will work in shifts to dig graves, bury the carcasses. Phil, stay here by the aircar, and help Marko if he needs anything. Marko, remember, Phil's ill. Right. Let's go, wenches..."

I jump a little, as her gaze burns across my face, and I blush. I jog over to where she and the kawtuh are waiting, and murmur, "Sorry... I didn't realize you were... I'm not used to being called a wench, that is..."

"I expect some adjustment delays, but don't push your luck, youngling. Let's go down this way," Chryse says, pointing down one of the hollers. "I can hear what sounds like a fairly good river. There will be fish, if we're lucky. I know there are berries, still."

"We have the deer you caught, too, Muhmis... Can I catch one today, too?" chitters Talonta, eyes flashing.

The clear, bell-like sound of the Draka's laughter rings through the forest, and I'm struck again by her sheer beauty. Beautiful and deadly... mesmerizing. I watch as she playfully tussles with the kawtuh, and they end up rolling into a wind-swept pile of leaves, laughing.

"Ah, my girl, my sweet... it's either food, hunting or mounting on your mind, isn't it?" Chryse stands, brushing leaves from her short, thick red hair. She extends a hand to her serf, and Talonta leaps to her feet, purring loudly.

"What else is there, Muhmis?"

We walk, then, down the hills into the narrow defile, looking for the river that I can now hear gurgling nearby. The trees arch over us, enclosing us under a canopy of brilliance. The yellows seem to predominate, with red coming in second. I'm careful not to step on poison ivy, which is growing luxuriantly along the floor of the forest, and up the sides of the huge, whispering trees. The cool breeze that trickles down to us from above helps keep us comfortable as we hike.

I notice how graceful, almost feline, both the kawtuh and the Draka appear as they walk ahead of me down the slope. I stumble occasionally, tripping over the odd root or rock, but they walk with a surety and grace I can't come close to imitating.

"She sounds like... like an elephant, Muhmis," says Talonta, glancing back at me as I slide down to where the two are standing, side by side. "Can't you be any quieter, human?"

"I'm trying..." I reply, brushing the hair out of my eyes. Despite the breeze, the last few yards downhill have been quite effective at bringing me out into a sweat, and it stings as it runs into my eyes. I rub them, and look beyond, at the river.

"She's not trained to it, Talonta. We are, born, bred and trained, as well. I didn't plan on taking any large game while she's with us, anyway. I thought looking for fish, berries, and what-not would be a good morning's exercise." Chryse smiles at me, even white teeth in a tanned, aquiline face.

Talonta flips her tail dismissively towards me, and sniffs, loudly. "I smell something like a bear, I think, Muhmis... Down there," she points, at the curve in the river's path below us.

"Hmmm..." Chryse inhales, pauses. "Not exactly... Not a bear; I'm not sure what it is. Mickey, stay close, and try to stay quiet. If I tell you to freeze, don't move until I tell you it's all right. Understood?"

I nod, eyes widening. I can't smell anything besides the leafy-green, sort of dusty scent of the woods around us, and I look around, trying to see what they're talking about.

Slowly, the three of us with Chryse in the lead, make our way to the banks of the rocky, tumultuous river. The roaring of the rapids below us, to our left, drowns out the birdcalls that have been echoing all morning from hill to hill. I stop, transfixed by the wild, rugged, pristine beauty of the scene.

"Muhmis, it's—"

I hear Talonta's warning snarl and then a hairy paw swats me into the bushes. I gasp for breath, trying to clear the stars from my eyes. I struggle to get out of the tangled vines and poking shrubs, only to turn to stone when I see what's knocked me there.

It's a huge creature, at least seven or eight feet tall; male; long red-brown hair hangs over its face, which has a brow like a Neanderthal. From under the ridge of bone, small eyes peek out, and its jaw hinges open to display teeth that are equals, if not longer, to Talonta's fangs. Matted fur covers its body, and its rank, musky scent makes me feel woozy.

"Gahh!!" I whimper, and burrow back into the bushes. Ice water seems to run in my veins, and I feel distinctly nauseous, more from the terror than the creature's rank smell. Trembling, heart pounding, I cower.

The Draka and the kawtuh come charging up the hill, spreading apart as they approach the creature. Oddly enough, I feel reassured by their presence... What? These are the aliens who made you choose... let you choose... life and slavery or death and nothing... and now they're reassuring to you? My mind whirls, confused, afraid.

The shaggy, smelly creature bellows and crouches, waiting. He spreads his hands, flexing long fingers, and stamps his huge feet on the forest floor. The rest of the surroundings have become deathly quiet, I notice from my uncomfortable perch in the rhododendrons.

As she reaches the creature, Chryse slams her fist into its midsection. His arms close around her, though, even while he screams out in agony, and he squeezes. She slams knees and hands against his broad chest, straining, arching her back against the pressure. He grunts as she slams her head into his face. A snarling ball of furred fury launches herself against his back, sinking her fangs into his neck, ripping. Her strong leopard-spotted, slender fingers are digging for eyes, yanking at his nostrils, and she's rewarded with a grunt of pain from the creature.

Talonta's rearward assault makes him lose his concentration for a moment, and that's all Chryse needs. Her arms and thighs bulge, muscles defined incredibly clearly under her black uniform, and his hold around her breaks. She drops to her feet, cat-balanced, and makes a spear of one hand. Thrusting it into the creature's abdomen, she wolf-snarls, deeply, frighteningly.

The creature, trying to scrabble Talonta off its back, is helplessly impaled by the spear-hand. Blood, dark red and thick, gouts from the wound, and he shrieks, voice going falsetto in his death cry. Falling backward, his body pins Talonta to the ground for an instant; she worms her way free with a sharp barking cry, and crushes the creature's throat with a kick. The body twitches; sphincters relax, and the stink of shit joins the coppery smell of blood in the clearing.

Chryse's head points to the clear blue, cloudless sky, and she shouts, a long, wordless exclamation of victory. Talonta's higher, more cat-like howl joins hers; the medley rings through the woods with a fierce wildness, a taut predatory joy, which scares the hell out of me. I crouch in the bushes, afraid to move.

Bringing her head back down, Chryse's startling blue-green eyes search for me. "Come out, Mickey, it's all over. Or do you need some help?" She gestures Talonta over to me, and a leopard-spotted, furry arm reaches in and plucks me out of the rhododendrons, depositing me on my feet near the body of the creature.

Chryse walks down to the river and washes her arm off; it's covered with a thick layer of blood and fluid from fingertips to shoulder. She pauses, and then strips the black uniform off, tossing it to one side. Her finely muscled, tanned body, legs and arms long and lithe, plunges without hesitation into the clear, fast-running mountain river with a splash.

The creature is crumpled into a pool of blood and... other things. I step warily around it, noticing its already glazed eyes are open, wide-looking into the sky. Talonta growls at the body, and follows me down to the river's edge.

"Ah, ma'am... What was that? I've never seen..." my voice trails off. I think to myself, Yes, I have seen something like that before... That video of a sasquatch that everyone sort of laughed at, in the early eighties, that's what it looks like, a bigfoot! My mouth drops open, and I look back at the prone body, wondering.

"What'd you call it? A sasquatch, bigfoot?" Chryse replies as she steps naked from the water, runnels making their way down her body.

I start, with fear a cold stone in my stomach. She can read my mind?

"No, I can't read your mind, Mickey, but I can hear what you say to yourself, what you subvocalize. Now, have you seen these creatures before, in your time line?" She squats down next to where I'm sitting, looking deeply into my eyes.

"Uh... Yes... Well, I've only seen video clips and even then, I wasn't sure they were real. That's real enough, though," I say, looking back over my shoulder. Flies are gathering around the blood, and the rank stench makes my mouth dry.

"Hmm... Well, good hunting here. Come on, let's move upstream from this; it smells awful. Are you all right, Talonta?"

"Yes, Muhmis, fine. I did lose a whisker back there, but I'm okay. Hey, human, you look kind of silly with all those leaves in your hair, like a hedgehog or something... Trying for natural camouflage?" Talonta laughs, red tongue lolling out.

I blush, and try to pick the leaves and twigs from the bushes out of my mop. Chryse joins the general chuckle, and comes over to help me. As she does, I am very, very aware of how close she is to me. Her perfume, or sweat, or something is making my knees feel like Jell-O, and I feel a blush creep down my face, my throat... She's looking at me like she looked at Talonta, and Marko, last night. After she killed that other Draka, Nikateros... She can't be wanting... Again...

"Mickey... Hmm, yes..." Chryse inhales, and then touches her lips to mine.

I stiffen, unsure of what to do. One instinct is telling me to "go for it", another is telling me "run for the hills and don't look back"! A tongue slips between my lips, and I gasp. She tugs my sweater loose, tossing it to where her black uniform lies crumpled; my jeans follow in short order, along with my underwear. The bra causes a slight delay, as Chryse examines it, smirking. Then it arcs over to the other clothes, and I stand naked, shivering, in the sunlight and Chryse's shadow.

Talonta grins at us, tail whipping back and forth. "May I help, Muhmis?"

Oh, god, what's happening? I whimper to myself, as Chryse hefts me suddenly over a bronzed shoulder in a fireman's carry. What's...oh, my god... Oh, my god!

Her fingers exploring me, Chryse laughs, and says, "Let's have a little picnic, Draka-style, down here by this meadow... Come on, Talonta, I think you can find something to do..."

I walk downslope; there's a sheltered little meadow, sunny, with soft-looking grass, quiet except for birdsong. The human over my shoulder moans and wiggles as I probe her with the hand that clamps her in place; she's responding well to the pheromones, but seems surprised consciously... Odd, I'd have thought she'd have expected this. I can scent her damp human muskiness, strongly, and Talonta's more gingery odor; she's dancing with delight — a fight and sex, all in one morning. Well, so am I, I think happily. The brief bloody scramble with the... thing... has left me feeling better, relaxed and hungry at the same time, but with combat hormones still singing in my blood. This world will be a wonderful field for colonization, and hunting preserves; my status has just taken a quantum leap, even if the discovery was a bit... accidental.

And we do have the deer carcass; that'll last us for a day or two, and there will be nuts and berries to gather on the way back. I'll spend a few hours pleasuring myself with Mickey, exploring her reactions. I think she'll be a good mount, with a little training, once she's settled down. Different from a servus, at least.

That... creature was interesting, too. "Some sort of hominid," I say, as I put Mickey back on her feet. She nearly buckles, looking up at me with enormous eyes. "They'd make excellent game; ugly and smelly, though."

"Wha... wha..." Her heart is hammering. "What are you going to do to me?"

I laugh indulgently and take her chin in thumb and forefinger; my other hand roves. Yes, humans were like this... "Isn't it obvious?" I say. "We three are going to... what's the English equivalent of saav'cmeh's... have sex? Fuck?" I frown a little; none of those are exact translations. "Literally, you two are going to serve my pleasure, but don't worry, you'll be getting a fair bit yourself."

Talonta purrs. "You're not bad looking, human... This is going to be fun. Bet I can make her yell, muhmis."

"And she make you howl," I say; then I take Mickey in my arms and kiss her again, enjoying the feel of her body against mine. She's trembling and subvocalizing in a continuous babble. I pick out a few words of it...

"You're my saafn, Mickey," I say patiently into one ear, sliding my tongue in after the words, kneading her back, stroking her down, moving against her. "I own you, and I use you at my pleasure." She has pleasantly good muscle tone, especially in the buttocks and thighs. "And Talonta's earned a treat too. Don't be a silly wench; this is the pleasantest part of serving, isn't it?"

"Mmmm, she smells a little different from a servus," Talonta says, and nips Mickey delicately on the back of her neck. The kawtuh's tail reaches around and strokes the human; face, throat, breasts, belly, between her thighs.

My hands and lips follow, and I bear Mickey down to the soft fine grass, letting her feel my weight and gasp against it, feel my strength that pins and moves her, watching the pheromones and sensations overcoming her confusion, filling her senses and self with me. After an enjoyable while I rise to my knees. "We call this," I say, grinning down at her flushed, bewildered face as I straddle her, "riding the pony. Now..." I run a thumb over her trembling lips; she's getting the pheromones in a massive dose "...play pony for me, Mickey."

I link fingers behind her head and settle myself with a comfortable motion of my hips. I can hear Talonta purring behind me, nipping, stroking with those agile six-digit hands of hers... and there's always the tail.

Carter scrubs the dirt from his hands, prying it from under fingertips. He tries not to make the blisters any more sore than they are already, but that fails; he closes his eyes and hums tunelessly as he washes the clinging clay off. The graves are deep enough, that's for sure, he thinks to himself, and watches as the two serfs, Heidi and her brother Fela lower the bodies, the headless Billy and the equally dead and limp Sandy into the grave, and begin to cover them with spadefuls of dirt.

I wonder how Mickey's getting along, he mused to himself, trying to block out the "tumps" of dirt covering the bodies of his classmates. Straightening up, he stretches sore muscles, and looks up into the bright blue, cloudless sky. The sunlight pours down through the overarching canopy of branches, the fall colors making it seem like a carnival. "Need any help?" He asks the servus, who stop what they're doing to stare at him, blankly.

"Ah, that's right, you can't understand me... Help, you know, need any—" here he mimes shoveling, "help?"

Heidi looks to her twin brother, perplexed. Fela smiles at the human, and replies, in Talk, "I don't know what you're saying, but you're a handsome devil, you are..."

Heidi's giggle makes Carter blush, as he guesses the implications, if not the actual meaning, of what Fela has just said. He grins back, and links his fingers, popping the knuckles. "Um... Whatever. I'm going to clean off down by the stream here, guys..."

Carter ambles slowly down to the stream, a rushing, gurgling mountain freshet, with water clear and startlingly cold. Perching in the sun, on a boulder, he takes a moment to himself, for thought. It doesn't seem like it's only been a day or so since... since everything's happened... Can't believe the Prof's dead; he was such a great guy. Can't say as much for Billy, but I'm sorry he's dead, too, and Sandy.

Stretching out on the nubbly surface of the granite rock, his thoughts continue: Mickey's a great girl; wonder what she thinks of me? I mean... well. Better to just let things happen, I guess, than try to push them. I wonder what will happen to us... What will happen to Frank, and Julie... Those Draka, man! They are some strange dudes. Or were, I guess. Now it's just one of them... That fight happened so fast. She tore his damn head off like something out of a slash and gore movie fest. Never seen anything like that. And she's so... so beautiful. I can't help myself when she's near me. Man... when she was on top of me in the woods, it was all I could do to talk... Guess with all the blood rushing elsewhere, it's hard to concentrate on other things...

Carter sits up, stripping off his sweat-soaked shirt. He hears a pair of giggles behind him, and twists around to see who or what it is, sudden fear bringing goosebumps to the surface of his fair-skinned, lithe body. Heidi and Fela, naked, are standing there, watching him with broad smiles.

"Uh, guys... Going for a swim or something?" Carter manages, and drops his shirt into his lap, trying to cover up the lingering evidence of his memories of Chryse on top of him. His face burns crimson, and he clears his throat, uncertainly. He gestures toward the water with a wave of an arm, and the twins nod, bobbing white-blonde heads in unison.

"Uh, well, you go ahead..." How do I tell them anything, he wonders, and makes a scooting motion with his hands, toward the water. He finds himself returning their bright smiles; an odd tingle runs through his body. "Go ahead into the water... I'll be right behind you..."

Heidi whispers to her brother, behind one hand: "Look how excited he is... This will be fun!"

"Fun indeed, sister mine... Come on, last one in the water's a damnyank!" Fela sprints toward the stream, and bounces into a pool of water formed in the crook of its meandering path. "Ooooo! Cold! Come on in, it feels great!"

Heidi follows more slowly, making sure Carter notices every sway of her full, tanned hips. He eyes her, and then blushing, looks away, into the trees. "Coming... Hey, no fair! Don't splash me!"

"What have I gotten myself into, with these two wild children?" Carter says out loud, and climbs off the boulder, still holding his shirt in front of him. My, ah, problem hasn't gotten any... less noticeable; maybe the cold water will help, he thinks, walking toward the splashing twosome. Dropping his shirt and shorts by the waterside, he quickly wades in, breathing deeply as the cold washes over him.

Fela swims over, and begins stroking Carter's broad shoulders from behind. Heidi approaches him from the front, laughing delightedly, and reaches a bold hand out to cup him, gently. Carter gasps in shock, and tries to backpedal; he bumps into Fela, and is immediately made aware of Fela's state of happiness. "Oh, man, hey... um, really, uh, Miss, please... hey, dude, I... ah, that is... oh. Oh."

The morning passes in the sunlight-dappled creek, laughter and cries of pleasure echoing from the rocks and trees surrounding them...

I slowly sit up, becoming more aware of myself and my surroundings. Chryse lays next to me, the deep tan of her skin glistening in the sunlight. She smiles at me, long and slow; her eyes, startling in their blue green circles, hold mine with an amused look. "Awake, youngling?"

"Um... Yes." I blush, and sit up all the way, covering myself by wrapping my arms around my knees. "That was... different."

"Hmm... Enjoyable. Talonta certainly enjoyed herself, and the two of you did a fine job pleasuring me. You need more practice, though. Certainly won't mind giving it to you, either." Chryse springs to her feet, leopard-graceful, and looks down toward Talonta, who's snatching a trout from the river's splashing current.

"Look, Muhmis, another one!"

"Yes, very good, Talonta! That will be enough, I think." Turning to me, the drakensis grins. "Now we need some berries for dessert. I saw some blackberries a bit up the trail, the way we came down. Let's get things together here and go back towards camp, wench. Come on, Talonta, and bring the trout."

I stand, looking for my clothes, and watch as Talonta jogs up toward us, eight or nine trout strung on a piece of cord. "Wow! Those are huge!"

"Mmmh-hmm! Tasty, too," replies the kawtuh, her tongue caressing her whiskers. "Already ate two; Muhmis ate three while you slept. You're a sleepy head, that's for sure."

Her accent is odd, but I can understand what she says if I listen carefully. "How do you know my language so well, if it's not the one y'all speak?"

"I know it because Muhmis downloaded it to my transducer; she knows it because she's an Overlord." The great, cat-like gold and black eyes flash amusement at me, and her tail strokes my back.

I shiver, both with the fear of the unknown and with desire... I was shocked when Talonta joined Chryse and me, on the grass, but the shock wore off, to be replaced by arousal. I touch my hand to the silver band Chryse had replaced on my forehead before we left camp, and wonder. "Oh. Just wondering."

"Yes, you seem quite the... curious one. And you're actually fun, as a mount. I had my doubts, to be honest. But you were enjoyable... You do need more training, though. I hope Muhmis will let me help!" Talonta gooses me, and I let out a tiny shriek.

"Hey, you two, let's get dressed and on our way back to camp. We have lots of time for play, wenches. Lots of time. Come on," Chryse calls, and we both hurry over to where our clothes and things are piled.

I dress quickly, very aware of their eyes enjoying me; a blush rises again as I remember the things we had done in the sunny morning, down by the river. I hadn't even thought of some of those positions, I mentally wonder, and when Chryse held me upside down, and then... My body quivers at the memory. I look up, aware of her presence, and she chucks me kindly under the chin.

"We'll have plenty of time for more of that," Chryse whispers to me, eyes drinking me in. "Pick up the satchel, and let's go find those berries. The fish won't keep too long without a cooling unit, and I want to get them back to the others. Hmm?"

Nodding, I pick up the satchel and follow her up the trail. The stench from the dead... whatever... is really bad, and a storm of flies rises from his body as we pass. "Have to bury that, soon, or just fry it with a shot from one of our guns, Talonta," comments Chryse, making a face as we hurry by.

"RRrrrrttttt... You're right, Muhmis. It's awful. I thought it smelled bad when it was alive, but now it's worse. Phew!" Crinkling her black muzzle up, Talonta nudges me on, past the crumpled form in the weeds.

I'm holding my breath as we go past it, and don't breathe again until I hope we're well away from the odors. Letting my breath out in a rush, I gasp, "Man! That's pretty bad. I wonder if that was a Bigfoot. It sure looked like one, pictures I've seen... Do you think there are more, Chryse, ma'am?"

"That's 'muhmis' to you, or 'muhmis Chryse', Mickey. Yes, if there's one like that, there may be others. Like I said, good hunting. It was surprisingly strong, actually. I don't think they'd make good eating, though. Too tough. 'Bigfoot' is a good name for it." She smiles, taking the sting out of her correcting words, and cups my chin in a tanned, strong hand.

"You have a lot to learn, wench, so don't be so shy. And if you're not sure about something, ask. I don't mind, and the others will be glad to help. The adjustment will take some time, but you're well on your way. It will be all right, Mickey, as long as you do what I say. Hmm?"

I nod, my eyes drawn to hers. "I'm... I'm trying. It's all so... weird. So different. I mean, we were on a University camping trip, for the biology seminar class... and now all this? It's making my head hurt to think about it, ma'am... uh, muhmis..."

"I'll adjust the controller band a bit when we get back to camp. It doesn't control your thoughts, just your emotional... output. Don't worry." She turns, takes my hand in hers, and leads us up the ridge.

I stretch and sigh as I walk back into the camp. My new serf Carter has been busy, I see; the fire brought down to a hot bed of coals, and a couple of grills of green branches to use over it; venison is smoke-cooking on a tripod of saplings. All the chores have been taken care of, and... I take a deep breath.

"Well," I say. "You and Heidi and Fela have been having a good time while I was away, I can smell."

Carter blushes and starts, and I chuckle. "Ah, yes, it slipped my mind. Servus are pretty nose-blind too, but they know about us... in your terms, I have a sense of smell about like a wolf's or a dog's. It isn't that you didn't wash."

I take out the controller remote and turn their bands down a notch. "There... I'll be easing you off these in the next week or two. Just remember to remain calm and cultivate proper serfish resignation. Hmmm... Heidi! Fela! Marko!"

The three servus come to me, the two who used to belong to Nikateros a little shy with me. "Sit, and don't be startled. I'm going to download these newcaughts' language to you." That will give them some basic fluency immediately. And I must get the humans fitted with transducers and imprinted with Talk as soon as we get back.

"I think I'll keep you both," I say to Carter. "If you're as good a mount as Mickey. Help her and Talonta get these trout cleaned, and we'll have lunch."

Carter grills the trout over the fire under Marko's supervision; evidently he's cooked over open fires before. Mickey sits cross-legged and sorts the berries, floating them in a basin of water to help get out bits of leaf and twig. The food — trout, berries, venison, more of the reconstituted grits — ranges from excellent to bearable. Over it I question the humans about their timeline and their lives. A delectable target, if we could trace back to it, but by the time the rescue team gets here it will be essentially unfindable. A great pity; we have to be very cautious with the search patterns across time. Too much risk of discovering the prospective deer is a tiger itself. If only the process weren't so random!

"Uh, ma'am... Muhmis... What do, ah, servus do back on your Prime Line?" Carter asks, pushing the glasses up his nose with one finger.

I lean back on an elbow, throwing bones into the fire, pleasantly replete. "I'll have to get your eyes corrected as soon as we get back. Servus? Hmmm... Well, personal service of all types — sweeping, cooking, making beds, serving our pleasure in the beds, or wherever else." I grin. "You'll find we drakensis are a rutty lot; it goes with aggressiveness. Most servus spend their lives working the land as well—we don't use much machinery for that, from, mmmm, cultural reasons—tradition. And they serve as infosystem techs, ecologists, machine supervisors, artists, museum curators, that sort of thing. Or running small enterprises like restaurants. Servus wenches brood for us—carry our fertilized ova in their wombs, then nurse the drakensis children. We Draka rule, manage our estates, fight—each other, when there's nobody else!—officer ghouloon troops —"

"Retards," Talonta mutters. English is remarkably fluent in insults directed at someone's intelligence, I suppose because there are are so many people inherently rather than willfully stupid among its speakers. She drops back into Talk to finish, and kawtuh are already developing their own dialect of that: "Butt-faces, stinkards. Ghouloons, erreiiikkich"

"-or kawtuh, now, explore space and other timelines, colonize, oversee administration, run our politics."

"Muhmis..." Mickey this time. "What will we do?" Wouldn't like farming much, she subvocalizes. Carter is wondering if he could do ecology or genetics.

"I'll find you both something," I say. "Besides serving pleasure—you're both quite pretty, but not enough to make a career of that, not with humans becoming reasonably common again since we've conquered a couple of inhabited timelines. There's always my estates, and I'll have you tested for aptitudes. Our educational methods are much more rapid than yours."

I stretch again, stand, carefully take the scents. "I'm going to go track down... What were their names? Frank and Julie."

"What... Muhmis, what will you do with them?" Mickey asks.

"Just what I said: kill them," I say. She and Carter both turn a little pale. "They had their choice and took it."

"Ah... muhmis —" Mickey steels herself. "I don't think Julie really understood this was real."

"She will before the end," I grin. "And Mickey... that's an allowable question." I walk over, upend her over one knee, clamp her hands with my left. Two swift slaps on her jean-clad buttocks bring a startled yelp and a pleasant wiggle—pleasant for me, at least. "Any more would be impudent, and you'd get a real spanking... for the first offense."

Standing, I go on: "Keep the campfire going. I may not be back until after dark; if anything remotely dangerous-sounding approaches, get in the aircar and dog the hatch. You'd be quite safe there, but I doubt any local animals are going to dare the fire."

I turn and lope into the forest, with Talonta. It is four hours or so to sundown, and the weather is warm for these latitudes at this time of year. The forest swarms with the scent of life; more deer, raccoons, wild turkeys — I note where, they'll be good eating at this time of year, fat with nuts and insects and berries — the scat of a cougar, bear-tracks. Those might be good hunting too. I'll make myself a spear tomorrow; that's about enough of an equalizer.

On through the glades between the great trees, in the shifting dapple of their shade. My gut tightens as the humans' scent freshens. There's a little blood in it, from their feet, and where thorns and branches scratched their tender skins. After a half-hour of steady trotting I come to a little stream. Talonta whines frustration, and I clamp a hand around her muzzle.

Think, wench, I say via transducer. if you wanted to throw off a scent, what would you do?

She lays her ears and fur flat in embarrassment; I must keep in mind she's only sixteen. We part, she wading upstream, I down. After fifteen minutes I hear her high, yipping howl and turn back. The humans have tried to hide where they emerged from the stream; quite clever, if you didn't know about our scent-keenness. They climbed directly from the water to the overhanging branch of a poplar, and from there branch to branch for nearly twenty yards. I reach upward and swing myself onto the branch; it creaks when Talonta joins me. She's about the weight of a medium-sized human, but I mass half again as much as a human of my dimensions. I examine the bark carefully. Several hairs caught in it, and a trace of blood.

The scent makes my heart pound faster, and I am conscious of the pheromones I'm emitting. This time there is no need to control them, the scents of rut and killing-lust; I snarl, a soft guttural sound. Talonta echoes me, her tail lashing and lips curled back from white teeth, drooling a little. Her eyes are bright and her fur bristles.

"Ooooh," she breathes. "Close, close... This is going to be fun. Can I play with one of them? I've never had time to really play..." She chitters longing and snaps her jaws shut with a bone-on-bone click. "I was careful with Mickey, muhmis, I was good. Nothing more than a nip! I don't want to bite her anymore, but parts of humans look so... so biteable. Mmmm. First make them—"

Kawtuh are the best hunt-servants, I think. Mostly because we gave them many of our own instincts... I grip her by the scruff of the neck and kiss the fanged mouth to silence her eager chatter.

"Yes," I grin at her. "I'll take and kill the male first, Frank. Then, my sweet, you can play with Julie for a while, for my amusement. There's no hurry. Now, quiet, and let's go."

I signal with a hand, and she follows in my track. But there's a small voice that whispers alertness to me; perhaps the trick with the creek. I hear the rustling click and throw myself flat. A great stone wrapped in vines swings through the space I occupied. No tripwire, so...

"Wait for me, Frank!" I shout, laughing, my ears cocked forward, tracking his panting breath and the snap and rustle of his feet in the forest undergrowth. "I have something for you!"

The silence around the camp seems leaden. I push my hair back from my face and wish for the millionth time that I hadn't gotten up to go on the biology field trip. So many eons ago—but only two days? It doesn't seem quite right, somehow—not possible. The earth beneath my feet, the scent of the cedar wood in the crackling fire, Carter's voice—all these tell me it is. I have to deal with it somehow. Sighing, I turn back to Phil and Carter.

"Guys, we just have to deal with this shit. It's real; this is real. Julie made a... mistake... thinking it wasn't. So did Frank, and the others. And Frank and Julie will be joining Sandy and Billy—dead. There's nothing we can do."

"Can't we run away?" Phil's voice is frightened. Then again, we all are.

"To where? There's nothing out there, man. Nothing but woods, and predators like bears and that thing Mickey saw. And her," Carter grimaces. "Someone so beautiful, so strong—but she's deadly. She kills like we'd swat a mosquito."

"That's right. Phil, we can't run away; there's nowhere to run to. If we tried, she'd just hunt us down, too. And I don't want to... to... die," I try very hard to keep a steady voice, but it cracks on the last three words, wavering between tears and outrage. I cup my head in my hands, sinking down to my knees.

"None of us really wants to die, sweetheart. It's okay. We'll survive, somehow, some way... shhhh, now," Carter whispers, hugging me tightly. I feel an unaccustomed rush of warmth toward him, and shiver. Oh, great, I think, now the gay gal's falling for the handsome male lead. Wonderful. Hormones, shut up!

Phil whimpers, perched on his sleeping bag bed. Both Carter and I get up and walk over to where the slight Japanese boy sits, and join him. I put my arms around him and squeeze; Carter pats his back a bit awkwardly. It's hard for men to show affection for each other, unless they're lovers, I muse, and chuckle a little. Even in the weirdness we're in, our socialization still shows up clearly.

"I don't want to die, either, guys," Phil says, enveloped in our arms. "That's why I said... I chose... does that mean I'm awful?"

"No. It means you chose life. That's it. We don't have time here and now for fierce patriotic speeches or philosophical debates. When it comes down to the line, you choose, and live, or die, with the results. That's it, man." Carter's voice is firm, reassuring. I wish I truly felt that way, too, I think. But my will to live was just stronger than my urge to die, this time...

A branch crackles, and Julie sniffles. Frank told me to stay here, under a thicket of rhododendron, down by another stream, but he's been gone so long, she thinks to herself. What if he's not coming back? What will I do? My hair's a mess, my nails...

Forty yards away, Frank crouches, waiting, with the short spear he's fashioned. Wooden, about four feet long, made out of some hardened driftwood he found by the stream, he can't wait to plunge it into the red headed bitch that's hunting them. We'll see who the hunter is, you motherfucker, he whispers to himself, and his hands tighten on the smooth wooden shaft. We'll see...

Talonta comes slowly out of the tree line, her head held high, nostrils flared. Here they are, Muhmis, she sends through her transducer. Can I... They smell so afraid, mmmhhh... Can I? She freezes in place, her fur blending in with the surrounding multicolored foliage. Her feet stir some dust up, and she almost sneezes from the autumn-scented cloud that rises about her ankles. A fist at the end of her sensitive black muzzle stops the sneeze before it escapes, and she waits, impatient, for her owner to answer.

Not yet, youngling. Wait for my command, and then you can have the girl. If she bolts, you can run her down. Remember, they break so easily—don't ruin her too soon. Spoil the fun. Chryse grins, the movement of her lips and eyes the only sign that she is not carved from stone. The sun beams down into the glade, and she waits, deciding how to kill Frank. Such a brave and stupid little human, Chryse thinks, as her heart thuds with kill-lust. I'll have fun, too...

Chapter Six

Frank is glaring out from his thicket, down his own back-trail. Quite an effective strategy, against someone at his own level of sensory acuity. I walk silently toward his back, letting my pheromones drift down the wind to him. I can hear his heart speed from its rapid tattoo with his response, see him shift in bewilderment.

"Waiting for someone?" I say, and stroke the back of his neck.

He screams, jumps a good meter and a half into the air — I wouldn't have though a human of his stocky build capable of it — and whirls, lashing out with the wooden spear. I jump back ten feet or so, landing crouched and laughing.

"Aren't you going to kill me with your little stick?" I say. "Or do you have something else in mind, Frank? Do you think you're going to ravish me?"

He glances down, then screams and charges. Remarkable speed for a human, I think; I twist aside and give him a resounding smack on the buttocks. He stumbles, nearly falls. When he turns, his face has gone purple, and there is no sanity in his eyes. Veins writhe in his neck, and there is foam on his lips; he tosses aside his spear and charges again.

I meet him halfway, and our hands slap together palm to palm. His teeth snap for my throat, and I clench my hands. Surprisingly, he actually pushes me back two steps in the scuffling leaves; we weigh about the same. I've never felt or imagined a human could be this strong — it must be the amok, the berserkergang, that I've heard of.

The scent of his fury brings my own to the surface; that he dared to defy me. I grip him in a bear-hug, trip him, fall on him. The shock of that seems to break the trance, and awareness returns. He grunts and heaves, trying to throw me off, but I hold him pinned with knees and hands.

"No — no — get off me, you bitch!" he shouts.

"Remember what I said I'd do to you, Frank?" I ask, my face above his, watching the blood pulse in his cheeks as he strains against the steel of my grip. "I'm going to do it... All of it."

I mount and take him with a single rough slam of my hips, giving a snarling shout of triumph at the feel of seizing and enclosing him, holding him trapped. My hands clamp on his throat as I begin to ride him, in a rustling of leaves and crackling of twigs, a rhythm that grows and hastens. His scream is long and hoarse and despairing, nearly as loud as my shrieks of triumphant pleasure. I begin to tighten the fingers, slowly, carefully...

He regains consciousness later, held up against the oak with a hand under his chin. I let him become fully aware before I give him a light kiss on the lips.

"You were a good mount, Frank," I say playfully. Then I let him see my spear-hand. "A good piece of ass, in your dialect. But now—"

I draw it back carefully and then thrust up under his breastbone with a single hard slam. Tissue parts under the blow, and I feel his life pulsing against my hand as it burrows and thrusts. Mouth and eyes go open as one in a near-soundless squeaking gasp. I feel blood spurt over my stomach and thighs, spatter my breasts and face, lick the taste off my lips; the pleasure as intense as the mounting of him, and that was something I'd not done since the Final War. Talonta dances around me, fur bristling.

"Plleeeeeaaase!" she croons.

"All right," I growl, ripping him wider.

Her muzzle darts into the red-pink-bone mass, burrowing eagerly beside my fingers. She braces her hands on the human's body, arching her back and worrying eagerly. I think his eyes saw the heart emerge in her teeth, spattering more as she whipped her head from side to side to wrench it loose from gristle and veins.

We let the body drop to the leaves. The smells are still meaty and attractive, but it will start to stink soon. I turn my head, and Talonta's blood-slick muzzle follows the gesture, tongue licking her nostrils clean as she takes the wind.

"Juuulieeee!" she calls. "We're coming for you, Julllllieee!" and chitters laughter. To me: "Think she saw much, muhmis?"

"Glimpses," I laugh. "Enough."

We trot downhill, under huge poplars that shade out most undergrowth, then into the stream, splashing each other free of blood, caressing.

"You course her," I say indulgently to my kawtuh. "Remember, slowly this time."

She darts forward into the rhododendron thicket, eeling through spaces where I might have had to force passage. I hear a shrill scream and a tremendous thrashing as I trot upslope, around the bushes.

Julie emerges from the thicket on her hands and knees, scrambles to her feet, runs with all the speed in her, swaying from side to side as she dodges. Talonta follows, tongue lolling in mirth. I speed to a lope as she springs onto the human's back and brings her down. Another scream as the kawtuh bites her on the buttock, enough to draw blood but not to really injure. Good, I laugh to myself. She's learning patience. The human flips herself over, pushing, kicking. Talonta gives a chittering kawtuh giggle and laps at her face and neck with a long mobile tongue, and Julie's face is working with horror at the fanged muzzle snapping close to her eyes and throat. The prehensile tail tucks forward and her shrieks take on a new note of mindless fear and raw outrage.

Talonta lets the human wiggle free, to prolong the chase. Julie surprises me; she runs towards me, arriving seconds before the kawtuh. She throws herself down and grabs at my ankles.

"Please... Please!" she blubbers. "Help me, please."

Oh, damn. I sigh and hold up a hand.

"No, no, muhmis, I was just getting started!" Talonta wails. "I wanted to hear her scream like the male did!"

I reach down and grab the human by her hair. "You want to change your mind?" I say, snarling. Julie's eyes are bottomless pools of terror, but she's holding on to enough rationality to nod, frantically. Just enough. Probably my pheromones are piercing the fog of panic a little, as well; I'm not making any effort to restrain them right now—also for the first time in four centuries or more. I check my own scent; lust, with aggression-fear a very close second, but Frank has taken a little of the edge off me.

Kill-rage bubbles deep; I curse the Ancestors who made the reflex to spare the submissive so strong. But we're sentient beings, not instinct-machines. It will take more than a phrase to earn this wench her life back.

"Say it."

"I'll serve, I'll do anything... I heard Frank die... Please anything but that, please."

"Anything, Julie?" I snarl-whisper, my face almost touching hers. "Forever?"

"Yes, please, just don't hurt me. I'll be good, I'll be a good girl, really I will."

"Oh, Julie, you've been a bad wench. I'm afraid you have to be punished, and that will hurt. Then, maybe, if you obey, you can live. Hmmm?"

She nods, swallowing. I turn her around, holding her by the back of the neck in a clamp-grip as she kneels, stooping over her.

"That's Talonta; my serf, but a very favored serf. You're disappointing her. She was looking forward to playing with you and then ripping out your heart. She wants to hear you scream."

I signal with my transducer. Talonta relaxes, shrugs, smiles. She leans back against the oak-tree behind her, grips the bark, opens her legs, her tail waving an invitation. I push Julie forward between her thighs, knees shuffling in the leaves; the kawtuh is more than ready for this, too, scenting of cinnamon and musk. A thrust of the open hips, a demanding gesture—the little minx must have learned that from me.

"I could snap your neck in an instant," I growl in her ear. "Now show me how you obey. Hesitate, and you die. Understand me? You're getting a second chance. There is no third."

She nods, whimpers and obeys, her hands fumbling for a hold on the kawtuh's hips through the wet fur. Talonta's chirring moan of pleasure rises into the night. I kneel behind the human, reach down and part her thighs. The pheromones are working on her, and she gives a galvanic shudder and muffled astonished cry as my hands move in a rough probing; the same spear hand that killed Frank... with more restraint. So far.

Lucky wench, I think. Lucky enough to do the one thing that could have kept her alive. But she may regret it in the next couple of hours. The memory of her defiance is fresh, and anger still remains perilously balanced close to killmode... perilously for the human, that is.

Either way, I will take what I need this night. And Talonta will hear screams enough.

Mickey, Mickey—what have you gotten yourself into, girl? I rinse the last of the lunch plates in the stream, and stacking them, walk back to the camp. At least they're feeding us... I shiver at the memories of the last few days. I wonder if I can make it through all this without going mad...

There's a rustle in the brush a few feet from me, and Julie emerges, looking stunned and disheveled. Talonta and Chryse follow, silently; Talonta's tail is touching the young woman's shoulder, and she's shivering visibly. But she's alive, I think, and wave hesitantly at the threesome.

"Oho! Here's a human who didn't have to go through all the... stress... you just went through, Julie, my wench," says Chryse, in a semi-friendly tone. "Must have had a more restful night last night than you did, eh, Talonta?" The Draka beckons me over to them and I hurry over, carrying the plates. The kawtuh and the Draka are laughing, softly, as Julie shivers.

"We saved lunch for y'all... But we went ahead and ate..." I say, coming up to them. Chryse smiles and nods. I look over at the transgene, who's eyeing me with something of an air of speculation. Or hunger, I think, and feel goosebumps erupt all over me. Julie merely stands, shaking, staring down at the ground, a blank expression on her face. I notice bite marks on her neck, and her top's ripped; she's holding it together by crossing her arms.

"Is... she okay? I mean, after what you said, ah, Muhmis... um..."

Chryse throws her head back and laughs, the silken-brass sound echoing through the woods around us. The tendons in her neck stand out clearly under her tanned skin, and I'm struck by the Greek goddess-like beauty of this stranger. "Oh, she's fine... in more ways than one. She's... made a decision not to die just yet. Serving's better, isn't it, wench?"

Julie nods, and Talonta growls, ever so slightly. The plump young woman startles, and frantically nods her head, fear straining her features. "Oh, yes... Yes, ah, Muhmis, Sera Talonta... yes..."

My god, what'd they do to her, I think to myself, and Chryse's eyes lock onto mine. I gasp involuntarily as she moves smoothly, incredibly quickly, to within inches of me, her arms gripping mine near my shoulders. Her grasp is like steel, and I feel her hands clench slightly, enough to bring tears to my eyes.

"What'd we do to her? Oh, we were a bit rough, but not too... you'll learn all about what we did with this wench, Mickey, my saafn, tonight... or maybe right now, in fact..." She chuckles, taking one hand and stroking down my chest, cupping my breasts one after the other... I gasp again, stiffening, trying to pull away, and she purrs. The sound shocks me as much as what Chryse's doing, and then her lips are on mine, tongue seeking, probing. She tastes like no one I've ever kissed; there's an indescribably erotic tang to her, and I feel my knees weaken.

Oh, gawd, what's happening? She's... my thoughts trail down to nothing, as sensation overwhelms me. I hear Talonta's deeper purr behind me, and the plates fall unheeded to the grass, as do my clothes... hands and paws caress me, and the afternoon blurs in a haze of arousal too intense to be borne for long.

We walk back to the camp, with me in the lead, Julie following, and the two hunters after us. I am in shock after being 'had' there in the grassy glade; I felt more passion and yet more fear than I've ever felt in my life, and I don't know what to think about it. It's like having a car wreck, almost; the moment when you realize how close you just came to being a spot in the road... The queasy, hot feeling churning through me, compared to the ice-cold fear I've been carrying...

"Hey, Mickey, we were wondering..." Carter's voice trails off as he reads my shocked expression and then sees Julie. He comes to his feet smoothly and trots over to us, hugging me first. He reaches for Julie, but she shies away, shivering. He frowns, and looks over her head toward the Draka woman and her kawtuh, coming up behind us. "Julie! Wow! Hey, great to... What's wrong with Julie?"

"Nothing. She's just a little tired, as your friend Mickey is. They're good mounts, both of them. Mickey's a bit more experienced, certainly." Smiling, Chryse walks over to the log we'd set up as a trestle for lunch, and digs into a sandwich with gusto. Talonta stalks over after her, and picks out some meats, carefully stuffing them past her white, gleaming fangs. "Fine mounts, but we rode Julie a bit harder, last night..."

"Mickey?" Carter's face is full of alarm, and concern. "Mounts? Does that mean—"

"Yes. Listen, I'm all right, I think...just give me a few minutes, okay? Just to be quiet," I murmur, and sink down by the crackling fire. Phil's sitting up by the aircar, talking quietly with Marko, and I see the two other servus sitting off by themselves. Carter brings me a cup of water and sits down next to me, waiting. Julie's still standing where she stopped walking, looking down at the floor of the glade.

"Julie, come on over here and sit for a while, kiddo. Come on," Carter calls, but she makes no sign that she's heard him. Chryse looks over at her, mouth full, jaws working on the sandwich bread that the little gray machine made, with Marko's direction, earlier.

"Julie."

The girl jumps at the Draka's voice, and looks over at her, fear on her face. "Y-y-yes, Muhmis?"

"Go sit with the other saafn by the fire, and get something to eat and drink. Now." Chryse turns back to the food, eating neatly but enormously.

The girl scurries over to us, and slowly, painfully, sits down. I see speckles of blood on her pale thighs, and wince, remembering the power that took me earlier... I'm sore, and I'm not bleeding, so she must be... in a hell of a lot of pain. I hand her the cup of water and have to mold her hands around the smooth, cool surface. "Here, honey, drink some. You need it—really. Come on, drink."

She lifts the container to her lips, but her hands are shaking so badly that most of the water dribbles down her chin. I hold the cup for her, steadying it. She gulps the cool water down, thirstily, and whispers for more, when the cup's empty. Carter jumps up to refill it, and returns with a half-sandwich, too. "Here, Julie, you need some nourishment, too. This bread's amazingly good, and it must have been scary out in those woods. You need to eat something, honey."

"Sc-sc-sc-scary?!?" She looks up at him, madness glinting dangerously in her eyes. "Y-y-you have no i-i-idea..." A harsh giggle escapes from her throat, and I look wide-eyed at Carter.

"How about if you leave us girls alone for a bit, old boy? No offense..." I speak softly, pitching my tone to convey my concern for Julie, and he nods, wisely. He walks over to sit with Marko and Phil, and leaves us by the fire.

"Hey, Julie... You're, like, um, bleeding... How about you let me clean you up some, hmm? Now that you've eaten, and had something to drink? You've got weeds and thistles in your hair, and your poor hands, man..." I gently take her hands in mine, caressing them softly, and she stiffens suddenly, looking at me out of the corners of her bloodshot eyes.

"No, no... Don't look at me like that. I'm not going to ...hurt... you that way, ever. Come on, you saw what happened in the glade, earlier—it was scary as hell, I know... Come on, let me check you out, sponge you off some. You'll feel like a different person, honest, if you clean up a little, Julie..."

"N-n-n-o...maybe if I'm di-di-dirty, they won't... won't..."

"Doesn't work that way, silly human," chitters Talonta from behind us. "Let the wench clean you up, or clean yourself... If you don't, I'll toss you in the river and give you a cleaning you'll never forget. Understand me?" She curls up on her side, stretched out full length by the fire, reminding me of a huge housecat. A damn deadly housecat, I remind myself silently, and feel Julie's tremors increase.

"Listen, we'll go down to the river, and sponge you off, and I'll ask Marko if he has a needle and some thread in that bag of tricks he's got, and we'll fix your blouse... Julie, please..."

"Okay." Her voice is tiny, but the stutter's gone; I hope that's a positive sign. We slowly get up from the fire and walk down the path our footsteps have made to the splashing, chuckling river. I stop briefly to get a sponge and a pair of towels from Marko, who had them ready, apparently anticipating what we were going to do. I thank him, and he smiles at me, startling white against the ebony of his smooth skin. Not such a bad guy, I think, as I take Julie by the hand, leading her to the water and cleansing.

I finish the food and sigh contentedly. Cocking an ear, I can hear Mickey and Julie down by the water. Time to ease up on the plump one a little, I think. Wouldn't want to break her mind, just her will... Next time slow and light.

Carter is sitting with his arms around his knees, obviously deep in thought. "You should be more careful of what you think," I say, and he starts violently.

Can she—he subvocalizes.

"Effectively," I say. "By the way, think of Julie as getting a reprieve. She's not seriously hurt, just... shocked. And sore; she'll be fine in a day or two. Come here."

He obeys, and I pull him down beside me. "Object lesson; don't annoy me, and everything will be fine," I purr, and kiss him deep and long.

He's startled, a little tense. Talonta chitters, and I look up. "No, not this time," I say. "Marko, pleasure Talonta."

"With pleasure, muhmis," he laughs, and tugs off his tunic.

I strip Carter and caress him; he's trembling with astonishment and desire, the pheromones and my appearance working on him. When I straddle and mount him he cries out, and again when I pin his arms behind his head.

"You see," I say. "Submission is pleasure, resistance is pain. It's..." I speed my movements. "That simple."

The two wenches come back from the river while I'm busy with the human buck; they sit together, watching out of the corners of their eyes as I arch and shout with pleasure, snarling through the human's helpless moans, then sink back on my heels.

"See?" I say, looking down at Carter's damp flushed face, still bewildered by the violence of his own pleasure. "Not so bad, pretty-buck?"

I release him, and call Nikateros' servus over to clean me; they have the experience to do it properly. "Carter, come along," I order when they're done; he does, taking deep breaths and wiping at his face. Marko is still in a writhing tangle with Talonta; not fair to interrupt him at this point.

"No reason we shouldn't be more comfortable while we wait for the retrieval team," I say. "What we need are some trees four to six inches through and of suitable length."

He blinks, shakes his head, cleans his... glasses... on the tail of his shirt. "Ummm, what for? Muhmis," he adds.

"Furniture," I say.

"Hmmm, what are we going to cut them with?"

"This," I say, drawing my layer knife.

The afternoon woods are dappled with sunlight and shade, smelling cool and yeasty. I find what we need in a section where fire cleared away the old growth a generation or two ago; only a few hundred yards from camp, too.

"All right," I say, looking up at the hemlocks. "Perfect... this one's going to fall to my right—stand clear."

Stepping back, I swing the layer knife. Two careful slices take a wedge out of the downslope section of the tree; the wood comes away as neatly sliced as cake. Then a backhand chops through from the other side, and the tree falls with a crash and an explosion of birds.

"What is that thing?" Carter blurts.

"Layer knife," I say, as I trim the trunk and cut it into eight-foot lengths. "Thin-film monomolecular diamond between thin fillers of densteel—metal with the electron shells of its atoms collapsed. In your terms, it's sharper than obsidian and stronger than any steel, and about the thickness of a hair at the widest point. Here, can you drag this back."

He bends and hefts one log. Muscle stands out along his arms; he's slender, but with excellent tone. Pleasant to touch, too; he flushes as he feels my gaze.

"I think so, muhmis," he says. Then: "Yeah, I can manage it."

"Good. Get that back to camp, and if Marko is still capable of standing, get him to help you. Scoot!" I send him on his way with a slap on the backside.

The afternoon passes pleasantly; occasionally I speed things up by taking back a bundle of logs over one shoulder. Back in camp I examine them, draw the schematics in my mind's eye, then begin to cut. A table, trestle-style; a platform around a deeper fire-pit to make cooking easier; bed-platforms, with pine-boughs for padding and seat-covers from the aircar shaped to fit as coverings. Then I run up a shelter, using the wing of the aircar for a roof, in case of rain; the interior is too dark and stuffy for comfort with the life-support system powered down. It goes quickly with Carter, Mickey and the three servus working under my direction, and Talonta's strength to help mine for the heaviest bits. I finish by cutting sections of oak log to serve as seats.

Carter surprises me by volunteering to find edible mushrooms. Unless he's planning on poisoning me, I chuckle to myself. In which case he'd be disappointed; I might get sick if I ate a half-pound or so of aconite root, but short of that anything organic is just nourishment to me.

"There, that's better," I say at last, watching the saafn stack firewood under the aircar's wing. With the number of oak trees we knocked over coming in, there isn't going to be any lack.

"Julie," I say, finishing a pannikin of water. "Sit there."

She comes and sits, wincing a little; she's wide-eyed but not hyperventilating with fear this time. I let my pheromones shift to calm-approval-reassurance. Her breathing slows, and she stops fidgeting; somebody patched her abrasions from the medkit, I notice with approval.

"Now, you've had your punishment," I say; I pitch the harmonics in my voice in Comforting Mode. "Unless you're foolish again, I'm not going to be rough with you any more. You understand?" Julie nods, a quick jerky motion. Subvocally she's hoping that's so, very hard indeed.

I go on: "Unless you anger me, it doesn't give me any pleasure to see you suffer—quite the contrary. I'm not even going to take you for a day or two, to let you recover from the, ah, rough riding Talonta and I gave you. Use the time to rest and think. You're going to be my saafn—my serf, my possession—for the rest of your life. I own you and have total and complete power over you; first because I'm a drakensis and I'm so much stronger and quicker and deadlier than you; second because I can manipulate your emotions—you do realize that, don't you?"

She gives a start, then nods. That's why—

"Yes, that's why you felt that way. And third, when we get back to civilization, you're mine absolutely by law and custom too. If you want to live and be happy, you're going to have to adjust to that status and that relationship with me. Please me, and you can find your life quite agreeable. Don't anger me; you've seen what that does. Understand?"

"I... Yes, muhmis," she says quietly.

"Part of that adjustment is abandoning... resentment," I say. "It's all right for you to be a little frightened of me; I'm a predator, after all. But you have to accept that you belong to me, and that I have a right to do as I will with you. Then things can be quite nice for you; and of course we'll be back in a civilized environment, which will be much more comfortable; no more camping in the woods. Understand?"

She nods again; and she's actually looking thoughtful. Despite her foolishness this wench has a strong survival instinct buried somewhere, ready to come out under the stress of the life-or-death emergency she's found herself in. I approve.

"Good wench," I say, patting her on the cheek. She stiffens for a second, then relaxes.

Dinner is more trout, and venison stew with mushrooms and wild onions, courtesy of Carter. We eat sitting on the sections of log, around the flickering fire. It's already a little chill, although the sun's been down for less than two hours. Occasionally the humans cast a glance at me; after a while I catch a subvocalization and realize it's largely because my eyes shine with reflected firelight.

"This would go better with a nice fruity red wine," I remark, washing down the stew with spring-water and taking a bite of the ration-bread. "Not to mention some sage, some garlic, and more salt. A little chopped celery, too, sautéed with onions in hot olive oil..."

That surprises a chuckle out of Mickey. After a moment she says cautiously: "What do you... do, muhmis, back on your own world?"

I translate the English phrase mentally. "Oh, you mean, my calling? Currently—for the last fifty years—I'm with the Technical Directorate. I supervise a team of physicists working on... it's fairly esoteric; quantum-gravitational theory, basically. Before that I was retired for a good long while."

"Fifty... years?" she says. "But... how old are you, muhmis?"

"It's 2460 AD on the Prime Line," I say. "457 FS, we'd say. I was born in... in your calendar, 1981. I'm four hundred and seventy-four years old."

The humans are staring at me, their jaws dropping. "You're... you're immortal?" Carter squeaks.

"Oh, no!" I chuckle. "I'm unaging, which is quite a different thing. So was Nikateros, and you saw how immortal he was. We are," I go on, "very difficult to kill. But if you live long enough, something will find a way."

Julie surprises me by speaking: "Doesn't anyone age, on your world?"

"Oh, being ageless is one of the... the perks, I think you'd say, of being a Draka. Talonta here has a lifespan of about two hundred, two hundred and fifty. Servus usually live between a hundred and a hundred and twenty years—much like you humans. For that matter, the median Draka lifespan's only a little over a hundred; only the really tough and cautious ones get to be anything like my age."

Carter looks up. "We don't live that long... don't live over a century very often, muhmis."

"Sorry, that's your potential lifespan. What you'd have with modern—Domination—medicine. You wouldn't age much before the end, either; just go on in a healthy early middle age until everything stopped at once. Marko there is seventy." The humans look at my secretary, gaping almost as much as they did with me. "So correction: what you will have, once we get back home. No wrinkles, no bad backs. And of course we can correct any minor problems you have; bad vision, bad teeth, diabetes, overweight."

A thought occurs to me, and I rummage in my beltpouch. Ah, there it is, I think. I take out a rectangle of black and fold it out on the table, then key it with my transducer.

"This is a holographic storage tablet," I say. "Archaic, really; they were common when I was a young adult. This is my home, my family estate. In what you'd call Indiana—I took up a grant there after North America was opened up for settlement, about three hundred and fifty years ago on my worldline."

The image flashes into the air above the rectangle, a red-brick mansion set among huge old trees and velvet lawns, in a landscape of rolling hills patterned with fields. An aircar set to teardrop shape takes off from the drive before it, turns and then streaks away into a vanishing dot on high acceleration. More views show the gardens, flowerbanks, fountains; the library, a party I remember with pleasure after a century, in the formal dining room; one's a mistake I've always kept, a very close-up of a large dog licking the pickup. I was very fond of that animal, and chuckle fondly in reminiscence.

"That was Weed, possibly the stupidest mongrel ever to disgrace the earth," I say. "Got him as a pup, when we were clearing out wild-dog packs from the area, just at the start of settlement. Hmmm, what else...

"Let's see... This is Sintia, my house steward." A round-faced servus woman in a long striped gown, sitting at her desk and looking at a screen. "My brooder Margret nursing my son Everard... The estate village—" Cottages set along tree-lined streets, and larger buildings around a green and bandstand. "That's the baths, that's the school, and the place with the workers sitting at tables is the tavern..."

"This is Archona, our capital." A little questioning shows it's about on the site of a city called Pretoria in their timeline. "This is the Archonal palace, the House of the Council..."

I show them a little more. "Hades, I'm getting homesick. The rest of you police up the camp and have everything tidy," I say. "Sleep when you feel the need. Talonta, do a scent-scout before you turn in. Mickey, come with me."

I scoop her up in my arms; she squeaks as I carry her into the shelter, behind the screen of saplings that marks off my sleeping-place. It's quite dark there to human eyes; I watch her glance around, then start as I lay her down on the fabric. Pine-boughs rustle beneath us, their sweet scent making an undertone to my pheromones and the human's musk. She's breathless by the time I release her from the first kiss.

"You've got natural talent," I say. "But you need to polish your technique. First —"

Chapter Seven

"Hey, Car-ter," Julie calls, and we stop twisting the willow branches for a moment. My hands are tired, anyway, and I use the break to sit down and wipe my sweaty face off. The air's thick enough to swim in, I think; hasn't been a breath of air for hours. The shade was helping, some, but now, this late in the afternoon, it's positively sultry. Carter looks over at Julie, eyebrows raised.

"Yes, Julie?"

"Hey, how come the clouds look so funny over here? I've never seen any that look like these do, Carter," she trills, batting her eyelashes at him. He grins at me, seeing that I've noticed and made a face, but walks over to where she's sitting, surrounded by pieces of bark she's been weaving into baskets.

"Hmmm... man, this doesn't look so hot, guys..." His clear grey eyes search the sky, and I walk over to join him. I look up and notice the thick, dark cloudbase first; it's almost anvil shaped. The dark base seems to extend upward for a long way, eventually becoming more and more white near the top of huge cloud towers. There are wicked blinks of lightning arcing from one cloud tower to another, and the faint sound of thunder reaches us through the thick forest.

"Wow... Those are some clouds," I say, looking at Carter. "I guess we're in for a heck of a storm."

"Yeah, and look over there, to the southwest. Look at those mammatus..." He points, and I follow his finger, seeing dark, lumpy, almost pendulous clouds forming along the base of one of the tall towers. The air's still not stirring a bit, but I shiver. The sky around us is turning an odd green color, somewhat reminiscent of pea soup.

"What'd you call them?" Julie stands, too, and looks over at the clouds. "They're weird looking."

"Yeah, they are...they're called mammatus, and they usually indicate some really severe turbulence in the clouds above them. That means very bad weather—possibly even a tornado. I better get Marko to call Heidi and Fela in from berry picking, and Muhmis Chryse and Talonta in from hunting, if they're not already on their way..." Carter turns to me, a worried frown on his tanned face. "Mickey, how about if you help Phil and Julie here pick up all our basket and net-making tools and supplies-hate to have them all get blown into the woods..."

"You and me both, pardner. Okay, come on, Julie, let's get your stuff organized and inside the aircar first. Phil, feel like helping us?" I turn to my friend, who's still recovering from his head wound. He nods, smiling, and begins to move around slowly, picking up the slivers of wood Julie's been weaving. We clear her area up, and then Marko and Carter help us pick up all the fishing nets we've woven. They're just about all stored safely in the aircar when Heidi and her brother Fela emerge from one side of the clearing, baskets full of berries.

"The air is so sticky, it's almost hard to breathe," Phil says, wiping his face. I pat the aircar step next to me, where I perch, wishing for a tall glass of beer. No, even water would be fine... a great big, frosty, two handed mug of water... I smile at the thought, and look worriedly at my friend. He's been moving slowly since his wound, and his sallow face is even more pale than normal. Being the stoic he is, though, he never complains, and he always tries to be helpful. He's been a stabilizing influence on me, I think, as has Carter. They're turning into damn good friends, in the midst of all this weirdness.

"Mushiatsui desu..." Phil mumbles, looking at the sky.

"What, old boy?" I grin, my arm around his shoulders.

He grins back, blushing a little. "Oh, sorry...I thought there for a moment we were at my Grandfather's... and that you understand Japanese. I said, 'It's hot and humid!'"

"Neko ga, isu no ue ni imasu." I laugh, remembering some Japanese from a class I had a long time ago.

"Yeah, great, 'the cat's on the chair', but that doesn't do a thing about the heat here..." Phil joins me in a laugh, the first he's had for quite some time. He always tries to be so positive, and helpful even though I know his head hurts him a lot.

Muhmis Chryse and Talonta come from the woods, a string of dead bunnies hanging from a furry shoulder—Talonta wolf-grins at me, her bright red tongue hanging from her dark muzzle. They've had some good hunting then, I think, and the thought of being hunted by either of those two makes the sweaty, sticky hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I don't know why Frank and Julie both tried it; that was just a slow suicide, basically, for Frank, and would have been for Julie, if she hadn't begged for her life. She's still not quite "with it" after that experience...

"Bad weather coming in, isn't it?" Chryse's voice, bell-like, usually rings through the woods, sounding like a bronze horn sometimes, but now it seems to fall flat, in the heavy, sultry air. The forest around us has grown quite still and silent, too, as if the trees are holding their breath. I feel like someone's sitting on me, and blush a bit, remembering Chryse's body on mine, the heavy weight crushing out my breath as I tried to rise against her... that heat was nothing like this, though.

"Yes, Muhmis. I had Marko call you, using that... um..." Carter stops, trying to remember the term.

"Transducer. Yes, but we were already on our way back. We'd seen the clouds forming, and thought it would be better to be back here, with the aircar." She drops her spear on the grass, and strips her tunic off, letting it fall with a sopping sound. "Race Spirit, it's a sauna here today..."

"My fur's getting all curly and knotty, too..." chitters Talonta, placing the rabbits in the cooling unit for now. She walks by us on the steps, and brushes her hand through my hair. "So's yours, Mickey..."

"I know..." I try to grin, but it comes out lopsided. She still scares the hell out of me, to be honest. She's so... different. But at least she's not growling at me like the first time I saw her, I think, and sigh. Phil's sitting stiffly, trying not to show how afraid of her he is. Her tail curls around his neck, caressing, and as he jumps, she laughs, a high, silvery note.

"All the 'valuables' inside, Marko?" Chryse asks, smiling at the interplay between her kawtuh and us, shaking her bright red hair out of its ponytail. She beckons Julie over, and the girl scrambles to obey, kneeling by where Chryse sits, and carefully, gently braiding the long hair in back, out of the Draka's face.

"Yes, Muhmis, and we have some lovely berries, and some watercress, to go with dinner tonight. Heidi and Fela did well today..." He smiles back, and then nods his head at the brother and sister who sit, hand in hand, eyes to the ground.

"Ah, good, very good indeed..." Chryse begins, but she's cut off by a wicked-sounding whack and then a roaring boom of thunder. I can hear the rain begin to hit the forest around us, a loud whispering sound; the trees begin to arch and sway their branches high up, where the first gusts of wind are hitting. The thunder rolls around us, so loudly I can feel my shirt flutter against me with the noise. I wince, covering my ears, and notice that everyone else has, too. The Draka, even, for a moment, looks surprised, but she doesn't cover her ears. Talonta's bristling, growling softly, crouching down next to me. Our eyes meet, and I am surprised as hell to have a meeting of the minds with this creature...

Our eyes say the same thing: I hate storms, thunderstorms especially. Wow, I think, we're actually on the same level here. Wow, indeed. The transgene looks deeply into my eyes, and then smiles, a gentle pulling back of black lips to reveal rows of white, sharp, long teeth. But this time, it's not to intimidate me; it's indicating friendship. Her hand reaches out and picks mine up, opening it from the white-knuckled grip it was in. Her hand dwarfs mine, and she encloses my human hand in her kawtuh paw, squeezing gently.

"I think we'd better get into the aircar," I say, glancing at the clouds. "Good work, getting the supplies out of the way."

There are patterns of heat and stress in there; my eyes can just barely pick some of them out. Lightning flashes, leaving the air scented with ozone. The humans and servus scurry up the notched-log staircase we built, and down into the interior. The wind is wild and cold on my sweat-wet skin, and the rain pounds down. I stand on the topmost stair, laughing, opening my arms to the violence of it as the sky flings stinging sheets of water. It tastes intensely clean, and the heavy sultriness of the air has given way to something alive, smelling gloriously of danger. My tymphani clamp down to protect my ears as lightning flashes not a hundred yards away, cleaving a great elm like Thor's hammer, and my hair bristles as I exult in it.

Talonta chitters at me from the entrance; I reach back and shake her a little by the ruff at the back of her neck. Then lightning strikes again, even closer; my hair doesn't bristle—this time strands stand out, held by the air's static charge.

"All right," I laugh, and drop back through the entrance, dogging the hatch. The noise outside cuts off like a knife; I can still catch the subliminal rumble, and Talonta can too, but it might as well be on the Moon for the others.

The interior of the aircar is a flattened oval twenty feet long. Low padded couches face forward, and the nose and roof above it are transparent. I query the somnolent machine; power is down below 2%, but that is more than enough for interior lighting, and I raise the ambient level to something comfortable for humans or servus. Outside is blackness, with water pouring off the black slickness of the aircar's hull and wings, torrenting over the transparent section before the control couches. Through the darkness comes the blue-white acintic flicker of lightning, again and again, lending a weird stop-motion quality to the interior of the 'car.

"Ah... muhmis... what would happen if we were hit by lightning?" Carter says.

"In here?" I say. "Not much; the power coil would be recharged slightly." Reminded, I set it to receive; absorbing energetic particles is one function of the shields. Even sunlight does that, but it's far too diffuse to matter. A lightning strike would be something else again. "We should be reasonably safe, in fact. The craft is wedged pretty tightly, and it weighs well over fifteen tons."

Of course, if there's a tornado... well, the hull's integrity won't be breached. We might get knocked around a fair bit, though. Let's see... I order the craft to extrude stationary restraints that we could fasten ourselves if worst came to worst. It does, although just barely. I hope we are hit by lightning, I think. That and minimal functions like lighting are all I can do without endangering the beacon.

The humans are looking at me with a little alarm; I tone down my excitement-danger pheromones. Talonta chirrs and dabs at herself; her fur is coiled, matted and soaking. "It'll take me hours to get this right!"

"Vanity, Talonta," I chuckle. There's a gingery overtone of nervousness to her as well; she just doesn't like thunder. Odd, for she's a courageous creature; reckless, even. "Groom, then."

She gets out her kit and starts to; after a while Mickey begins to help her. Carter is looking out the transparent section of the nose, whistling silently.

I go forward. "Tornado, possibly," I say softly.

He nods quickly; I can scent his fear, but he's controlling it very well. "What can we do?" he says, equally softly.

I shrug. "Nothing, essentially. Hope, and strap ourselves in if worst comes to worst."

He nods, and goes back to help Marko and the other servus sorting things into baskets; makework, but it's hard for humans to be idle when they're frightened. Hard for a Draka to be idle in this wild excitement, too, but for different reasons. I'm exhilarated; if I were alone I might well go outside, to race through the forest as the storm lashes the branches above. Or possibly not; I haven't lived nearly half a millennium by giving in to every impulse. In any case, I have the saafn to think of; they need me here to guard them.

Though there's no reason not to give into some impulses, I think. Let's see, which one... Julie, I think. She's becoming charmingly docile, but still has some work to do. The hunt in the woods broke her resistance, though, and she's beginning to adapt properly—I think she'll be completely tamed before Mickey or Carter, despite her initial resistance.

"Julie," I say. "Come here."

The plump human obeys, with a little internal whimper; she throws a look at the others and then strips obediently. Lightning makes her flinch as I pull her into my lap, her human skin mildly cool against mine.

"Are you afraid of thunderstorms, Julie?" I say. She's reacting well to my pheromones now; my nostrils flare as I take the scent of her arousal. The others in the confined space shift a little as the chemical stimulus drifts their way. Well enough, I think. It'll distract them from a danger they can't do anything about.

"Y... oh," she says, as my mouth moves down her throat to her breasts. A little too ample, but pleasant enough. "Yes... a little." She squirms as my hands rove, making little moaning sounds.

"Well, then let's see if I can make you forget them," I chuckle, and bear her down to the padded isle between the control seats.

I won't forget, I think. The lashing intensity outside and the strobing flicker of the lightning forms a pleasant counterpoint to my exploration of the wench, her cries and convulsive movements and my growing pleasure as if I were riding the storm, not just this little human who serves me so obediently.

Trying very, very hard to ignore what's being done so blatantly over on the other side of the aircar, feeling the rumbling booms of thunder all around us, I watch Talonta as she carefully finishes her grooming. Brushing out her leopard-spotted fur was like brushing my Persian, Knothead. I remember, closing my eyes for a moment, seeking peace in the midst of this craziness. He is a knothead, I smile, remembering the "Tasmanian Kitty" incident. He had gotten his head stuck in the loops of a paper bag, and dashed around the apartment madly, until Phil and I managed to throw a blanket on him, and capture the critter. Crazy ole cat. But a sweetie...

"What are you thinking about, girl?" Talonta's voice breaks me from the memory, and I open my eyes just in time to see Julie's heels thumping the bare, heaving shoulders of... of Muhmis. I blush, and look down at my hands, wishing I was back home again.

"Um... a favorite cat of mine. His fur was... well... I hope I'm not insulting you or anything, ah, Sera Talonta," I stumble over the honorifics, hoping I'm saying it right. She chuckles, putting her brushes and nail file away in a tidy little leather kitbag. "Um... his fur was as soft as yours, although yours is more patterned. It's prettier, I think."

"I guess you don't have talking cats where you're from, do you?" Her bright, inquisitive eyes look me over, and she preens her whiskers back with a dark-fingered paw.

"Talking ones? No, not really. Although Siamese cats get pretty close. Knothead could tell you things just by the way he meowed, or purred. If he got mad, he'd snort. He must have learned that one stay at the vet's, because he never did it before, and now... I mean, he used to... well, I guess he still does, probably..." I put my head in my hands. This is so damn confusing, I think, rubbing my forehead. He's just in another universe, so... he probably still snorts at the neighbor cat next door. I miss him... I miss home.

"Snorts... what sort of a cat was he?"

Without lifting my head, I say, "Persian. You know, the kind with the smushed-in face. If you lift up their fur on their face, they always look so startled... he was—is—a good cat."

"It's got to be hard on you archaics... you're not used to this mole hole technology, or anything, are you?" She sits next to me, an arm companionably around my shoulders. I feel the wiry strength in her grip, and shiver a little. She grins, teeth white in the low lighting of the aircar, and hugs me closer.

Her fur smells a little damp, but sweet; she's put some sort of scent on the brushes. The softness and the contrasting hardness, her fur and her muscles, feels... good, I decide, somewhat surprised with myself. I sigh a little, and lean against her embrace, trying to relax. I hate thunderstorms, I think, wincing as a boom of thunder rolls through the aircar.

"I do, too... must have been frightened by one as a kit," Talonta whispers. The silence in the rest of the aircar is broken only by the loud purring and occasional snarls of pleasure from Chryse, and Julie's squeals, growing fainter now. I close my eyes and lay my head on Talonta's shoulder, feeling tired. Putting my arms out in front of me, but staying within the kawtuh's gentle hold, I stretch my arms and fingers. Tenseness has made them cramp, and my index and middle finger on my left hand ache, suddenly, strongly enough to make me gasp.

"Ow!"

Simultaneously, Chryse sits up, astraddle Julie, and sweeps her hair back from her angular, tanned face. Her eyes narrow for a moment, and I shiver, thinking she's looking at me for making the noise. Instead, she moves swiftly, standing up and hoisting herself to the dialed-shut hatch. Leaning against it, she listens for a moment. The rest of us are stock-still, frightened now. My hand aches more and more, and I remember the last time it did that-when the tornado hit near our house a few years ago.

Chryse turns from the hatchway, and snaps out, "Get strapped in, all of you. Take the restraints and lock yourselves in; there's a tornado approaching. Talonta, secure any loose gear, quickly—Marko, help her. Now."

The weird mechanics of the aircar go into motion, and there are restraints, soft, leather-like, padded straps, literally growing out of the floor. I shrink back, afraid, and hear the other humans' exclamations. A strong hand suddenly grips me, and pushes me irresistibly to the floor. I look up into Chryse's face, and whimper with fear— I don't want these things, these growing things, touching me...

"Lie down, and I'll show you... No, Mickey, lie down, like it or not. I'll not have you damaged by being tossed around, in the event the tornado hits us," she says, pressing me to the floor of the aircar. I can't resist her strength, which scares me almost as much as the weird strap things. But she gently, firmly straps me to the padded floor, and I'm held securely in the straps. They're warm to the touch, and pliant, and I try to control my breathing.

"Sorry... it's just so... weird... sorry," I whisper. Chryse smiles down at me, winks, and then moves on to the others, strapping them in just as securely. The thunder is coming in louder and longer roars, and even though the aircar weighs—what'd she say, 15 tons?—It's swaying slightly. I shiver in the restraints, and wonder what's happening outside.

Seconds later, I see debris being swept up, hitting the transparent nose of the aircar. Carter has a front row seat, and has strapped himself in without help from Chryse. She checks on all of us one more time, and then I hear it... as she straps herself in, moving with hurried grace, I hear the noise. Even through the hull of the aircar, it penetrates.

Take a big empty freight train, send it hurtling down the tracks directly at you, say, maybe sixty miles an hour-add in a generous helping of screaming jet engines, and maybe a tidbit of a heavy metal safe thudding down a flight of stairs. Now turn all of this up in your mental blender until it's so loud you can feel it moving your clothes. Toss well with trees, limbs, grass, debris, and sprinkle with hail. That's your basic tornado. The sound, once heard, is absolutely unforgettable.

I gasp, and watch the glade outside become transformed into a natural war zone. The thuds of trees, twisted out by their roots, slamming into the aircar, are almost overwhelmed by Julie and Heidi, screaming like banshees. Talonta, near me, is growling shrilly, her fur bristling. Chryse, on the other hand, looks exhilarated, peering out into the storm with an intense, aroused stare. Carter's wide-eyed, and sweating. The others are mostly quiet, although I hear Fela saying some sort of prayer, over and over... something about "Glitch, protect me from erasure... protect me..."

The aircar tilts, suddenly, and I have a sinking feeling in my stomach. It's like being on an express elevator to hell, I think, and giggle. Talonta looks over at me, her pupils huge, and snarls slightly. I giggle again, somehow excited half to death, by the approach of... death, I realize. Hooo-wweee... The noise grows and grows outside, and it gets so loud my ears ache. Then they pop, and my hand throbs. It always does that in a thunderstorm, ever since I broke the fingers playing softball. Dumb of me... The aircar slams sideways, and then moves up again, and my body is pressed sharply against the restraints.

Everything seems to be happening at once; I'm intensely aware of the light, and the color of the air outside (dirty pea soup), and the feeling of the restraints tightening and loosening as we're tossed through the air. I hear, despite the cacophony, Chryse's hawk-shriek of excitement. It, in the midst of everything else, thrills me, and I wish I were next to her, her hands on me, her lips...

It's like being in a silent movie, I think giddily. I can see Talonta trying to say something, but I can't hear anything but the huge noise outside. Or is it inside? A brief moment of disorientation confuses me, as I look down at what used to be the ceiling. Then I'm looking at the walls, and I see some supplies and a pillow whisk by me, in midair. I can't even hear the high-pitched shrieks from Julie and Heidi anymore, which is almost a relief. They were hurting my ears, for one thing... annoying me for another. Why shriek? Who the hell is gonna hear you? It doesn't make any difference, I think, as the aircar does another complete circle in the air. I see a full grown oak tree, branches whipped to a blur, slam past the clear nose of the aircar; I wonder if anything can penetrate this...

The dropping sensation startles me, and I'm pressed tightly to the floor. The aircar drops and drops, making me wonder when we're going to hit, if ever. Then there's a jolt than snaps my teeth together and whacks my head against the padded floor. Stars float in front of my eyes, and I feel woozy for a moment. There's the sound of thumps and thuds as things outside hit us, and then thunder again. I watch, in a daze, as more hail slashes down from the sky, and lightning flashes. It lights up a scene from Dante's Inferno, if he had designed it for a forest. I see a huge, grey, swirling column of stuff slicing down the holler, tossing one hundred foot tall trees like matchsticks from side to side. Behind it is a clear path of destruction; the floor of the forest stripped down to the limestone and topsoil. More lightning shows the devastation around us, and thunder crashes directly overhead.

"Good, we needed a charge-up," Chryse says, conversationally. "Everyone all right?"

Charge at 1.2%, the machine answers me. I hiss slightly in satisfaction. That's not nearly enough to fly—no more than twenty or thirty miles, at most, even with wings extended—but it's more than enough to run the auxiliary functions and the beacon for another three weeks.

We've come to rest nearly level. "Hold on," I say, and command the craft; it shifts slightly to put the floor level.

I pop the hatch and look down; water is running through mud below us, and I can see the gleam of rock beneath. Around us is a sea of huge tumbled trees, their roots reaching towards the lowering sky like gnarled arthritic fingers. The air is full of rain, not a pounding downpour any more but still a steady silvery fall that swirls mud downslope.

"Damn," I say mildly, and check the saafn.

Phil is conscious, but barely; his attention is wandering again. "I wish we could get him to a medical facility," I say to Carter and Mickey, who are looking anxiously at him. "I don't like this repeated insult to the system, it can't be doing him any good."

My fingers gently probe his scalp and neck. The muscles there are rigid; that's a bad sign, but I'm glad there's no difference in the pupil dilation. I administer a slappatch of painkiller and sedative, and call Fela to sit by him and watch. Heidi and Julie are cleaning themselves up, embarrassed—they were very frightened.

"There's a meadow with a cave about a mile upstream," I say. "I'm going to move the aircar; don't be alarmed."

I sink back into the control seat and link with the vehicle's computer; there's a sucking sound from beneath, and then we rise gently and float uphill, out of the path of devastation the tornado spawned. The setting sun is bright when we break out from beneath the cloud cover, and I slit my eyes as I guide the car into a soft, easy landing in the tall grass of the meadow. One side of it is a steep hill, with a little cliff. The cave entrance is twelve feet tall and four wide; I know from a brief trip by here that it opens out within to a sand-floored room twenty feet by thirty, then to a narrow crevice behind and a blind crack leading upwards. There's a spring within, a pool and a trickle of stream out of the cave mouth running down to a larger creek.

Power at 1.17% maximum charge, the 'car transduces to me helpfully. Worth it, I think.

Carter is craning his neck around the transparent nose section. "That looks like just the sort of cave a bear would pick," he says, his voice nearly steady now.

"It is," I say. "Black bear, nice fat one."

I step into my blacks and strap on my layer knife. "Talonta," I say. "Get the spear."

A few hours later there is a cheerful blaze in the center of the swept-out cave, and a bear-ham wrapped in plantain leaves is cooking in the coals; I've got a set of claw-scrapes across my ribs, but they're shallow and healing fast. Irregular projections of rock mark out notional 'rooms', and we've set up the supplies and bedding. A glowlight suspended from a stalactite that drops from the ceiling picks out the colorful striations in the limestone walls. Carter and Marko finish bringing in the cord or so of firewood I cut with the layer knife after I disposed of the bear, and I scrub the last of the blood from my hands. The hide is stretched out over in one corner, and there's a big bowl of broth bubbling on a tripod of stones by the fire. That will be good for Phil, I think. The smell of the meat and wild onions and roots makes my stomach growl a little; it was an energetic little time, with the bear, and I've been working hard.

"Now, a final touch," I say, looking around.

There are several small boulders scattered about. I crouch next to one, lift it with a hissing grunt, and walk it over by the fire. Thud. A few twists and it's seated firmly in the coarse sand and gravel; I pick up a few more and place them one by one, then notice that the humans are staring at me. I grin; you'd think they'd have noticed that I'm considerably stronger than their breed, by now.

"Wu... We should be safe from tornados in here," Julie ventures at last.

"Certainly," I say. "Not all bad, though; we recharged the 'car a little."

She hovers a little; I motion her closer and she sits at my feet. The others come closer to the fire; Phil is still sleeping, on a bed of notched saplings and spruce-boughs, warm under a thinfilm blanket. Let him sleep, I think. We'll feed him before we turn in ourselves.

"Almost like a hunting trip," I say, dimming the glowlight. The fire throws ruddy shadows across the walls and the irregular water-shaped rock of the cave, underlights our faces.

"You do a lot of hunting, muhmis?" Carter asks.

"It's a Draka passion," I say, and look down at Julie. She shivers and blushes, but smiles at me. "We've put better than half the planet into wilderness preserves, back on the Prime Line—not to mention Mars and the Moon."

"Hunting on the moon?" Mickey says.

"Domed craters," I say. "Big complexes of them. Venus is still being terraformed. Then there are the interstellar colonies, and the parallel Earths—this one is going to be a favorite. If there aren't any sapients here to conquer and enserf we may keep the whole planet as a preserve, just put in some lodges and so forth, and run safaris. Those... Bigfoot creatures ought to be excellent game. And I think I saw scat of some big cat near here; not a cougar, bigger, and with an odd tread. As if its front legs were longer than its hind... without humans, there might be some very interesting fauna around here. Sabertooths, for instance."

Julie gives a little squeak of fear and hugs my legs closer; Fela and Heidi look alarmed as well. "Don't worry," I say, touching the layer knife where it rests against a rock near me. "I think I'm pretty well a match for anything that doesn't have a plasma gun. Eh, Talonta?"

The kawtuh is roasting the bear's liver over the fire on a long green stick, pulling it back occasionally to check on, or sprinkle a little salt. She looks up and laughs with her tongue lolling. "You and me, muhmis. Sabertooths sound like fun."

Mickey is sitting beside her; they seem to have found something in common during the tornado. She shivers a bit, but smiles and accepts a slice of the grilled liver when Talonta offers it; the kawtuh strokes her tail across the human's back in a friendly gesture.

"It would be fascinating to study the ecology here," Carter says, taking off his glasses and polishing them on his shirttail. "See what would have happened to the Pleistocene without human predation."

"You've got a point there, Carter," I say. I do like a clever saafn; they're so much more useful, not to mention more fun. "The biocontrol people will be interested. Theory is that the mass extinctions at the end of the last Ice Age were caused partly by human action, but who knows? You can't redo history on an experimental basis... only here, we can." I grin at him. "Wonders of paratemporal travel."

"As long as nothing tries to integrate us into their food chain," Marko says. He pulls the bear-ham out of the embers with a couple of branches, knocks back the plantain leaves, and sniffs. "Done!"

The table is a split log supported on two X's of sapling; everyone crowds around. Bear tastes surprisingly like pork, especially a fat autumn nut-and-berry fed black bear. We have some wild greens from the baskets and ration-biscuit to go with it; the humans say it tastes like soda crackers, whatever that is. Spring water does well enough to wash it down.

Fela wakes Phil gently and supports his head while he sips down a bowl of the broth. I shake my head and put worry for the injured human aside for now; there's very little I can do. If I absolutely must, I might attempt an emergency trepanning to relieve pressure on the brain, but his symptoms aren't that bad yet.

I go to the door instead and heave a couple of oak root-crowns into it, piling them up until a mass of thick, jagged stubs fills the entranceway; nothing will disturb us in the night. I buried the offal at some distance from here as well, a sensible precaution. Mickey and Talonta lay a few more chunks of oak wood on the fire, then bank up the dirt around it; there will be embers until morning. Dying down the fire leaves the cave as a shadowy, flickering dimness to human eyes.

"Carter, Julie," I say, smiling, and lead them over to the nook I'll be occupying. To Talonta, via my transducer: Don't go to sleep before 0200.

Don't worry, muhmis, she replies. I had something else in mind anyway.

Chapter Eight

I walk down the slight hill from the cave, towards the chuckling creek. I need to take a bath, I think, but I bet that water's colder than... As I approach, I hear a whuffing noise. Peering around a tree stump, cautiously, I spot Talonta, washing herself in the water. Her fur's flat and slick now with mountain water, and she's making the noise each time she splashes herself. I grin and watch as she dances around in the water, shadow-boxing with invisible opponents, before climbing out and perching on a rock by the shore. She begins grooming, carefully combing out her beautiful, tawny pelt until it glows warm and dry in the sun. I've sat down to watch, by this time, and enjoy the quiet, and watching this person... this creature.

She taught me more last night than a lifetime's worth of experience, I muse. And I sure as heck never thought I'd have a nonhuman lover. That tail... I grin, remembering my shock, and then the overwhelming pleasure. I've had a few lovers I thought were inhuman, but this is the first real alien I've ever gone to bed with. The wind's low and gentle, a relief after the twister of yesterday. There's so much destruction here, it's amazing we survived. If we'd been caught outside, we'd be pasted against some of these fallen giants, I realize, and shiver a bit.

Talonta looks up, eyes narrowing. Then she smiles, a wide, white grin in her dark face. "Come here, Mickey!"

I stand, brushing the leaves and bits of forest floor off my jeans, and walk over. "Hey!"

"How long have you been watching me, wench?" Talonta chitters, and reaches out a fingered paw for my hand. I give it to her, and she pulls me close, for a long, passionate kiss. It's different, to be sure, I think to myself, to kiss someone with a muzzle, and fangs, and whiskers... but it feels so good. With a start, I realize what I'm thinking, and wonder if I haven't gone a little batty. The kawtuh's arms tighten around me, and she whispers: "What's wrong, little 'un?"

"Uh, nothing..." I lie, and try to relax against her. She growls slightly and shakes me.

"No... You know better than that. Don't try to lie to me, or to Muhmis... That's a recipe for a spanking, you know that. What's wrong? Was I too rough last night?"

"No! No, you weren't... Aw, hell, Talonta, this is just so strange for me. I like you, I really do, but you're so different. You're an alien, for god's sake. And we... and it... I, um..." I stumble to a halt, blushing furiously. The kawtuh grins appreciatively, and chuckles.

"Hey, now, silly little human. You're as different to me as I am to you. But we both belong to Muhmis, so that fixes that, doesn't it? Or does it? Do you understand?"

Her clear, golden, cat-like eyes stare into mine. "I guess so. This is all so... I mean, it's such a big thing to adjust to. I'm trying, really I am, but it's hard, sometimes, Talonta. Sera Talonta."

"You can just call me Talonta, when we're alone like this. A-Kay?"

"A-Kay?" I grin up at her. "What's that, your version of 'okay'?"

"It must be, since I think it means the same thing. Come on, give me another kiss, and don't pull back this time, like I suddenly turned into a ghouloon." She pulls me close, and the rest of the world doesn't exist for a few moments...

"Uh-oh, see, Marko, the water's so cold, they've frozen together in a lip-lock! No way can we take a bath, if that's what happens!" Carter's voice brings me back to this planet, and the here-and-now. Marko's deep laugh follows, and Talonta releases my mouth from hers with a final thrust of her long, red tongue. I squeak, a little, and then we're all laughing—humans, servus, and kawtuh.

"Oh, come on, you wouldn't mind a bit if you got lip-locked with Marko, Carter," Talonta chitters, waving her tail back and forth. Carter blushes as deep as I did earlier. We're all learning new things, I muse to myself, all of us. Interesting.

"I'm more worried about what water that cold feels like on sensitive portions of my delicate anatomy," Carter fires back with a grin. He dips a bare toe into the stream, and gasps. "Damn! That's cold!"

"Cold's good for you; gets the circulation going. Go on, all of you—into the water, get cleaned up. You're odd-smelling enough as it is," says Chryse, standing on the hill above us. She's dressed in her black walking clothes, and the sunlight seems to shimmer off them as if they're made of metal. Her bright red hair is tied back in a braid, and she's smiling down at us.

"But Muhmis, me, too? I just got my fur dry!" whines Talonta, batting her eyes adoringly at her muhmis, who laughs.

"No, you can stay there. Just keep an eye on the humans, and Marko. I'm sending Fela and Heidi down, too, and Julie. Make sure none of them gets swept away by the current, there by the left bank. It's a pretty good one. When they're done, let's all meet up by the cave, all right?"

"Yes, Muhmis," say Marko and Talonta simultaneously. Carter and I look at each other dubiously, but I venture into the water. Rather go there under my own power, instead of someone dropping me in, I think, and try not to squeak as the coldness bites into my legs. I strip off my jeans, underthings, my jersey, trying very hard not to look embarrassed. Carter looks away, giving me some privacy, and I do the same for him. Not that that water makes us look wonderful, or anything. Marko follows us, and soon we're whooping and hollering, splashing water at each other and laughing.

"Hey, once you're numb, it's not so bad!" Julie says, ducking her blonde hair under. The double meaning of what she's said doesn't seem to make a hit on anyone else, I think, Maybe I'm just thinking too much. I mean, it's true... If you get numb to all this weirdness, it's not so bad. Better than being dead. I wring the water out of my hair and climb up, with a little help, onto the rock Talonta's purring on. She snuggles me close, and I relax into her sun-warmed fur, feeling her hands stroke my back, my thighs.

"Are you two at it again?" Carter's friendly face pops up next to us as he levers himself onto the rock. He's red, and a little goosebumpy, but happy. "We smell better. Frozen things always do."

"Yeah, until they thaw, goofy," I answer, tousling his hair with a free hand. He grins at me and pinches my nose.

"Always got an answer for me, don't you?"

"Of course. It's so easy."

"Krreeeiiittt? Why are you being so..." Talonta pauses, searching for the right word.

"Catty?" I crack up, and so do Carter and Julie. Marko looks confused, and for a brief moment, so does Talonta. Then her high-pitched yelps of laughter join our merriment.

"Everyone done?" she finally manages. We all answer in the affirmative, and Talonta leads us back to the cave and Chryse.

Phil's quiet now; the seizure had been terrifying. I wonder when Muhmis Chryse will get back, I wonder, stroking his damp, thick, black hair back from his forehead. The lump on the side of his skull hasn't gotten any smaller over the days we've been here, and I'm frightened. He's my closest friend from Before, as Carter and I have started calling it. Carter and I have grown really close, closer than I've ever really felt for a man. He's a damn good friend, actually. Able to tell me the truth about things, and able to make me laugh.

The young Japanese man stirs, and my heart jumps. Oh, please, god, not another seizure. I was so afraid he'd hurt himself on the last one, or that he'd stop breathing. I review, mentally, the procedure for CPR, just in case.

"Hey, how is he? Is he gonna get better, Mickey?" Julie's voice cuts through my mental rehearsal, and I look up into her confused face. Poor kid, she's been through a lot, and there's not a whole lot up there in that blonde head to process, in the first place, I say to myself, biting back the sarcastic comment I almost fired off.

"He's... really, really sick, Julie. I don't know if he's gonna be okay. I wish Muhmis Chryse would get back soon from hunting." I straighten the blanket covering his slight form, and sit back. My eyes are tired, and I have a headache.

"I'm kinda glad her and that furry lady are out doing their thing, actually. It's sort of a relief to be away from them, you know?" She sits down next to the pine-bough bed, and looks at her nails. "You wouldn't have a nail file, would ya?"

"No," I sigh. "No nail file."

"Oh."

A silence settles, broken only by Phil's ragged breathing. I realize with a start that it's changed; it's becoming more shallow, but rougher. I check to make sure his mouth's clear, and straighten his head a little.

"What're you doing?" Julie asks. She leans over and looks down at him. "He's kinda funny looking now, Mickey. Want me to go get Carter?"

"Yeah. Go do that," I say, taking Phil's pulse. I watch the seconds tick away on my watch, and count 15 of his heartbeats. His pulse is weak, and I have to do it a couple of times before I'm sure I've gotten an accurate take on it. It's really low, almost below 80. I don't think that's good, somehow. His face does look odd, as if the left side of his face was wax left too close to the flame...

"Hey, what's up? What's his pulse, honey?" Carter's hand on my back feels good, and I lean against it. He rubs my back briefly, and then leans down to look closely at Phil's pale face.

"It's right around 80; it was 96 earlier. About two hours ago. Before the seizure. Thanks, Carter, for helping me hold him, then," I say quietly.

Carter stands back up, his face serious. "I'm going to go outside, find Marko, and get him to call Muhmis. I think we need some better medical advice, Mickey. He's not doing well at all."

"Okay. I'll stay here with him. Jesus, Carter, it's so frustrating, not being able to do anything for him. He's..." I can't bring myself to say the word dying. It sticks in my throat, raising a lump, which makes tears rise to my eyes. I wipe them away in frustration.

Carter Hahn turns back to me, impulsively, and hugs me close. His lips touch mine, ever so gently, and then he's gone, out of the cave into the green and yellow dappled forest clearing, looking for Marko.

The boy's shuddering body suddenly goes still; I sit up from where I was holding his thrashing limbs as well as I could, and look into his open eyes. "Phil?"

They're blank, and dilated. My heart thuds painfully in my chest. "Phil!?"

His chest's stopped going up and down in labored breathing, and there's no pulse I can find, either at his neck or his wrists. "Phil! Damn it, you can't die on me!" I begin to push frantically on his chest, hoping against hope I can restart his silent, still heart. "Julie! Get Carter, Marko, someone!"

She scrambles out of the cave in a hurry and I breathe into Phil's slack mouth. "Come on, damn it, come on! Don't you give up on me! Phil, I need you! Please!" I thump his chest again, five times. Nothing, no pulse, no breathing.

His eyes look up at me, blankly, and my heart shrivels. "Ah, gods, Phil..." I breathe into his mouth again, but with a growing sense of hopelessness. It's beginning to be a physical strain, too, doing both parts of the CPR routine; my arms ache and my lungs are sore. So's my soul.

Carter, followed by Marko, runs in and comes to a stop by my side. "I'll do half, Mickey. Which?"

"His chest," I say, between puffs of air. Carter begins pressing on his friend's chest, and then stops.

"Move for a second, Mickey." He easily lifts Phil out of the pine-bough bed, blanket and all, and places him on the sandy, flat floor of the cave. He sits astride the boy, and begins to rhythmically pump his chest, compressing it five times, waiting for me to breathe into Phil's lungs, and then repeating the process. Marko stands to one side, hand over his mouth, eyes huge.

"Is there... anything I can do, youngsters?"

"No," grunts Carter. He pauses while I give Phil some air. "You've done what you could, Marko, you called Muhmis and Talonta, with that thingy of yours. Need to switch, Mickey?"

I shake my head no, and sit back on my heels. I watch as Carter works, and then lean forward again, hoping against hope that all these efforts will revive my friend. I don't want to think about being without him, not here, not anywhere. We've been together for so long; he's my best friend. Hell, Phil, you know all my good point and all my bad ones, and I don't want to lose you. Please, please breathe now. Come on, please...

Chryse slips into the cave, darkening the entrance briefly, and Talonta follows, a deer thudding to the ground just outside. "How long has he been like this?" asks Muhmis.

I look at my watch. It's been 17 minutes. "Less than twenty minutes, Muhmis," I say, looking hopefully into her aquiline, tanned face. With all the fancy doo-dads these Draka have, they must have something to help, I think frantically. Something...

Chryse kneels down next to the still form on the floor, and looks into his eyes. She brings one long finger down to his eyes, and touches them, one after the other. No reaction at all, not a blink, not a quiver. She strokes a finger down the left side of his face, and looks closely at him. Finally, Chryse cocks her head and listens for a moment, and then sits back, resting a hand on Carter's arms as he thumps Phil's chest. "No need, Carter."

"But... It's, we call it CPR, it's how we revive someone, Muhmis, please..." I stutter, touching her shoulder. Her head swivels around, eyes glancing at my hand on her shoulder and then up into my face. "Please, can't you help? Don't your Draka doctors have anything? Your ship had a first-aid kit, didn't it? Can't you help him, please, Muhmis Chryse?"

She stands and pulls me to her. A stillness, and then her voice, more gentle than I've ever heard it before: "Mickey, he's gone. I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do for him. I certainly would, if I could. He's suffered a massive stroke, probably. His face is drawn to the left..."

Her voice, gentle and steady, becomes a meaningless noise as my knees give way. Tears stream down my face, and I try to pull away from the Draka holding me. "Phil, oh, Phil, please..."

I place the last turve of grass over the grave mound, and sit back. The wooden marker, carved carefully by Carter, stands upright at the head of the grave, Phil's name and dates marked clearly. Birds are singing in the woods nearby; a curious bluejay hops from a scrubby little pine down to the grass nearby, cocking one beady eye at me. I look at it through a prism of tears.

We buried Phil about an hour after he died; Marko and Fela dug the grave. Carter took a walk in the woods and came back with the wooden marker, carved and ready. I wasn't much help to anyone; Muhmis had to finally sedate me, since I couldn't seem to stop crying. I'm not the overly demonstrative type, but this has hurt me so much, so deeply...

Talonta's sitting nearby, watching over me. She brought some wildflowers and placed them at the foot of the grave earlier, but I barely noticed her. Muhmis's been butchering the deer they caught, and cooking it; I can smell the rich, meaty scent as the wood smoke drifts through the clearing. We buried Phil near where the van crashed, near where Dr. Taung's body rests. We've lost so many, I think, rocking myself back and forth, for being a little ole biology field trip... Field trip to hell...Dr. Taung, Sandy, Billy, Frank, and now... Phil.

"Sweetlin'... come here, now," Talonta whispers, her arms warm around my shoulders. "Ssssaaa, little 'un..." I feel her pick me up, seemingly without effort, and her strength gives me some sort of reassurance. I sob quietly, tiredly, as she walks, carrying me, back to the cave.

The others are quiet, subdued; I think we all knew, somehow, how ill Phil was, but none of us thought he'd die. I didn't. Talonta sets me down carefully by the fire, on one of the rocks she and Muhmis set around it as seats. Tenderly stroking the hair back from my face, she gently, tenderly, almost like I'm a kitten and she's a mama cat, licks me on the forehead, and then walks into the cave.

Julie's eyes are red, I notice. She sits down next to me and holds my hand, patting it with one of hers. "It's not your fault, Mickey... you did everything you could possibly do, really... I'm so sorry."

"Thanks," I mumble, squeezing her hand gently. She's not a bad kid, I think; not a bad kid at all. I'm so sorry, too...

Chryse sits down on the other side of me, and hands me a plate of venison stew. "You need to eat, Mickey."

I shake my head, pushing the plate back slowly. "I can't, Muhmis, not now. Please, I can't."

She shakes her head, slowly, placing the plate on the rocks closer to the fire. "Later, then. But I want you to eat, understand?"

I nod. She goes on: "Mickey, I'm sorry. I should have gone ahead and tried a trepanning, but I've never done it before, and I wasn't sure... I should have; that way he might have had a chance. But the stroke was fairly massive, and there's not much we could have done about it. He didn't suffer..."

Fresh tears well to the surface. "I just thought... I thought... maybe your Draka technology could..."

"If he'd been on an orbital battle station, or back on PrimeLine, he'd have been fine. We could have fixed things immediately. But here, I'm limited to what I can and can't do. A pity. He was a fine young buck; looked intelligent. And I know you two were very close. Again, and Draka don't do this lightly, I apologize. I took you all under my care, and your health is my responsibility." She looks into the fire and rubs one hand with another.

Sighing, I lean my head against her shoulder, feeling the steel-hard muscle beneath, and the startling heat that comes from her metabolism being so high... sniffling, I whisper, "It's okay, Muhmis, we all tried. You, me, Carter, Marko, everyone... we tried."

Fela and Heidi come over to join us, bringing cut-down gourds full of spring water to me and to Muhmis. "We're so sad for you, Mickey," Heidi says, her voice aching in misery. "So sorry."

"Thanks, guys," I say, sipping the water. Chryse's arm goes around me and squeezes, gently, and I sigh again, deeply. The others of our little group, Marko, Carter and Talonta, join the circle and we watch the sun set into banks of tumultuous clouds, lighting our camp with gold and russet shafts of light. The evening closes over us; and the fire warms us as we sit in its glow.

Chapter Nine

"What are we going to do, Carter?" I toss an acorn into the stream and watch it bob away, downstream. Chryse's told us the beacon's been answered, and that a Draka rescue craft is on its way, due to arrive only hours from now.

"What do you mean, honey?" He sits back, arms behind his head, clear blue eyes looking up into the morning sky. It's been two weeks since Phil's death; I feel numb and lost, inside, and I gaze down at the ever-changing water below us.

"I mean, how can we adapt to this whole other way of being?"

He sits up, putting an arm across my back. "What else can we do?"

"I don't know, run off into the woods, or something..." I know as soon as I've said it how silly a statement it is, and wish I could take it back. But part of me wants to run, and run, and never look back...

"Mickey... That can't work; Frank proved that. Poor guy. He really thought he had a chance, you know? But we don't. Listen. We have to adapt. We're human; that's one of our strengths, being adaptable. Don't you dare give up on me, after all we've been through."

I shrug.

"Hey, I'm serious, damn it! Don't give up. We can survive, Mickey. You and me and Julie. We've got to. You've got to. I mean, I need you," At the last few words, his voice sinks to a whisper, and his arm tightens around me. "I love you, Mickey."

Oh, great, I think, I'm gay, and he's in love with me. Just what I need. But an inner voice corrects me. You're adaptable. You may be a woman-oriented gal, but he's a nice guy. And you need each other. So don't worry about it; be calm, act naturally, and let things go their own way. Maybe he meant he loves you like a buddy or something. I sigh, deeply, and rest my head back against his shoulder.

"Carter..."

"I know. You like women. You seem to like Talonta, too, as far as that goes. But in the past few weeks, we've all had some new experiences along that line, haven't we?" His voice is soft and I relax, hearing the truth in them.

"Yeah..."

"So I mean it when I say I love you. I mean, some of the stuff we do with Muhmis is because we have to, her pheromones and all, but that last time, it was because I wanted to, even before her chemicals hit us. Understand?"

I nod, slowly. I feel his arm tighten around me, and know he's afraid of what I might say. He's open and vulnerable now, and I need to be careful, so careful. "Carter..."

"Yes?"

I sigh again. "It's so confusing... I knew there was a difference, the last time she took the two of us, but I wasn't sure why... now I know. Thanks. It's a compliment. I appreciate it, honey, believe me."

He waits silently, and I get my courage up. "Carter, I've never fallen in love with a guy. I've loved a few, like best friends, or buddies, but I've never been in love with one. You know the difference?" I wait for him to nod, and go on:

"But I feel different about you. I notice you more, and things you say really touch me. I might, just might, be able to fall in love with you, but that would be as big an adjustment as our falling into this place was. Okay? I need time, lots of time. But I'm not saying no, please understand. Okay?"

"Yeah, that's fine. Whew. I was worried, there for a minute. I've never talked to anyone like this before, you know?" He kisses the top of my head, and part of me thrills at his touch. "Thanks for being honest with me, Mickey. I understand, and I want you to feel comfortable with things, too. You've got all the time you need, okay?"

"Hey, guys, what're you... oh. I'll come back later," Julie says, after rounding the corner of the rock we're perched on. She blushes and turns to leave.

"No, it's okay. You want to come up here and set a spell with us? It's cool, Julie, really. Come on up," I say, grinning down at her. Carter extends his hand, and she pulls herself up to sit next to us. Her cheeks are still red, though.

"We were talking about adjusting to stuff... You know, when we go to their PrimeLine. How do you feel about it?" I ask the young blonde woman.

"Oh, it doesn't sound too bad. At least we'll have some modern stuff, like indoor bathrooms and a place I can get my hair done..." she stops, and looks at me. "I know you think I'm just a bubble-head, but I really do think about stuff sometimes. When I ran off with Frank, I thought he knew a way to get away, you know? But he didn't. I made a mistake, and I sure as hell paid for it. I don't want to make any more mistakes, Mickey, Carter... I want to live."

"So do I," Carter answers. They both look at me, wondering why I haven't agreed, too.

"Well... I guess I do, too."

"Why so hesitant? You could have chosen to die, Mickey. Sandy did. Muhmis did it quick, too. Not like she did Frank. God..." Julie shudders. I do, too.

"It's just that... When we go there, it'll be completely done. The real deal. We'll be serfs for the rest of our lives, and that makes me feel funky. At least here, I had some tiny hope that maybe another one of those mole holes would open, somehow, and we could get away, or go back, or something..." I pop my knuckles, nervously. "And I hate leaving here without Phil, to be honest."

"He's gone, honey. You've got to let him go," Carter says, quietly. His hand slowly rubs my back, between my shoulders, and I know he knows I've gone all tense again. "Phil's gone. I'm sorry."

"He'd want you to go on, Mickey. I heard you and him talking, a couple of days before the tornado. I know he felt that way. I do, too. I depend on you a lot, you know? Please don't just give up, like Sandy. Or do something kinda brave but dumb, like Frank." Julie's big blue eyes are swimming with tears, and I reach out and stroke her face.

"Okay, Bubbles, I won't. I'll try to hang in there, okay?"

Carter laughs. "You know what?"

Both Julie and I ask, "What?"

"For the three musketeers that we are, our little field trip is sure turning into a major one. Biggest one I've ever been on. Maybe that's how we can think of it, just to keep it at a safe distance, until we can handle it all. A big field trip, and we're the three musketeers."

"Hey, that's an idea..." I say, hugging Julie to me, and feeling Carter's arms around the two of us.

"Um, guys..." Julie says. "Why do we want to be candy bars?"

Chryse removes the controller band from around my forehead. It feels good to get it off; it's not heavy, but you're always aware that something's there. When you try to touch it, the metal sort of moves on you. It's a weird feeling, and I rub my forehead briskly, glad to be rid of the cool metal band. "Thanks, Muhmis Chryse."

"You're calm enough now. I think I'll wait a bit before taking Julie's off. Carter seems fine, as well. The transit is rather unique, in terms of how it feels, isn't it?" She hugs me gently, her strength carefully controlled to refrain from hurting me.

"Yeah... it was cold, but sort of burny at the same time. Like falling, too. I really didn't like it. Will we have to do that a lot?"

"No, not really. Sometimes my job will require it, and you're bright enough and talented enough to become one of my personal assistants, Carter as well. Then you may have to travel with me. Not often, though. Most of what I do is based here, doing research." Chryse gestures to the surrounding village. The clean, wooden-sided buildings are neatly arranged in a staggered pattern; there's a central park, green with grass and bright with suntanned children playing. I listen to their laughter and their calls for a moment, trying to get a grip on where... when... I am.

"Your personal assistant? That would be cool..."

"Cool?"

I look up at her in surprise, and then remember it's a slang phrase from my time, my place. That's all gone now, a voice wails inside, and my eyes fill. I hear Chryse sigh, and she hugs me to her, pressing my face against her black-uniformed chest firmly. "Ssssaaa, little one..."

"So these are the archaics you found? How interesting. Any of the three for sale?"

For sale? What? Then I remember—we're serfs. Slaves. We had to make the choice between life as a serf and death; the three of us chose life. Gee, I'm a pro-lifer, I chuckle to myself. Never thought I'd have that label attached. Then I feel a hand stroke my back, and I close my eyes, leaning into Muhmis.

"Ah, Pelonius, no... These are mine. I've claimed them, and Archon Renston has agreed. It's easier, too, this way, since I'll be working on their genome project. Sorry. We'll be... producing... some more archaics, soon. You'll get first choice, promise. They're quite different, but interesting and rewarding to break to you." Chryse runs a hand through my short hair, soothing me.

Producing more archaics? I wonder to myself. What the hell? I stay calm, though, and tighten my grip around her slender, muscular waist. I don't turn to look at the male Draka standing behind me, not even when he sighs, and gently caresses my ass.

"Ah, well, I'll wait, then. Very long?"

"Only about fifteen years. Not long at all. I'll let you know, certainly."

"Service to the State, then, Legate Von Shrakenberg. Thanks," he says.

Chryse's voice is crisp. "Glory to the Race, Tetrarch Rhein."

After the man's walked away, I look up into my Muhmis' face. "What was all that about, if I may ask?"

"Mickey, you're important to the Race. From the Ingolfsson File, we've learned that we may be able to... undo something we've done by mistake, using humans."

"Using us?" My voice shakes. This is almost more than I can take, I think. Just a little more, and controller band, or no controller band, I'm going wacka-wacka.

"Come here, sit with me while they finish processing your friends' identity work. Here," Chryse leads me over to a shaded bench. Dogwood is blooming around us, and some of the fragrant white petals drift to the ground as we sit. I sit on the bench next to her, which draws some stares from the tanned, uniformed workers who pass by. They all make some sort of little bow to her, hands before eyes, like they're shielding them from the sun or something.

"Why do all of them do that, and why do they all kinda look alike, and why do they stare at me like that?"

"Gods alive, child. You're full of questions, aren't you? I know, I've barely let you get started. That's part of what I was talking about. Let's see, where to start... long ago, hundreds of years ago, our ancestors did some major genetic engineering, genengineering, we call it. That's why we're not human any more. We've become a different species, as I explained to you. But when they did all the enhancements, somehow, somewhere, along the way, our creativity was damaged. Badly. The servus, those people you see in the light grey uniforms around here—the ones you were asking about just now—are more creative than we are, but lack the drive, the boldness, the... curiosity that you humans have."

I nod, waiting for her to go on.

"The Ingolfsson File is a packet of data sent back from another timeline, by Gwendolyn Ingolfsson, before she was killed by a Samothracian agent," Chryse says. She snarls the last two words, and I shiver, watching her eyes. "We're sure she killed him as well, but it was a dreadful loss for the Race to lose her. Too, she was a friend of mine, someone I admired greatly. But the data she managed to send back, detailing her years on the Earth she landed on, and her research, are amazing. That's what's given the push for this genome project."

"What will happen to us?"

"Nothing painful, sweet. You belong, personally, to me. You're mine, and I won't allow anyone to hurt you. Understand that, and believe it, Mickey."

"I'll try..."

"Good enough. What we'll do is harvest some DNA from you, and maybe some eggs from you and Julie, sperm from Carter. We'll begin cloning, and growing, humans, archaics like you. Then we can have a larger group to study, as well as the added bonus of having a work force bred from birth to obey, unlike you three. It'll take years to properly break you in. But we have time. That's something Draka have a lot of, you see, since we're unaging."

"Not immortal, though." I remember the fight between her and Nikateros, and shudder. She tore his damn head off, blood dark in the firelight...

"No, and not immune to threats, like those damned Samos. I'll give you some information about them, when you can process it. But please, don't get all upset. We're not going to harm you, or even the humans we clone from your cells. We want you to work with us, to help us. In exchange, you'll have security, power, even some glory. Safety, for sure."

"And I guess we really don't have a choice in the matter, do we?"

"No." She cups my chin, bringing my head up so our eyes meet. "I'd rather you were happy, though. Cooperation is usually better than coercion. I think you know that by now, after our time in the woods together, don't you, Mickey?"

"Y-y-y-yes, Muhmis."

"Good. Now why are the servus bowing? That's what serfs do when they pass by or are near an Overlord. You'll learn all about that. We'll get you fitted with a transducer, like the ones that Marko and I have, and then you can learn things very rapidly. I think you'll enjoy it." The Draka woman smiles, and for a moment, I can see her as a person, hopefully trying to make it easier for me to accept all this. How can I? I wonder. This is all so strange... so fast, too much...

"Why do they look so much alike?"

"Because they are, actually. These here were especially bred and raised to be workers, scientists, that sort. Technicians. Genetically, they're very similar to each other."

"Oh." I watch people go by for a moment or two, marshalling my thoughts with an almost physical effort. If Carter was out here, he'd probably be staring at the trees, or the grass, like he was when we first got here, I think. "Why're they staring at me?"

"Because you're the first archaic human they've ever seen. There may be a few, a very few, feral humans living a Stone Age existence in some of the Wilderness Preserves we have, but no one here has ever seen or smelled a human before. You're quite a novelty. Too, you're sitting on the same level as I am, which is unusual."

"Should I get down, Muhmis?"

"No," Chryse smiles. "That's good of you to ask, though. You'll learn all about proper etiquette soon, darlin', when you've got the transducer implanted. Then, it'll be natural. All right?" She leans over and kisses me firmly on the mouth, her tongue probing. I gasp a little, and she laughs. "I already know how good, how quick a learner you are, Mickey, my pretty-girl." Her mouth finds mine again, and the sensation overwhelms me...

"This dang thing itches," complains Julie, scratching behind her right ear. Her hair, freshly done and fixed up in some bizarre series of braids and bows, bobs.

"Don't scratch. They said not to, or you'll have a scar. You don't want that, do you?" Carter looks up from a map hologram, distracted.

"No..." She sighs and looks out the window, her hands running over the silk blouse she has on. "I wonder when we'll get to see that big city again?"

"God, we were just there two days ago! Find something to do, besides be frisky, Julie," I mutter, trying again to master opening the practice file Muhmis gave me. This transducer stuff makes my head hurt, but she said last night that would go away, that I was just trying too hard. Then she made me forget about everything but her, her lips and her hands... I blush, and try to open the file instead. I can see it clearly in the air before me, and then it's gone. It's in the mail, and I just sent it to myself. Damn it!

"Why're you so grumpy? With all the attention Muhmis's been giving you, you could at least be nice to people, even if you haven't gotten much sleep, you know," pouts Julie, glaring at me from the window.

I sigh and give up on the file for a moment. Carter's lost in amazement, looking at the overlays on the hologram before him. He's been babbling for a couple of days now about the reclamation projects and the conservancy programs that the Draka have in place, and the terraforming on Mars and Venus... he's been sort of blissed out, I think. This is his way of tuning in, turning on, and dropping out. I've been trying to master the transducer, myself. And Julie's been pampering herself lavishly.

"I'm just... frustrated. When are you gonna pick something to do, Julie? Carter here has his trees, and snail darters, and I've got all this computer transducer gadget stuff, but what do you do? You just sit around and complain because we're not in Archona, shopping. Get real, okay?"

"Hey, I am real. You guys have your thing to do, and being pretty is mine. Get real yourself, miss butch-I-don't-wear-make-up."

"Girls, ladies, women, harridans... stop it." Carter's voice is serious, and I turn around to look at him in surprise.

"Carter?"

"Stop it. We're all on the same team. Get it? Julie, in one way you're right. You're very good at looking pretty. But in another way, Mickey's right. You need to find something to do, so you won't be bored and cranky. No matter how pretty you are, if you're bitchy, Muhmis or anyone else won't want to be around you. It could also get you in trouble with the other servants here. Okay? Think about it. Find something you're interested in, and start exploring."

The young girl turns away, nodding, her eyes brimming with tears. "I know you guys think I'm just an airhead, anyway..."

"No, that's not the point," I say. I carefully keep the exasperation out of my voice as best I can. "It's just that we have a chance to do more than just survive here, Julie, and you can make a difference. Not by parading around in silks. You like fashion stuff, so why don't you do some reading on it? Maybe you could, oh, I don't know, design stuff. You've heard Muhmis talk about fostering our creativity. All those tests they've given us... Think about it. You could be famous."

"Really? You're not just putting me on?"

"No." I look down at my hands. "I'm not. Find something you like to do, and learn how to do it here. That's what Carter's doing, and that's what I'm trying to do. It's to keep you from going nuts, or driving anyone else nuts. Okay? And I'm sorry for yelling at you, or making you feel bad."

"I'm sorry, too. Friends?" She holds out her arms, and I reluctantly, a bit awkwardly, hug her.

Carter rolls his eyes. "Girls!"

I walk over to him. "You don't seem to mind hugs from girls, mister." I hug him, and in a moment, Julie joins us. We three stand in the middle of the room, together. Together in a world that's completely different in so many ways from the one we left days ago, I think. Where will we end up from here?

** **

Editor's Note:

Anne Marie Talbott (AMT) and Steve Stirling wrote this story sometime before 16 July 1998. I received three emails from Anne Marie conveying it as a Word document then, three chapters each. I seem to have only a .zip archive of 9 HTML files now, which are dated 10 August 1998, and it's possible this is saved from her (now gone) website or another email. The story content in that archive should be identical to what's presented on this site. The story was originally written using Microsoft Word 97, which was then apparently used to convert it to HTML 4.0 Transitional for her website.

AMT basically said in her three emails, along with a lot of other stuff: Steve Stirling wrote the Draka sections and I wrote the other ones. Erin [is] much longer (novel length) but I sort of like it better. Fun's more an adventure sort of survival story. I enjoy thinking about how people would survive somehow under unfortunate circumstances. It was fun to write, that's for sure. Hope you're enjoying it! It all started when I got up the nerve to email Steve Stirling, who happens to be one of my favorite SF/Fantasy writers... he's very interesting to meet, too.

This is a rare collaboration between the parent "professional" author and a fanfic author. In that respect, it's Draka canon, possibly even more so than some of the stories in "Drakas!". But like "Yearnings", and the other AMT-written fanfics, this one had disappeared from the Internet over the years. After somebody recently asked about another one that I didn't save (probably "Domination Centuries"), I decided to reformat this one for my own Draka website. I can actually agree about Steve as an interesting person, because I eventually had some email correspondence with him, and then met he and his wife for dinner in Santa Fe once.

If you compare the archived original and this version, you'll notice numerous minor code and punctuation changes. The underlying HTML was produced by Microsoft Word 97, and while the Netscape and Microsoft browsers will display it just fine, it makes validator programs very sick. So, I had to do some conversions for XHTML 1.0 Transitional. No actual text of the story has been removed to convert it for my own website. Punctuation (double and single quotes, ellipses, em dashes, semicolons) was changed; headings, separators, indentation and fonts were changed to match my current website design. But I believe my editing hasn't damaged the story.

Peter Karsanow
September 13^th, 2005

P.S. Did a spelling and grammar check on 2005-10-26.

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The following are used with express or inherited permission of the original authors. Fun in the Woods is © Anne Marie Talbott and S. M. Stirling. The Draka and Drakon are © S. M. Stirling.
By Peter Karsanow.
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Fun in the Woods

Been Framed?

Fun in the Woods

by Anne Marie Talbott and S. M. Stirling

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Editor's Note:

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