The Progenitors

by J. E. Andrews

  "Ah, here it is," he was smiling.

  A small bronze case fit his hand. He keyed a lid open. Disappointment colored his face and he almost threw it. It was a hand comp. It served many functions.

  "Fried," he snarled. "Not just dead or dry but fried… useless."

  *

  Later, when he'd eaten some emergency rations, medication and gotten pants and shoes on, he stared at the lump that was his hand. I didn't want him looking. I knew its condition but the sight of it would worry him and likely impede healing. The shirt would not allow the wrapped hand to fit through its long sleeve.

  He stared at it for a moment until I got impatient.

  I snagged the shirt and tore the sleeve off before returning it.

  "Right," he said. "Thanks. Next time wait, I was going to cut up the length of it."

  I turned away. Right, I shouldn't be impatient.

  "We have to go…" he said a minute later. "At least I do. You probably live here. But they'll come sometime and they won't want a survivor to complicate their job." He began taking inventory of his assets. "I don't even know where I am," he murmured.

  He fought the sadness down.

  "If I could get to the capital or the spaceport I'd be able to get help, either the Warders or someone from my dad's security staff. Although… who set up the burn?"

  I'd thought we could stay here but he didn't. I doubted the Warders would help him. We restricted their functions and there could be danger unknown in his father's staff. Obviously whoever had betrayed him and his mother had no fear of their laws. The visitors have a strange sense of retribution.

  My path was shaping up.

  It looked to be dry.

  *

  That day he sorted through his emergency supplies, filling his bag with what he thought he'd need. I considered the path. It would be more difficult than he suspected. If his enemies took up the chase the peril would increase.

  That night I crouched by him and sang him into a deeper sleep. I examined his injury. The healing had begun. I found more ingredients for the poultice. Changing once more, I licked his hand clean as I kept him in sleep, spitting the used poultice. Then I applied fresh. I used the same bandages and made certain they were tight enough to stay in place for a few days. With some of his thread I stitched them on, just to be certain.

  I sewed his shirt sleeve back on around his arm. I fashioned a sling for his arm. Considering his leg, I left him to sleep and entered the woods again, seeking an appropriate sapling. It didn't take long. Wrapping the crux with a spongy vine added a cushion for beneath his arm. When I returned he was sleeping naturally so I began smoothing the shaft of the crutch.

  Using teeth and claws I peeled the bark away and shaved it down, thinning and smoothing it. One of the things we do, my people, that is, is keep records. On the one hand we keep track of the lives and significant events of the world, while on the other we track climactic changes and regional needs. I marked his tale. I didn't mark any of these words randomly, even though the staff would likely be set aside when he finished with it.

  The boy shifted in his sleep as whilisps searched his hair. It was possible they'd find something now. A few had been pacing about on my head and shoulders, investigating my fur. I believe I was clean but likely they could find something, they took note of the smallest traces of debris. When I changed frequently the elios left deposits, like skin flakes. The whilisps seek those out. The slivers of wood I peeled were also inspected by the tiny flyers.

  The boy was watching me. Tamsla was lighting the edge of the world.

  The whilisps gave a round of morning sounds and sped away to their nests. They did not like the sun. I finished the character I was carving before turning to look at the boy. His blue eyes were fascinating. Only the snowpards of the southern glaciers had eyes so blue.

  "You made that?" he said, the tone of surprise in his voice was unusual.

  Most visitors, when talking to any Shymyra used formal voice, controlled tones. We meet visitors when they want something, when they wish to press against our restrictions. The guileless tones of a child are unusual. I have taken turns at the port and the embassy center but even there the children of visitors are monitored and directed. Of course, we do not appear as I am, at those times.

  Grabbing the stick in my teeth I carried it to him and dropped it.

  "A crutch," he said, pointing out the obvious as children do. "Thanks."

  I glanced at the brightening horizon and nudged it toward him and stepped back. It was obvious he understood me. Sitting up, he looked at the wrapping on his hand. Perhaps he felt the difference.

  "My knee does hurt," he observed.

  Again, stating the obvious. Turning, I gathered the cup in its net and went to the stream. I didn't need to change to fill it. The boy had gathered himself to his feet and stood, testing his knee, testing the crutch. He'd need it along the way. Settling down again, he took the cup, thanking me, and took some meds from his supply.

  "I don't know which direction to go," he said after he sipped water.

  I turned my nose toward the capital. Even though it was far, it was this side of the spaceport.

  "That way?" he said, wondering, doubtful.

  There was something more. Actually, stupidly, I realized there were many things bothering the boy. Tears welled up as he gazed at the downed aircraft. It was the tomb of his mother, at least. I didn't know who of the others were his friends, family, or… staff. There was also the fact that enemies had tried to kill him.

  I stepped inside the wreck carefully. My arrival disturbed the swarms of scavengers initially. Recognizing me, the large ones settled, the small paid no heed, as was their right. Being satisfied that I was hidden, I changed to use my hands, removing the peta claw from dead fingers. I cleaned the blade before changing and grabbing it in my teeth.

  Waiting for me, standing with the crutch, I had an odd sense of foreboding as I walked toward him. Gently, he took the knife from my teeth, looking at it carefully. The tears that had been building up broke loose and tracked down his face. I believe he didn't notice.

  "Oh," he said and struggled for something more, then settled on saying thanks.

  It was enough. The blade was shaped like a flat tooth with a cross grip that could be held in the fist as his mother had held it. For a moment he fit it to his hand, biting his lip, before putting it into a shirt pocket. I knew it was incredibly sharp. It was made of a substance unlike metal, but just as strong and likely never dull.

  "I guess…" he said softly. "I guess I need to go… Oh…"

  His eyes turned from the wreckage to me.

  "Oh…" he said and looked from me to the forest, then looked at me.

  "Will you help me?" he said as quiet as the light breeze. "I don't know where or how…"

  Maybe he couldn't always see the obvious; but then he is still an adolescent.

  I tapped the crutch with my paw.

  "Oh, right," he said. "You are… you have been helping me."

  I would've laughed at the incredulity in his attitude but growled instead. With his arm in the sling, the kit bag by a strap on his shoulder and the crutch under his good arm he was as ready as he'd ever be. I started away, slowly enough for him to follow.

  "Wait," he said. "Shouldn't we follow the water? Won't that be safest?"

  I waited for him. I did not turn back.

  "Okay, you're the guide."

  He started after me. When he stopped again, I did look back. He was giving the wreckage one last look. We resumed walking. I'd picked an old foragers trail, from the scents they were lorm and troggles, but neither breed was near at this season. The boy moved slowly. I went ahead to check the path and returned to pace him.

  There was nothing else to be done.

  It would take revolutions or a lunar cycle for his body to heal normally.

  *

  When Tamsla was lowering, I chose a nesting spot within earshot of the river among the trees. I wanted enough quiet
to hear movement in the sky. I was puzzled at the absence of visitor's search and rescue. The Warder would have spoken to the governor about a missing craft… perhaps.

  Warders are a breed apart. They have tremendous technology and psychic abilities and hold themselves as cultural police of the visitor's civilization. They arrived after star traders visited our world, thinking we were a primitive society. They offered help, asking only to learn of us and have a spaceport under their ministry. Of course we already had a spaceport, though it was long unused, and we had no desire for their meddling in our world. We use them to moderate the other visitor species. The most recent of these had been that of the boy's. Visitors had various names for themselves but names mean little.

  We allow their technology enough freedom to track their aircraft.

  Why had no one come?

  No one of my people would, assuming I dealt with it, since this was my range. It was a significant matter and each day increased my suspicion. To say I was unworried would be a mistake. Something was happening in the political world of embassies. I was ignorant of the current situation and that increased my concern.

  The day's walk had been slow with many rest stops but the boy didn't complain.

  He had begun talking, speaking as though I could reply… putting words in my mouth or attributing a comment to a look. There were enough times when it was appropriate that I paid attention, amused. Early on he'd introduced himself as Scott Aradette. The name meant nothing to me. It probably should have. When he started to talk about his mother he changed his mind and hobbled along quietly.

  So when I chose the night's nest he wasn't particularly tired, well, enough to rest but not so as to sleep.

  After he'd taken another swallow of water he reached for one of the nutriration bars that were in his survival pack. I set my paw on his hand before he broke the seal. At that point we reached an impasse. I could not change to speak to him, to allow him that knowledge, but he could not waste his resources where there was plenty. He had to save them for when the way grew difficult.

  We stared at one another; his cool blue eyes meeting mine, likely mine were golden at that time. Then he replaced the ration bar.

  "Well?" he said. "Will you provide food as well as water?"

  I backed off a pace before turning my gaze aside.

  I went to the river. After eating several swimmers, satisfyingly myself, I snagged one that would meet his needs. I carried it back and placed it on a flat rock.

  "Is that for me to eat?" he sounded troubled at the prospect.

  I gave him a look that meant that the answer was obvious, learned through our day of sojourn. Then I prepared it. I sliced off the head and peeled away the skin. Then I gutted it and split the fleshy quarters from the bones. I gobbled up the skin, bones and entrails, crunching and swallowing quickly. I didn't hide what I did but I didn't make an issue of it, either.

  Scott looked at the meat.

  "So… I eat it raw," he said.

  My look suggested he try it. Like I'd suggested he try a steep path.

  With a nod he gathered a piece in his fingers and bit it. Since I wasn't sure what he'd make of the flavor, I was pleased when he relaxed and ate more. He sipped his water with it. After he'd eaten half I persuaded him to continue. Before eating it all, he had to stop.

  "I can't, really," he said. "It's filling, thank you."

  As he offered the last chunk of meat to me I ate it from his hand.

  "Shymyra," he said, as I licked my paw. "Just how intelligent are you? I don't remember learning anything of the intelligence of you holy cats."

  It was easy to act intelligent by ignoring the question.

  "I was looking at the scratches you made on the crutch, you know? I thought I was mistaken but they are words. I saw words like these etched in the tablets of the Progenitors Museum near the spaceport. And it's obvious you understand me. Why don't you communicate more simply?"

  Darkness, as much as there would be, covered us.

  I didn't expect Scott to understand me. Even if I changed to a form where we could talk I wasn't assured of understanding. As he was falling asleep later, I saw the peta claw in his fist. I crept near and sang to him. It was a wordless humming song that touched his nerves. After I'd stopped him from eating the nutrient bar he then abstained from using the painkiller drugs. He showed wisdom to ration his supplies.

  My singing would help him ignore the pain as he slept.

  *

  The peta claw slipped from his fingers during the night. I changed to pull it from the small crevice. Scott would likely need it close to hand at some point. Taking the crutch I studied where his hand had smoothed the wood. The peta claw would go there.

  - 2 -

  Returning with a morning meal I found Scott searching for the little blade.

  "I can't find it," he said, fearful at the loss.

  After setting the meat aside I pushed the crutch to him and then had to reveal what I'd done.

  "Oh, wow, Shymyra," he said. "This is perfect…"

  Tears had started and I regret his distress but he was already turning past that. I'd shaped the crutch so his hand fitted better and at that place added decoration to conceal the little crossbar of the blade. That sharp tooth now fit into a hollow. Scott slipped it out and in a few times, at ease now that his mother's claw would not be easily lost.

  This time he did not hesitate with eating the food I brought though it was not the same as before.

  *

  We crossed the river in the middle of the day as I took a path with an easier climb out of the valley. It was a struggle for him with but one good hand and a stiff knee. The knee was gaining strength, though. Unfortunately, I had him fill a water bag from the emergency kit when we turned our back on the river. The added weight was a burden that would lighten all too soon.

  The valley side was a long and slow climb with no easy path up the rocky face. The last stretch was most difficult since I had to find a split to get him past the overhang. I left him frequently, scouting so he didn't have to take more than a single pass. I knew this cliff face well but had never measured it for another species.

  *

  At the top I found an early nest for the night.

  He was in pain. His fingers were bruised and bloody where he'd used crutch and hand to force his way upward. Scott took pain meds and water, avoiding my eyes.

  I left to search for food. At first I stretched my limbs from the careful controlled climb, running across the edge of rock, enjoying the feel of the world beneath my paws.

  *

  A chithin nest met my needs. After I ate my fill, I gathered three of the largest for Scott. I wrapped them in the gossamer webbing of the atrillis weavers. The two species had developed a symbiotic relationship over the millennia. They nested together, each providing part of the needs of the other. With the end of the net in my teeth I returned.

  Scott was hesitant with the chithin, holding the curved shell. The twelve stiff legs brushed the air slowly. Proboscis and mandibles vibrated. Putting forth a claw I traced the edge of the largest section. Cutting it from one hind leg around to the next it separated, showing the moist fleshy body inside.

  "I'm just supposed to eat this?" he said.

  Watching his eyes I saw him tighten his resolve. Then he glanced around, anywhere but at me, before peeling the segments forward as I held the edge. With the shell braced, he grabbed the limbs abruptly, peeled them back, lifting the wiggling flesh and, with eyes closed, bit into it.

  They opened an instant later in surprise. The wide blue showed pleasure and wonder. Of course I didn't know what it tasted like to him, but I was pleased that it was good. Quickly he ate all of the meat of the hind section. When he started twisting the pieces to gather what else remained I stopped him. I wasn't confident concerning the rest. Scott's ability to assimilate the complex enzymes was unlikely. I didn't want his body to struggle or become ill because of food.

  It wasn't necessary. Taking the
remnants I cast them down the rocks for scavengers.

  Scott used the small knife to slice into the second chithin as I helped hold it. I wondered how long it would take his other hand to recover. I didn't want to unwrap it again until we were through the sand. The second and third chithin met his needs. I disposed of the remains. Then I cleaned his hands, mouth and chin. When he rubbed the fur around my neck I almost shook him off, it was improper, but… he didn't know our ways.

  The warmth of his hand felt good and he had a need of comfort… company. His species has a need of companions. Still, I could only endure so much. I eased away before shivering off the feeling of his touch.

  Deep in the night while I listened to the sky and the world, Scott stirred in his sleep, mumbling. A soft moan sounded as well but he was still asleep. Nothing I could see disturbed him so I assumed it was a thing of memory, a dream, perhaps. It didn't last long and I wasn't tempted to sing him into deeper sleep. The boy had to deal with the things in his mind.

  *

  In the morning I gave him some grubs to eat. I ate one when he hesitated. Even so, it took him a considerable time of thought to convince himself to eat. The taste did not trouble him. I believe it was the fact that the grubs were also alive. When he had finished he stood up slowly, stiffly, and looked around.

  "It won't be so hard today," he said. "Will it?"

  Since he couldn't see what was beyond the ridge I simply returned his gaze.

  *

  When he did see the plain of dunes, Scott stopped and looked at me.

  "You know, Shymyra," he said. "I hope you know what you're doing."

  He didn't have a choice. I couldn't leave him to try to survive alone out of the forest and to linger would be dangerous. I had no choice, either.

  I gave a low-voiced growl.

  Scott laughed for some reason.

  *

  The end of the first day held a lot of pain for Scott. The shifting sand made walking difficult and the strain on his knee was worse. Grubs became our main staple, although it was not always easy to find enough. The nests were small and I couldn't take them all. I ate enough to keep my strength and took enough for Scott.