Since my bed linen reeked of her “dead fish” estrus pseudo-scent I stripped the sheets and pillow cases to let things “air” before hitting the shower. Being in close proximity to her for hours on end left me reeking (to my screwed-up senses, anyway), and I made it a point to systematically go through the house, opening windows and running the ventilation system on “high”. I hated insulting the young Yularian like that, but even knowing that the stench existed mainly in my mind didn’t mute its odiferous presence, and I simply had to have some relief.
“You about ready for some lunch? I’m buying!” I called down the hall, and immediately got a positive response.
“I would like more of that wonderful chicken!” she yelped from the recesses of her room, and I had to laugh. Foxes have always loved chicken!
“Tell you what,” I called. “I found a big bag of ‘chicken nuggets’ in the freezer, and I’ll stick them under the broiler. I’ll make you a deal: If you don’t ask what part of the chicken the ‘nuggets’ came from, I promise I won’t either.”
After a pause her voice drifted up the hallway. “I don’t understand. What is a ‘nugget’, and why would we not want to know where it comes from?”
I shook my head. Some things simply can’t be explained to an alien. “It’s a joke, L’raan!” I bellowed. “It’s actually quite rude, and it’s really not worth explaining. Just figure on coming to the kitchen for lunch in about thirty minutes. I’ll have something good for you (well, the nuggets were broiled, not fried!) that you’ll like, too.” Sheesh!
After lunch we ventured outside, and the first thing L’raan wanted to do was explore my modest little slice of Paradise, but first I needed to ensure we didn’t get ambushed. “Bertha, we need a spider to accompany each of us at all times when we’re outside on the property, and if possible we also need you to watch for any people or machines trying to slip up on us through the surrounding woods, or even by air.” L’raan looked at me with an Are you serious? expression, and I said, “I made the near-fatal mistake of underestimating our adversaries, and I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that doesn’t happen again.”
“When the agency techs were here yesterday,” Bertha began, “they put an observation module on top of the cell phone tower a mile down the road. It looks like part of the tower’s structure, but now I can ‘see’ in several spectrums to the horizon in all directions. There are also new observation nodes on the roof of the house and the garage, and the perimeter fence has sensor buttons atop each pole.”
“Remind me to send the agency crew an extra-special Christmas/Hanukah gift box this year,” I said. “Art and his guys are the best.”
The Yularian was definitely feeling better, and virtually everything outside interested her. I guess were our situations reversed, I’d be interested in my host world’s alien environment, too---just probably not as much as L’raan. She found the least little things fascinating! Cutting grass, for example:
I’d remarked that if it rained later today as predicted, I’d probably have to cut the grass by the weekend. Either that, or extend the contract with the lawn service that had kept my nearly four acres of tree-dotted grass looking presentable over the past decade. “Why does it require you to cut it, Tom?” she asked, genuine puzzlement in her voice. “Our decorative ground covers grow to an attractive height, then stop. Why---?”
“You guys are way better at bioengineering than we are,” I replied. “We have lots of varieties of domestic grass, but no one type is suited for the extremes of climate we experience on Earth, and when the weather is favorable it all grows continuously; therefore for aesthetic reasons it’s usually trimmed to a uniform height on a regular basis. Yeah, it would be nice if it would grow thick, durable and healthy to a specific height, then stop, but so far we’ve not mastered that bit of bioengineering ‘magic’.”
We wandered the property for nearly an hour, until, as we were walking the western fence line, one of the accompanying spiders stated, “An armed human is approaching through a trail in the underbrush. I believe it to be our neighbor, Burt Henry. At the moment his intent is unknown, but during your absence he has appeared at the fence line---but never crossed it---on an irregular basis.”
“Burt Henry,” I explained to L’raan, “has a small place about a quarter mile west of here. He often hunts varmints in the scrub land between us.”
“Does he eat what he kills, and does he share his prey with you?” she asked, quite interested.
I shook my head, laughing. “No, not hardly. What we humans consider as varmints we normally don’t eat. I’ve never had any problems with him; in fact, he’s been a pretty good neighbor.” We could hear a few sticks crack and some brush rustle. “He’ll be here in a moment, and I’ll introduce you.”
As expected, Henry soon came tromping up to the fence line---which I kept cleared a good six feet back all the way around my property---and suddenly stopped when he caught sight of my alien companion semi-hiding behind me. Both Bertha (through her spiders) and I carefully watched what he did with his little bolt-action .22 rifle, but he was careful not to threaten us with it---perhaps due to spotting the .45 auto pistol riding in a leather holster on my hip.
“Hello, Burt!” I called to his surprised expression. Suddenly I realized he didn’t recognize me! “I’m back from my rejuvenation treatment,” I quickly explained, “and I probably look a bit different from when you last saw me.” You think?
After a long pause, with him standing there with his mouth hanging open, he eventually said, “Tom? Is that really you? I…I didn’t---”
“Yeah, Burt, it’s really me, only it’s ‘me’ with a few decades erased. I haven’t looked or felt this good in many a moon, old buddy, and I can tell you truthfully that it sure feels great to be younger!”
“I, uh, heard noises over this way last night,” he ventured, “and I figured I should maybe, uh, check---”
“Heh! Not a problem, Burt,” I injected. “I got home a couple of days ago, and yesterday some of my government friends dropped by for a visit. Everything’s OK, though.” Grinning, I added, “And I want to introduce you to my Yularian medical observer, L’raan.” On cue, the Yularian stepped daintily into full view, of course wearing her sandals and nothing else beyond her lush fur. “If you remember me telling you, the rejuvenation procedure is still experimental on us humans, so our alien friends sent someone home with me to make sure I didn’t have any medical problems, at least for the first few months. After that, the warranty expires and I’m on my own!”
“Hello, Mr. Henry,” she offered in the unique contralto tone and accent of her kind. “Tom tells me you are hunting ‘varmints’. May I ask what kind of creatures these are?”
“S-she---” he tried to say, but I interrupted him.
“Yularians are basically fox-like predators, so she was obviously curious as to what you shot, and if you shared your bounty with me,” I explained with a smile, purposely sidetracking his shock at seeing a human-sized anthro vixen in the raw. “I started to tell her about the armadillos, ‘coons, possums and rattlesnakes you normally pop, but you got here before I could go into detail. I did manage to tell her that we didn’t normally eat what you killed.”
He sputtered and stammered a bit, looking quite embarrassed. “Uh, n-no, I usually leave ‘em for the buzzards and such to clean up,” he said. “Mostly I just shoot armadillos and rattlesnakes, since the armadillos dig up the grass and the rattlesnakes are a danger to both man and beast. I don’t bother the ‘coons and possums unless they start being a pest around the house. I, uh, don’t s-shoot foxes---unless they, uh, get into my chickens.” The more he said, the more uncomfortable he got.
L’raan laughed, saying, “I like chicken, Mr. Henry, but I promise to leave yours alone.”
Henry didn’t know exactly how to respond to that, so he redirected the conversation to what he no doubt felt was a safer subject: Bertha’s spiders. “I, uh, never seen anything like those things, Tom. W
hat---?”
“Those are security robots,” I replied, “furnished by some friends of mine. They’re harmless as long as we’re not threatened by trespassers.” He peered at the woods-rat-sized machines. “They know who you are, so they won’t automatically shoot you should you venture onto the property.” Henry’s eyebrows shot up in shock. “Should they challenge you, just tell them what you want. They’ll get word to either L’raan or me.”
“That little---?”
“That little device,” I injected, “is radio linked to the house, and like this little device---” I touched my holstered .45 pistol “---it can kill an intruder right now. Speak to Mr. Henry, Bertha!”
“Hello, Bert Henry,” Bertha’s clear machine voice stated from the spider standing guard next to me. “My goal is to protect Tom and L’raan, but if you’re visiting and are endangered from an outside threat, I will do my best to protect you as well.” Of course the unspoken promise hung in the air; should he be the “outside threat”, he would be summarily dealt with, too.
“Ain’t technology grand!” I chirruped, then stated, “And since it’s about lunchtime, we’ll bit you good bye and good hunting. There’s a can of Campbell’s chicken corn chowder with L’raan’s name on it in my pantry, and I think I need to get her fed before she starts looking at my tender pink body with something other than professional interest. After all, her kind are predators!”
Henry was still speechless, so as L’raan and I turned to leave I added, “Let’s get together for coffee sometime, Bert. Just call the house, and if we’re home Bertha, the security system, will get one of us to the phone.”
As we walked away, I noticed that the human-curvaceous Yularian seemed to have added a bit more wiggle to her walk which, along with her fur and thick vulpine tail, made her look incredibly sexy. Yeah, she was messing with ol’ Burt, all right.
“Quit teasing him!” I whispered.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Tom,” she replied innocently. “I’m just being myself.”
Yeah, right.
That night she stated that she felt she could sleep comfortably in her room, and while I was careful to do nothing more than acknowledge her decision, it made my stomach lurch painfully. I should have been happy to have the furry stinker bedding down elsewhere.
But I was surprised to find I wasn’t.
Chapter 10
Knock Knock
The next few days passed rather uneventfully. I spent a great deal of time on the Internet and telephone, catching up on correspondence, business and the countless details a modern westerner deals with on a daily basis; things I’d had to delegate to caretakers for the past three months, or simply ignore. L’raan, on the other hand, was on a new-to-her world, was rapidly throwing off the effects of the poisoning, was enjoying poking her nose into every aspect of my house and grounds, and she was finally able to give serious attention to monitoring my physical condition---not that I was having any problems. Luckily for me, I’d not had any health-related issues that first day home, since she’d not been in any condition to help me.
“I need to get a sample of your cerebra-spinal fluid, Tom!” L’raan yelped, waving a hypo syringe around like an orchestra conductor.
“Not gonna happen, kiddo,” I replied, glaring at her. “Sticking needles in my arms is one thing; sticking needles in my spine or brain or countless other sensitive body areas---nope! Not only does it hurt like a bitch, it damages nerves and tissue, and as long as I’m not having any neurological problems you’re not poking my back with that horse-needle!”
“But it’s for your own good!” she wailed.
“I’ll wager that’s what the med techs told you when they gave you those lethal hypos---hmmm?”
L’raan opened her mouth to make her usual sharp retort---and it hung open soundlessly, her eyes wide. Then her tail and ears drooped, her mouth closed and she sighed. “I promise you,” I said in a much calmer voice, “that if I start experiencing problems that warrant you drawing a cerebra-spinal fluid sample, I’ll grudgingly submit.” She looked at me. “Dear, I’ve seen too many cases of such simple-seeming procedures go terribly wrong, and I’m not going to let anybody poke a needle in there unless there’s already a problem. Understood?”
She nodded. “Understood, Tom.”
“No sneaking up and surprising me, either!” I admonished. “That’ll get you an immediate one-way trip home, along with a scathing letter to Dr. N’looma and your ethics committee.”
“I said I understood!” she snarled, but when I didn’t flinch or back down she gave up the fight. “Will you at least give me a urine sample and allow me to draw some blood? If I’m to do my job I have reports to file.”
“Put that dagger away and come back with a smaller needle,” I said, “and I’ll offer you a vein to drain. And bring a little bottle for me to pee in while you’re at it, too. Once we’re done and you get busy on your reports, I’ll fix us some vittles. I’ve got a neat chicken dish I think you’ll like.”
After L’raan got her samples and retreated to her room I began throwing together our lunch. A couple of quick-browned chicken breasts in a shallow baking dish along with some cream of mushroom soup and a few crunchy veggies, into the oven to cook, then finish with some cheese and some slightly crushed crackers on top right before serving--- Ahhh! Chicken delight! “Chow time!” I called down the hall, but the response I received wasn’t what I expected.
“Go ahead and eat,” she called from her room. “I’ll eat later.” Huh?
“What’s wrong? You sick?” I called, heading quickly down the hall only to find her door not quite fully closed. I tapped on it before gently pushing it open, figuring to find her working at her desk, or maybe sick in the bathroom. Nope. She was reclining in bed, reading a book.
“Hey, kiddo, what’s the matter?”
The look on her vulpine face was one I hadn’t really seen before. “I’m all right, Tom. I just…don’t want to stink up your kitchen while you’re trying to eat.”
I flinched and shook my head, then looked pointed at her. “Your estrus normally only lasts for three days, right?” She nodded. “We’re well past that time now, and even allowing for your system being messed up from the trip and the poisoning, you’re pretty well over it for now, right?” She looked thoughtful, then nodded again. “Which means your body should be finished dumping ‘breed me!’ pheromones all over the place. Right?” For the briefest moment I thought she’d snarl at me, but she only looked sad. Eventually she nodded. “Great! Then all we need to do is change your pheromone-saturated bed sheets---they’re coated in shed fur anyway---and wash those shorts you’ve been wearing the past few days. Oh, and while I know it’s not good to wash your pelt too often, a quick trip through the shower before jumping into fresh shorts should flush away the last of the problem.” I grinned, showing lots of my freshly-minted teeth. “Whaddaya say? Wanna give it a try?”
She looked at me for an interminable time, then said, “But what about lunch?”
I laughed. “We can eat now or half an hour from now. It’s easy to warm up, and I think we’d both enjoy it better if my theory is right. Deal?” Her ears perked up and the end of her tail began to wag. Doggy! “Gimme those cheesy shorts and hit the shower, and I’ll take care of the laundry and deal with lunch.” She bounced out of bed and skinned the shorts off, then headed for the shower. “See you in the kitchen in thirty minutes!” I called to her back.
It really was a cute back.
As promised, she came striding into the kitchen a half-hour later, fur dry and fluffy, a fresh pair of electric-blue shorts on---and no charnel-house stink following her! I had the little kitchen table set with our lunch, including a nice chicken-friendly white wine, some freshly-made bread from my little bread machine that I’d put on earlier that morning, sweet corn and a couple of quickly-microwaved sweet potatoes. Lunch may not have been a hundred percent “traditional”, but it was foods we both liked, and I’d felt the occasio
n merited a bit of a celebration.
“C’mere,” I called to her, holding out my arms as she entered the room. She yipped in surprise when she saw the spread on the table, then looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “I’m not going to bite you; I just want you to come here!” I mock-snarled, making sure she could see I wasn’t angry. She complied, and I gathered her into a warm embrace---and sniffed her.
“What are you---?” she began, too surprised to push me away.
Sniffing and snuffling her like you’d do a child fresh from the shower, I paused a moment to say, “I smell jasmine…and a touch of musk…and---” Then I caught her by surprise again by doing something rude---something she had forced Art Goldman to do: I buried my nose between her now-uncovered furry breasts and plowed it down her belly fur to around her navel---but no farther! I wasn’t a pervert, and I (mostly) respected her dignity.
“Nope!” I commented when I came up for air. “Nothing unpleasant here! Just a good, clean pelt on a sweet, young female Yularian!” I released her and quickly stepped back, just so I’d be out of claw and fang range in case she took offense.
My little stunt had taken her so by surprise that she simply stood there for a moment, jaw hanging open and eyes wide in shock. Then she yipped laughter a few times and finally said, “I don’t believe you did that, Tom Barnes! You have been so…so stuffy around me, then to have you sniff me like some adolescent male---!”
Laughing, I injected, “I did nothing you didn’t force Art to do, my dear, and I’m quite sure one of your adolescent males would be a lot more forthcoming in his attentions---and in his intentions---than I was.” She yipped laughter again, then nodded. “I thought so. And I’m pleased to report that my screwed-up sense of smell is quite happy at the moment, so let’s sit down and celebrate the next phase of our crazy friendship!”
Last Dance of the Phoenix Page 8
