“But---” the old vixen began, “our people are the only ones I’ve found in my investigation; those who poisoned L’raan and tried to poison me. And what about our military hardware---?”
“As I said, some your people are most decidedly involved, but despite your species’ distain for those unlike you, we don’t believe Yularians as a people would arbitrarily initiate genocide. After all, if you eliminated all other species, who would you have left to feel superior to?” I finished that comment with a humorless smile, and both vixens looked so despondent I thought they’d cry.
“Cheer up!” I enthused. “With what you two have been through, neither of you are under suspicion of being enemy agents!”
For some strange reason, they didn’t find that comment amusing.
It was a somber trio that, long moments later, returned to the warm, subdued light of the den, but before we could relax I got yet another surprise. Again it was the elderly doctor who did the honors, but this time I was the recipient.
Slowly approaching me before I sat down, her head bowed, ears flat and tail drooping, I first thought Dr. N’looma was going to attack me. Quickly I realized this wasn’t an aggressive posture, but a suddenly-familiar submissive pose. Then she painfully folded herself onto the carpet at my feet and rolled over onto her back. “Thomas Barnes,” she began, “through my deliberate and arrogant actions you have suffered unintentional yet grievous harm; this in direct violation of my medical oath of service. In atonement for my sins I can but offer you my life as payment for your misery---” and with that she threw her head back and to the side the same way she’d done in front of L’raan. But I wasn’t her granddaughter; I wasn’t even a Yularian.
“No!” I shouted. “This is wrong! That which was done to me was not a major crime, and has already been corrected. I will not ‘take your life’, not even symbolically! This is my house, my world, and here you play by my rules, so get up and stand proud, Dr. N’looma. We are all in this…this mess together, and by working together we will get to the bottom of this mystery!”
Well, it was certainly a noble-sounding speech, but it didn’t have the effect I was looking for. The elderly Yularian remained on the floor, her head back and her neck presented to me. She apparently wasn’t budging, and finally L’raan, tears once again dampening her cheeks, explained, “You must do this, Tom! This is the way of our people, and it’s the only way my grandmother can retain even a shred of her honor and dignity!”
“I can’t believe you two want me to actually do this!” I wailed. “It’s savage, it’s barbaric, it’s---!”
But L’raan interrupted my self-righteous rant with, “Tom, it’s far more civilized now than when it was actually done for real, and that hasn’t been all that many years ago!”
Crap! I looked down again at the old vixen lying at my feet, and the poor old soul was crying. Crap-crap-crap! I was an old man (granted, in a younger version of myself) and doing what they were asking just felt wrong---but… Hell. Sometimes a man has to make decisions and do things he doesn’t like, doesn’t agree with…and just plain hates. Still, he does what needs to be done and moves on, and that’s what I decided to do---but with my own “spin” to it!
Crouching down, I brought my face close to hers and whispered, “You understand, old one, that you and I are of a similar generation. Like you, I’m aged, set in my ways, and stubborn as hell…but for you and your granddaughter I’ll bend my personal rules and honor…and try to grant your wish.” With that, I positioned my mouth over her neck, opened my feeble human jaws as wide as I could and sank my puny human teeth deep in her still-damp throat fur until I could feel the flesh and cartilage below. Then I gently clamped my dull “fangs” down until they met the slightest resistance and oh-so-carefully rocked her head back and forth a couple of times before releasing her and sitting back up---spitting and sputtering little hairs worse than a cat after a grooming session. But before she could move to get up I slipped my now-rejuvenated arms under her knees and shoulders, and in one smooth move raised her off the floor and stood with her in my arms---and to her obvious surprise I lay my head over onto her chest. “I give you back your life, honored physician, in return for giving me back mine,” I said, and with that I stepped over and gently deposited her---if she weighed a hundred pounds it would have shocked me---onto the couch.
At first she looked at me as if I’d lost my mind, but after a few moments her mouth opened slightly, her ears perked up and the end of her tail began wiggling---a Yularian smile.
“Eating too late is bad for the digestion,” I stated, “so you rest and visit with your granddaughter for a while and I’ll throw together something for dinner. Once we’ve filled our bellies, Dr. N’looma, we’ll get you settled in for the night.”
The elderly vixen suddenly looked unhappy. “Thomas Barnes, I did not come here to impose upon you. I can get lodging in town or at the embassy---”
“No, you can’t,” I quickly countered. “You leave the safety of this place and you probably won’t last the night. Remember, our unknown adversaries want you dead, and they’re not shy in how they do it.” She blinked a few time, then nodded. “You survived the trip and the taxi ride, and we’ve even managed to defeat their snooping device. These defeats must be driving them bugshit, which means they’ll no doubt be doing one of two things---if not both: They’ll either step up their current efforts to kill us, or they’ll fall back and try to come up with a new strategy; either one---or both---means we’ll have to increase our vigilance, too. Otherwise, one day we may wake up dead.” I grinned humorlessly. “And before I turn in, I’ll place another one-sided phone call to the Yularian embassy, one they won’t like hearing any more than the last one I made.”
Dinner was simple, yet quite pleasant. The old physician seemed to take delight in the pressure-cooker-fried chicken I prepared, and we all enjoyed ears of Silver Queen variety corn and canned yams, as well as the frozen buttermilk biscuits I quickly baked. While Yularians leaned towards their canid carnivore ancestry, they happily enjoyed certain non-meat foods that we humans relished, too.
They also liked our wines, and while I wasn’t a “wine snob” I’d prided myself in maintaining a pleasant cross-section of very drinkable wines. We enjoyed a nice American Chardonnay produced by friends of mine who owned a small vineyard in California, and before we realized it we’d mostly killed two bottles of the stuff---and were feeling quite “comfortable”.
“As you correctly pointed out, Thomas Barnes,” Dr. N’looma offered when we had made ourselves comfortable back in the den, “you and I are of the same basic generation, and while we call different worlds home it seems a bit pretentious to use titles when conversing, at least when in private. I would consider it an honor for you to address me by my personal name, which is B’naah.”
“In that vein, B’naah, please call me Tom. ‘Mr. Barnes’ was my father, and is a formality I’m not comfortable hearing my friends use in private.” She nodded, and I noticed L’raan’s tail thumping in approval at the inclusion of her grandmother into my circle of friends.
A bit of time passed in silence, then I ventured, “I hope you realize that the two of you have had a profound influence on me. A few months ago I was contemplating dying like countless old men before me. I’d lived my life, fought my battles, loved my wife and raised my children, and death was creeping up on me at a dead run. Now…I’ve endured an experimental rejuvenation process that restored me to perfect health, and if I can simply survive the efforts of those who are trying to kill me, I can look forward to many more years of…well, living.” I drained the last of the wine from my glass.
“You, B’naah, gave me back my life,” I stated, smiling, “and you, L’raan, have given me a good reason to live it.” The elderly vixen dipped her muzzle and closed her eyes for a few moments while her granddaughter tilted her head, either in confusion or contemplation.
“And since the hour’s late and it’s relatively peaceful, I propose we all hea
d off to bed and try to get some much-needed sleep. Tomorrow will be here before we know it, and I think it’ll be a busy day.”
I made my promised one-sided phone call to the Yularian embassy, B’naah and L’raan listening slack-jawed to the harsh words I left on the embassy’s recorder. After that, L’raan settled her grandmother into her bedroom---it was originally supposed to be the old physician’s anyway---with the young vixen declaring she’d again sleep with me. This prompted a tilted head from her grandmother, to which I quickly replied, “Our sleeping arrangements are chaste, B’naah. This is simply for convenience.”
“Your convenience…or hers?” the old physician muttered, but neither L’raan nor I let on that we heard it. I did notice, as we left the elderly Yularian and headed up the hall toward my room, that L’raan’s ears were up and her tail wagged a bit. Her grandmother was welcome to think what she wanted, but at least now my furry little bed warmer didn’t make me want to puke.
Chapter 11
Friction Surfaces
Bertha handled the Agency truck’s late-night arrival, pick-up and departure without even waking us, another sign of just how intelligent---and competent---the AI had become. That suited me just fine, since (from what she told me the next morning) her doing so prevented disturbing my best night’s sleep since I’d gotten back. Around seven a.m. I rolled out to relieve my insistent bladder, but L’raan was still asleep and I felt it best to let sleeping vixens lie (just as long as she didn’t lie to me or her grandmother).
My favorite Kona coffee blend was calling my name, so I heeded its siren song and soon had a steaming mug of it pleasing my senses while I contemplated what to fix my two houseguests for breakfast. Crispy bacon, fried eggs, southern-style grits and fresh-baked biscuits were never out of style (for me, anyway), so I dived into the task with a proverbial song in my heart. In fact, it was one from a classic animated movie and had no doubt started millions of southern mornings in the nearly seven decades since its release.
The scent of frying bacon has a magical power of awakening the deepest sleeper, and it didn’t take long for the house A/C system to infuse the bedrooms’ air with its cooking-pork-fat goodness. Moments later Bertha softly informed me that both vixens were awake and eagerly sampling the air, and within a few minutes first L’raan and then B’naah came following their noses into the kitchen. “Good morning, ladies,” I offered, but then at a raised eyebrow and a pointed glance at the old physician, L’raan caught my meaning.
“Grandmother, Tom has a strict house rule regarding clothing. Pants when indoors, pants and a breast cover when other humans are present. Outdoors, with no other humans around, clothing is optional. His furniture is not ‘crotch-proof’, and while he has no nudity taboo, many humans do.”
The elderly vixen glared at me for a moment and I answered her with a wry smile. She finally nodded her head in acquiescence and padded back to her room, to reappear less than a minute later wearing her borrowed shorts. “Yellow looks good on you, B’naah,” I said, “since it compliments your golden eyes.” Out of her grandmother’s line-of-sight, L’raan’s ears briefly wiggled and her tail wagged in approval of my comment.
“Since when is a human expert in alien fashions?” B’naah grumbled, but both L’raan and I could tell she appreciated the remark. She was now a friend, but she could still be a bit sharp. “And how do you intend to prepare those---eggs? Are they avian or reptile, or---?”
“They’re chicken eggs, Grandmother. From the avian you ate last night.”
The old vixen’s eyebrows arched. I sensed something coming, and I was right. “You’re telling me those eggs came from the very same animal we ate last night? I didn’t know wealthy, sophisticated humans like Tom lived that close to the land.” Oh, this was getting good! The old gal was busting on her student/granddaughter for speaking carelessly, and I struggled mightily to keep from grinning! “You’re saying he raised the animal---which apparently had at least four legs, a multitude of wings and other delicious body parts---collected, stored and preserved her unborn embryos, then butchered her and prepared the carcass…all in the few days since he returned home?” L’raan’s jaw was hanging open in shock. She hadn’t expected her grandmother would pounce on her like that, but then her grandmother was also her teacher, and both the young vixen’s present and future work would depend upon clear thinking and precise, accurate speech.
“Perhaps we can forgive L’raan’s…um…linguistic imprecision in this case, B’naah,” I injected, keeping my face neutral, “since none of us have had breakfast yet.” Before she could snarl a retort I added, “How would you like your ‘avian embryos’ cooked? Fried ‘sunny side up’, or ‘over easy’, or perhaps scrambled? With the yolk only partly cooked, the first two go well with biscuits; scrambled means---”
“I’m well-versed in your language, Tom; I know what ‘scrambled’ means,” she snapped, but not harshly (for her). She seemed to contemplate the question for a moment, then ventured, “I don’t eat a great deal, so don’t fix me a large serving.” Her ears perked up and her tail twitched before she said, “Perhaps ‘sunny upside’, since I do have a fondness for yolks.” Really? I’ve never seen a fox that didn’t like them! Or jokes, either.
“Here, L’raan, I’ll let you whisk the eggs for your scrambled while I get B’naah’s and my fried eggs set up.” I cracked two eggs into a bowl, splashed a little milk in it and gave her a whisk, then dug out both a small round pan and a square stove-top griddle. “B’naah, please pour us some juice and water---glasses in the cabinet over the sink and straws in the drawer by the ‘fridge---and you’ll find butter, jams and jellies in the ‘fridge’s door shelves.” I figured that if I put the females to work, maybe I’d get lucky and they wouldn’t argue.
Breakfast went well, and B’naah wound up eating more than she thought she would. Considering her brush with poisoning the day before, I was pleased to see her eat another good meal. No doubt the nourishing supper she’d eaten last night helped in her recovery, but a solid breakfast always helped start a busy day off on the right foot. We were going to need it.
“OK, ladies, it’s time for show and tell,” I announced once the breakfast dishes were cleared away and we’d moved to the den. “Please make yourselves comfortable, and then we’ll see if any of us knows just what in hell’s going on.” The two Yularians curled up on the couch while I kicked back in my old recliner with a fresh mug of joe.
And then it began.
“L’raan, why don’t you start us off by stating what you know about this…mess. Then your grandmother can give us her take on the situation from the point that I contacted her, and then I’ll try and fill in holes and tie it all together. If that doesn’t work, I’ll see if Art Goldman has better luck making sense of it all---and if he can’t bring it into focus we’ll keep trying until we find someone who can. Deal?” They both nodded.
“I was brought into the project early,” L’raan began, “well before you arrived on Yularia. Grandmother said she wanted me on her research team, which was a thrill and an honor.” Her tail thumped briefly. “Grandmother is the top research scientist in the field of alien genetics, and I’d hoped to study under her before---”
“---Before I got too old and died,” the elderly vixen grumbled. L’raan hung her head, then gave her grandmother a loving nuzzle and lick on the side of her muzzle. The age difference between the two females became more apparent when they were sitting side-by-side, with L’raan’s firm, youthful body and lush pelt in stark contrast to B’naah’s slack-skinned, age-thinned and graying fur. Still, the old vixen’s eyes were sharp, and so were her mind---and tongue.
“Everything appeared to go relatively smoothly,” L’raan continued, “but before the procedure was finished we learned that you wanted a female observer to accompany you home.” She tilted her head slightly. “The reason for that was never fully explained to us underlings, and Grandmother quickly said that she would deal with it personally.”
“I’l
l elaborate on that later,” I said. “Please continue.”
“Once you were released to travel and were put back into cold sleep Grandmother came to me---” Here the young vixen paused and looked pointed at her grandmother. “---and said that her mate had broken his back in an accident, and that I’d…I’d have to take her place.” The old female hung her head in shame.
Here I injected, “You never refer to B’naah’s mate as your grandfather…”
“He’s not, not really,” L’raan said, a strange look on her face. “Grandfather---her first mate---died when I was a youth, while he explored an alien world. Grandmother took a new mate a year ago, and I’ve never met him.” Again she looked pointedly at the old scientist, her expression still unreadable to me. “I’m told he’s a young politician.
“Since you, Tom, were already in cold sleep,” L’raan continued, “they hurried the preparation process with me, which apparently is also when they began poisoning me.” She snarled for a moment, then calmed enough to finish with, “Had…had you not realized what my sickness was, I probably would have taken the final poison pills the ship’s med techs gave me, and…and we would not be having this conversation.”
“I think we all know what happened next,” I stated, “so B’naah, it’s now your turn.”
The alien physician/scientist sat in contemplation for a few moments, then said, “Perhaps it would be best if I begin this a bit earlier in the timeline, since I owe L’raan--- Well, I’ll begin here: D’oono is my mate’s name, and as you might have guessed, due to our age and background differences our union was mostly one of…as you humans say... ‘convenience’. We Yularians are quite knowledgeable in bioengineering and genetics, but due to bitter territorial/political conflicts in our past, our laws are very strict concerning what we may do to ourselves. These laws, however, do not apply to aliens, so we are relatively free to offer our advanced services to those with whom we have financial or social relations.”
Last Dance of the Phoenix Page 10
