Dragon's Teeth (32 page)
Authors: Mercedes Lackey
Tags: #Fiction, #Fantasy, #General, #historical, #dark fantasy
“And did you find them?”
“Not yet,” he admitted. “At my mother’s request I came here first, to give word to her kin that she was well, and happy, and greatly honored by her lord. Which is the entire truth. My father—loves her dearly; grants her every wish before she has a chance to voice it. I could wish to find a lady with whom—well, that was one of the reasons that I sought Herrel and his lady.”
He was silent for so long, staring broodingly into the flames, that Glenda ventured to prompt him.
“So—you came here?”
“Eh? Oh, aye. And understandably enough, earned no small reputation among my mother-kin for hunting, though they little guessed in what form I did my tracking!” He grinned at her, and she found herself grinning back. “So when there were rumors of another Were here at the edge of the Waste—and a Were that thoughtlessly preyed on the beasts of these people as well as its rightful game—understandably enough, I came to hear of it. I thought at first that it must be Herrel, or a son. Imagine my surprise on coming here to learn that the Were was female! My reputation preceded me—the headman begged me to rid the village of their ‘monster’—” He spread his hands wide. “The rest, you know.”
“What—what will you do with me now?” she asked in a small, fearful voice.
“Do with you?” he seemed surprised. “Nothing—nothing not of your own will, lady. I am not going to harm you—and I am not like my father and brother, to force a one in my hand into anything against her wishes. I—I go forward as I had intended—to find Herrel. You, now that you know what your actions should
not
be, lest you arouse the anger of ordinary folk against you, may remain here—”
“And?”
“And I shall tell them I have killed the monster. You shall be safe enough—only remember that you must
never
let the leopard control you, or you are lost. Truly, you should have someone to guide and teach you, though—”
“I—know that, now,” she replied, very much aware of how attractive he was, gold eyes fixed on the fire, a lock of dark hair falling over his forehead. But no man had ever found her to be company to be sought-after. There was no reason to think that he might be hinting—
No reason, that is, until he looked full into her eyes, and she saw the wistful loneliness there, and a touch of pleading.
“I would be glad to teach you, lady,” he said softly. “Forgive me if I am over-forward, and clumsy in my speech. But—I think you and I could companion well together on this quest of mine—and—I—” he dropped his eyes to the flames again, and blushed hotly “—I think you very fair.”
“Me?” she squeaked, more startled than she had been since he transformed before her.
“Can you doubt it?” he replied softly, looking up eagerly. He held out one hand to her. “Can I hope—you
will
come with me?”
She touched his fingers with the hesitation of one who fears to break something. “You mean you really want me with you?”
“Since I touched your mind—lady, more than you could dream! Not only are you kin-kind, but—mind-kin, I think.”
She smiled suddenly, feeling almost light-headed with the revelations of the past few hours—then giggled, as an irrelevant though came to her. “Harwin—what happens to your clothes?”
“My
what
?” he stared at her for a moment as if she had broken into a foreign tongue—then looked at her, and back at himself—and blushed, then grinned.
“Well? I mean, I left bits of jeans and t-shirt all over the Waste when
I
changed—”
“What happens to your ring, lady?”
“It—” her forehead furrowed in thought. “I don’t know, really. It’s gone when I change, it’s back when I change back.” She regarded the tiny beast thoughtfully, and it seemed as if one of its topaz eyes closed in a slow wink. But—no. That could only have been a trick of the firelight.
“Were-magic, lady. And magic I think I shall let you avail yourself of, seeing as I can hardly let you take a chill if you are to accompany me—” He rummaged briefly in his pack and came up with a shirt and breeches, both far too large for her, but that was soon remedied with a belt and much rolling of sleeves and cuffs. She changed quickly under the shelter of his cloak.
“They’ll really change with me?” she looked down at herself doubtfully.
“Why not try them?” He stood, and held out his hand—then blurred in that disconcerting way. The black leopard looked across the fire at her with eyes that glowed with warmth and approval.
:The night still has time to run, Glenda-my-lady. Will you not run with it, and me?:
The eyes of the cat-ring glowed with equal warmth, and Glenda found herself filled with a feeling of joy and freedom—and of
belonging
—that she tossed back her head and laughed aloud as she had never in her life done before. She stretched her own arms to the stars, and called on the power within her for the first time with joy instead of anger—
And there was no pain—only peace—as she transformed into a slim, lithe she-leopard, whose eyes met that of the he with a happiness that was heart-filling.
:Oh yes, Harwin-my-lord! Let us run the night to dawn!:
The four SKitty stories appeared in
“Cat Fantastic”
Anthologies edited by Andre Norton. I’m very, very fond of SKitty; it might seem odd for a bird person to be fond of cats, but I am, so there it is. I was actually a cat person before I was a bird mother, and I do have two cats, both Siamese-mix, both rather old and very slow. Just, if the other local cats poach too often at my bird feeders, they can expect to get a surprise from the garden hose.
SKitty
Mercedes Lackey
:Nasty
,: SKitty complained in Dick’s head. She wrapped herself a little closer around his shoulders and licked drops of oily fog from her fur with a faint mew of distaste.
:Smelly.:
Dick White had to agree. The portside district of Lacu’un was pretty unsavory; the dismal, foggy weather made it look even worse. Shabby, cheap, and ill-used.
Every building here—all twenty of them!—was off-world design; shoddy prefab, mostly painted in shades of peeling gray and industrial green, with garish neon-bright holosigns that were (thank the Spirits of Space!) mostly tuned down to faintly colored ghosts in the daytime. There were six bars, two gambling-joints, one chapel run by the neo-Jesuits, one flophouse run by the Reformed Salvation Army, five government buildings, four stores, and once place better left unnamed. They had all sprung up, like diseased fungus, in the year since the planet and people of Lacu’un had been declared Open for trade. There was nothing native here; for that you had to go outside the Fence—
And to go outside the Fence,
Dick reminded himself,
you have to get permits signed by everybody and his dog.
:Cat,:
corrected SKitty.
Okay, okay,
he thought back with wry amusement.
Everybody and his cat. Except they don’t have cats here, except on the ships.
SKitty sniffed disdainfully.
:Fools.:
she replied, smoothing down an errant bit of damp fur with her tongue, thus dismissing an entire culture that currently had most of the companies on their collective knees begging for trading concessions.
Well, we’ve seen about everything there is to see,
Dick thought back at SKitty, reaching up to scratch her ears as she purred in contentment.
Are you quite satisfied?
:Hunt now?:
she countered hopefully.
No, you can’t hunt. You know that very well. This is a Class Four world; you have to have permission from the local sapients to hunt, and they haven’t given us permission to even sneeze outside the Fence. And inside the Fence you are valuable merchandise subject to catnapping, as you very well know. I played shining knight for you once, furball, and I don’t want to repeat the experience.
SKitty sniffed again.
:Not love me.:
Love you too much, pest. Don’t want you ending up in the hold of some tramp freighter.
SKitty turned up the volume on her purr, and rearranged her coil on Dick’s shoulders until she resembled a lumpy black fur collar on his gray shipsuit. When she left the ship—and often when she was in the ship—that was SKitty’s perch of choice. Dick had finally prevailed on the purser to put shoulderpads on all his shipsuits—sometimes SKitty got a little careless with her claws.
When man had gone to space, cats had followed; they were quickly proven to be a necessity. For not only did man’s old pests, rats and mice, accompany his trade—there seemed to be equivalent pests on every new world. But the shipscats were considerably different from their Earthbound ancestors. The cold reality was that a spacer couldn’t afford a pet that had to be cared for—he needed something closer to a partner.
Hence SKitty and her kind; gene-tailored into something more than animals. SKitty was BioTech Type F-021; forepaws like that of a raccoon, more like stubby little hands than paws. Smooth, short hair with no undercoat to shed and clog up air filters. Hunter second to none. Middle-ear tuning so that not only was she not bothered by hyperspace shifts and freefall, she actually enjoyed them. And last, but by no means least, the enlarged head showing the boosting of her intelligence.
BioTech released the shipscats for adoption when they reached about six months old; when they’d not only been weaned, but trained. Training included maneuvering in freefall, use of the same sanitary facilities as the crew, and knowledge of emergency procedures. SKitty had her vacuum suit, just like any other crew member; a transparent hard plex ball rather like a tiny lifeslip, with a simple panel of controls inside to seal and pressurize it. She was positively paranoid about having it
with
her; she’d haul it along on its tether, if need be, so that it was always in the same compartment that she was. Dick respected her paranoia; any good spacer would.
Officially she was “Lady Sundancer of Greenfields”; Greenfields being BioTech Station NA-73. In actuality, she was SKitty to the entire crew, and only Dick remembered her real name.
Dick had signed on to the CatsEye Company ship
Brightwing
just after they’d retired their last shipscat to spend his final days with other creaky retirees from the spacetrade in the Tau Epsilon Old Spacers Station. As junior officer Dick had been sent off to pick up the replacement. SOP was for a BioTech technician to give you two or three candidates to choose among—in actuality, Dick hadn’t had any choice. “Lady Sundancer” had taken one look at him and launched herself like a little black rocket from the arms of the tech straight for him; she’d landed on his shoulders, purring at the top of her lungs. When they couldn’t pry her off, not without injuring her, the “choice” became moot. And Dick was elevated to the position of Designated Handler.
For the first few days she was “Dick White’s Kitty”—the rest of his fellow crewmembers being vastly amused that she had so thoroughly attached herself to him. After a time that was shortened first to “Dick’s Kitty” and then to “SKitty,” which name finally stuck.
Since telepathy was
not
one of the traits BioTech was supposedly breeding and genesplicing for, Dick had been more than a little startled when she’d started speaking to him. And since none of the others ever mentioned hearing her, he had long ago come to the conclusion that he was the only one who could. He kept that a secret; at the least, should BioTech come to hear of it, it would mean losing her. BioTech would want to know where
that
particular mutation came from, for fair.
“Pretty gamy,” he told Erica Makumba, Legal and Security Officer, who was the current on-watch at the airlock. The dusky woman lounged in her jumpseat with deceptive casualness, both hands behind her curly head—but there was a stun-bracelet on one wrist, and Erica just happened to be the
Brightwing
’s current karate champ.
“Eyeah,” she replied with a grimace. “Had a look out there last night. Talk about your low-class dives! I’m not real surprised the Lacu’un threw the Fence up around it. Damn if
I’d
want that for neighbors! Hey, we may be getting a break, though; invitation’s gone out to about three cap’ns to come make trade-talk. Seems the Lacu’un got themselves a lawyer—”
“So much for the ‘unsophisticated primitives,’” Dick laughed. “I thought TriStar was riding for a fall, taking that line.”
Erica grinned; a former TriStar employee, she had no great love for her previous employer. “Eyeah. So, lawyer goes and calls up the records on every Company making bids, goes over ’em with a fine-tooth. Seems only three of us came up clean; us, SolarQuest, and UVN. We got invites, rest got bye-byes. Be hearing a buncha ships clearing for space in the next few hours.”
“My heart bleeds,” Dick replied. “Any chance they can fight it?”
“Ha! Didn’t tell you
who
they got for their mouthpiece. Lan Ventris.”
Dick whistled. “
Somebody’s
been looking out for them!”
“Terran Consul; she was the scout that made first contact. They wouldn’t have anybody else, adopted her into the ruling sept, keep her at the Palace. Nice lady, shared a beer or three with her. She likes these people, obviously, takes their welfare real personal. Now—you want the quick low-down on the invites?”
Dick leaned up against the bulkhead, arms folded, taking care not to disturb SKitty. “Say on.”
“One—” she held up a solemn finger, “Vena—that’s the Consul—says that these folk have a long martial tradition; they’re warriors, and admire warriors—but they admire honor and honesty even more. The trappings of primitivism are there, but it’s a veneer for considerable sophistication. So whoever goes needs to walk a line between pride and honorable behavior that will be a
lot
like the old Japanese courts of Terra. Two, they are very serious about religion—they give us a certain amount of leeway for being ignorant outlanders, but if you transgress too far, Vena’s not sure what the penalties may be. So you want to watch for signals, body-language from the priest-caste; that could warn you that you’re on dangerous ground. Three—and this is what may give us an edge over the other two—they are very big on their totem animals; the sept totems are actually an important part of sept pride and the religion. So the Cap’n intends to make you and Her Highness there part of the delegation. Vena says that the Lacu’un intend to issue three contracts, so we’re all gonna get one, but the folks that impress them the most will be getting first choice.”
If Dick hadn’t been leaning against the metal of the bulkhead he might well have staggered. As most junior on the crew, the likelihood that he was going to even go beyond the Fence had been staggeringly low—but that he would be included in the first trade delegation was mind-melting!
SKitty caroled her own excitement all the way back to his cabin, launching herself from his shoulder to land in her own little shock-bunk, bolted to the wall above his.
Dick began digging through his catch-all bin for his dress-insignia; the half-lidded topaz eye for CatsEye Company, the gold wings of the ship’s insignia that went beneath it, the three tiny stars signifying the three missions he’d been on so far . . . .
He caught flickers of SKitty’s private thoughts then; thoughts of pleasure, thoughts of nesting—
Nesting!
Oh
no!
He spun around to meet her wide yellow eyes, to see her treading out her shock-bunk.
SKitty,
he pled,
Please don’t tell me you’re pregnant
—
:Kittens,:
she affirmed, very pleased with herself.
You swore to me that you weren’t in heat when I let you out to hunt!
She gave the equivalent of a mental shrug.
:I lie.:
He sat heavily down on his own bunk, all his earlier excitement evaporated. BioTech shipscats were supposed to be sterile—about one in a hundred weren’t. And you had to sign an agreement with BioTech that you wouldn’t neuter yours if it proved out fertile; they wanted the kittens, wanted the results that came from outbreeding. Or you could sell the kittens to other ships yourself, or keep them; provided a BioTech station wasn’t within your ship’s current itinerary. But of course, only BioTech would take them before they were six months old and trained . . . .
That was the rub. Dick sighed. SKitty had already had one litter on him—only two, but it had seemed like twenty-two. There was this problem with kittens in a spaceship; there was a period of time between when they were mobile and when they were about four months old that they had exactly two neurons in those cute, fluffy little heads. One neuron to keep the body moving at warp speed, and one neuron to pick out the situation guaranteed to cause the most trouble.
Everyone in the crew was willing to play with them—but no one was willing to keep them out of trouble. And since SKitty was Dick’s responsibility, it was
Dick
who got to clean up the messes, and
Dick
who got to fish the little fluffbrains out of the bridge console, and
Dick
who got to have the anachronistic litter pan in his cabin until SKitty got her babies properly toilet trained.
Securing a litter pan for freefall was not something he had wanted to have to do again. Ever.
How could you do this to me?
he asked SKitty reproachfully. She just curled her head over the edge of her bunk and trilled prettily.