by T. W. Embry
Gathering my shredded courage, I took Tasha’s paw in my hand, looked into her eyes and blurted in a rush “My love, Snarth told me that felines mate for life.” This caused Tasha to giggle, confusing me once again.
“And you are not sure you are ready for that kind of commitment,” she finished my thought for me, sparing me the pain of saying so.
“Yes…I mean No. I mean I don’t know,” I stammered.
My obvious discomfort caused Tasha to giggle again, breaking the tension between us.
“What I mean to say,” I explained, slowing my speech, “is that this is all so new for me. I have no experience in matters of the heart. Not even a year ago, I had no idea of how the galaxy truly is. Now here I am on a forbidden planet and in love with what my people would call an alien. As a result, I know even less today about what my future holds than I did yesterday, and that wasn’t very much,” I confessed.
Tasha turned, squirmed into my arms and began unbuttoning my shirt. “I am not asking for a lifelong commitment just yet,” she purred as she pushed me down onto the sleeping furs. “All I ask is that you never lie to me and love me always. That will be enough for now.”
“I promise I will,” was all I could get out as our passion boiled over, blocking out all rational thought and action; our mission, this morning, even the team, all forgotten in this frozen moment of time.
As Snarth watched the young Human Tom fade in the distance, he wondered just what kind of reception the young human would get when he met up with the stealth master. With any luck, it would be a happy reunion, Snarth hoped. With a grimace, he put on his helmet and he climbed on his bike and headed out to join SSlice, all the while wondering if and how Tom would follow his advice of giving the pleasure mech to the Irishman, and just how subtle he would be about it.
Once he caught up to SSlice, Snarth turned his attention to the matter of just where in the hell that underground city was. Snarth was surprised that the team had not found any evidence of its existence. In fact, he was secretly beginning to doubt SSlice’s interpretation of the map.
Tomorrow the team will have finished all of the search grids and I will have my answer, thought Snarth. They continued searching in their customary silence until darkness suddenly was upon them, leaving no time to search for a suitable cave in which to set up camp. Silently cursing himself for his preoccupation with other matters, Snarth broke the silence: “Over by thossse treesss will have to do for tonight,” he signaled SSlice.
“Just ahead is a small ridge with a suitable place,” answered SSlice.
Relieved that someone was at least paying attention to the mission Snarth said, “Good enough, let’sss hurry before it getsss too dark to ssset up camp properly. Let’sss be sssure and ssset up perimeter sssensorsss thisss time ssso we don’t get any more unannounced visssitorsss.”
“You and I both know that the limited sensors we have with us would not have stopped the King to be from paying us a visit unannounced,” chided SSlice.
“Don’t be ssso sssure, he ssseemed rather rasssh. Tom had him dead to rightsss. He isss only lucky Tom hasss good ssself-control,” reminded Snarth.
With camp set-up done and a small fire built, Snarth and SSlice ate in silence. Finally, SSlice broke the silence between them.
“You think I misread the map, don’t you,” SSlice whispered simply.
“The thought hasss crossssed my mind,” hissed Snarth.
“It is possible; some of the symbols were very hard to interpret,” whispered SSlice. “I stand by my calculations. This is the home world, I am sure of it,” he insisted resolutely. “We still have a quarter of the planet to search. By dark tomorrow we will know for sure. It is just bad luck we won’t find it until we search the last quadrant,” whispered SSlice confidently.
“I hope you are right, old friend,” hissed a somewhat discouraged and sleepy Snarth.
“Tomorrow we will all be rich and soon to be famous, you’ll see,” SSlice assured him. “Snarth, there is something I must know, and you are the only person who can answer a question that has been nagging at me for a very long time.”
Sitting up, Snarth glanced at his old friend with a piercing stare. “You want to know what happened to my home world, don’t you,” he said quietly as he hung his head.
“I know it is painful for you, but it is just the two of us in as remote a place as you can get,” whispered SSlice quietly, gently.
“It was ssso long ago what doesss it matter now?” hissed Snarth bitterly. “My home world wasss dessstroyed during the war of conquest by the Onesss. Any sssurvivorsss were ssscattered acrossss the galaxy.”
“Destroyed by whom?” whispered SSlice, unable to believe Snarth’s explanation. “I have searched every data base I can find and I find no mention of your home world, or its fate.”
“You will not find any reference to my people at all. We were accusssed of collaborating with the leaderssship of the Onesss. It wasss untrue: we were compelled to do what we did or risssk dessstruction of our home world,” hissed Snarth. “The galactic alliance’sss fleet destroyed our home world before the fall of the Onesss, before the truth finally came out. But it wasss too late. In order to prevent persssecution of what few of my people remained alive, all information was removed from all the official databasssesss. Thossse of usss who sssurvived ssspent a very long time tying up any loossse endsss or even rumorsss of loossse endsss. In time my people were forgotten,” hissed Snarth as bitterly as SSlice had ever seen him.
“Why haven’t you tried to rebuild your civilization on a different planet?” asked SSlice, refusing to let go of the answer he so desperately sought.
“It’sss quite sssimple really,” answered Snarth. “When the home world wasss dessstroyed all of the femalesss were killed. Only malesss ventured off-planet. ssSuch a backward way to do thingsss in hindsssight, but it wasss that way for generationsss, no one thought to change it or even quessstion it.”
“What about cloning females? Surely genetic research has progressed enough by now to allow that?” offered SSlice hopefully, yet knowing in his heart what Snarth’s answer would be.
“We tried that with sssome sssuccessss. However all the clonesss were sssterile. It ssseemsss that they require sssomething from the home world to become fertile. While I and many othersss have sssearched in vain, the sssecret remainsss on the home world which isss now a lifelesss ball of radioactive fallout.”
SSlice’s gasp was audible: shocked, he whispered, “They used nuclear weapons on your home world? But what about the galaxy wide ban on nuclear weapons?”
“We were at war and losssing badly, the fleet usssed any meansss they had to try to destroy the Onesss and any who helped them. In our ssstruggle to sssave our home world from the fate of ssso many othersss we in fact doomed ourselvesss to extinction,” hissed Snarth sadly.
SSlice knew that any further discussion of such a painful subject would be useless; besides, he had learned what he wanted to. By the dim light given off by the dying embers of the campfire both Snarth and SSlice lapsed once more into silence. Much later Snarth’s deep breathing told SSlice that his friend was finally asleep.
As he spun a snippet of web and secured himself to the ceiling of the small cave SSlice reflected on the pain his questions had caused Snarth, regretting his insatiable curiosity. He knew he could not suppress it for that is the nature of the spinners and why they are mistrusted by all but a few species in the galaxy. As SSlice watched over the sleeping Snarth, he resolved to find the answer of that most complex of problems and perhaps at last bring a ray of hope to Snarth’s people. After all, a life debt must be repaid.
The Irishman and Rowl, the canine master, searched their quadrant diligently but without success. As nightfall overtook them, they made camp for the night under a grove of trees close to a small stream. In silence they set about setting up camp, starting a small fire, not knowing just how closely their routine mirrored the other members of the team’s nightly preparations.
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After dinner, they watched the flames dance as each sipped some of the fine ale Snarth was both fond of and free with. The pair had been friends long enough to know when the other needed companionship without conversation.
As the Irishman listened to his friend’s gentle snoring, his mind wandered back to the pleasure bio-mech Tasha as it always did in times of quiet self-reflection. The moment he first realized he was in love with Tasha was a moment he would never forget. It was when Snarth told him he needed her for Tom’s recruitment.
He did not realize how much he loved her until the first time he saw her with Tom. At that moment, he knew he would have to bury his feelings deep or risk all that Snarth had done for him. Then Snarth had given Tasha to Tom as a gift and the jealousy ate away at his heart.
Even Rowl did not know how much he suffered in silence. Now Tom had the stealth master and a ray of hope blossomed in the Irishman’s heart. Maybe Tom would sell Tasha to him, then they would finally be together. The Irishman made a mental note of his credits, it would be enough, he hoped.
Tom’s voice sounded in the Irishman’s ear in an eerie coincidence. What does he want now, thought the Irishman grumpily; I was almost asleep.
“Sorry to bother you so late,” Tom started “but I need your help with a delicate personal matter.”
“If you need romantic advice, I am not the one to ask," said the Irishman, cutting Tom off.
“No, I don’t need any love advice, just let me explain…Please.”
“I am listening,” said the Irishman.
“Good: you see, I am in sort of a jam. It seems that the stealth master is insisting I get rid of Tasha. She says she isn’t jealous, but I am not so sure. Anyway, she insists I get rid of Tasha as soon as possible. And I was wondering if you would take her off my hands as a token of my friendship.”
The Irishman could hardly believe his luck. “How much do you want for her?” he asked carefully, so as not to betray his feelings, his heart in his throat.
“Like I said it will be a token of our friendship. Snarth gave her to me and I am giving her to you. Please say yes; it will spare me a lot of grief and make my life much easier if you do.”
Completely stunned, his mind racing and heart singing, the Irishman answered as casually as he could. “OK, I will take her off your hands - and thanks. Maybe someday I can repay the favor.”
“No need, my friend,” said Tom. “As soon as we get back to the ship, she is yours, with only one stipulation. You have to change her name right away. I don’t care to what, there are too many Tashas in my life right now.”
Unable to hold in his excitement, the Irishman let loose a howl of happiness so loud that it would have awoken the dead on another planet. This brought Rowl to his feet in a combat stance with a fierce growl of warning to any nearby enemy.
“What the hell got into you? Something bite you?” growled Rowl, disgruntled by his sudden awakening. As he watched the Irishman doing handsprings around the campsite, it dawned on him what must have happened.
“She’s mine, she’s mine, she’s all mine,” the Irishman kept shouting, confirming what Rowl had suspected.
“So, Tom gave Tasha to you, good for him. This calls for a celebration,” said Rowl.
“You bet it does,” shouted the Irishman, panting from his antics.
Rowl reached into his pack and pulled out a bottle. “My Sire is a famous spirit maker on my home world and he considers the batch this bottle came from to be some of, if not the finest, he has ever made. I have been saving it for a special occasion and I think this certainly qualifies. To the happy couple!” With that, Rowl pulled the cork, took a huge swig and passed the bottle to the Irishman.
“To good friends and the future,” said the Irishman as he followed his friend’s lead.
“I thought you said your dad was a famous spirit maker,” grimaced the Irishman after catching the breath that the raw liquid had taken away.
“I never said my people’s taste in liquor was good, just that he was famous,” countered an indignant Rowl. “I much prefer your Irish whiskey or even better some real Kentucky bourbon. However this is all I brought, and considering where we are, all we are likely to get until we get back to the ship,” as he offered the bottle back to the Irishman, after his second swig, which the Irishman accepted. The pair proceeded to finish the bottle before finally falling asleep just before dawn.
~
As the dawn broke through the failing grip of the night, SSlice waited for Snarth to wake, hoping all the while that his interpretation of the map’s symbols was accurate. SSlice busied himself with his research of the Ones’ map, working it repeatedly, backward and forward, wondering why the team had not yet found the underground city, or the temple of the sun. Still, even with the patience and diligence for which his people were known to attack a secret, SSlice was at a dead end. It frustrated him as no other question ever had. The riddle of Snarth’s past came close but only close for he had solved that one at last.
Realizing that he would get no further without access to the ship’s communication array and computers, SSlice began to devise a search pattern for the few remaining unsearched quadrants. According to his calculations, it would take the team only one more daylight cycle to complete the scans of the forbidden planet. Then, he would have proved either his theories were correct, or he would have to start all over again, a task he did not relish.
Just as SSlice was going to wake Snarth in a very unusual display of impatience, Snarth yawned, stretched and roused himself from his short sleep.
“I have recalculated the search grid and it should be complete by nightfall,” SSlice began.
“That’s fassscinating but it will have to wait until I have my morning cup of wakeup,” hissed Snarth, grumbling and not yet fully awake.
“I have never understood the need for so much sleep,” retorted a rebuffed SSlice.
“I can only imagine all the thingsss I could get done if I only required an hour or two of sssleep a night,” hissed Snarth as he poured his cup of wakeup.
SSlice waited in silence for his friend to finish what he regarded as an unnecessary morning ritual. Spinners routinely went three or four light cycles with no sleep, so little did they require. Only needing an occasional hour or two of sleep kept the spinners after the answers they so zealously sought to so many questions about so many people, places and things.
Finally, Snarth was ready. “Let’sss sssee that grid pattern and get thisss hunt underway ssshall we. While I review thisss, contact the other team membersss and have them meet usss here as sssoon azsss possssible,” Snarth ordered.
Tom woke to two very different noises, the shrill beep of the com-link and the purring of Tasha, the stealth master, whom he was snuggled up against in the sleeping furs. Slowly, the fuzzy edges of reality came into focus and he reached for the com-link, disturbing Tasha in the process, despite his best efforts not to.
It was SSlice relaying Snarth’s orders. After relieving himself, Tom began to pack up the campsite while waiting for Tasha to return from her morning bath in the nearby stream. As she returned with the sun to her back Tom paused, admiring the exotic beauty of Tasha’s eyes, face and, yes, even her whiskers. He was instantly, painfully, aroused by the smell of her musk and the play of her muscles as she glided back into last night’s love nest of a campsite.
With a smile, Tasha purred “No time for that now,” stroking Tom’s cheek, “but I demand a rematch later,” lightly using her claws on Toms still bare chest, making the throbbing even worse.
The Irishman also woke to two sounds, the com-link and Rowl’s loud snoring. As he reached for the com-link, flashes of pain exploded in his head with each movement. His stomach was on fire and the world was still slightly wobbly. Damn, Rowl’s daddy’s liquor sure packed a mean punch, grimaced the Irishman as he roused Rowl.
“Snarth wants us to join him right away, so get up,” he slurred as he threw a twig at the sleeping fight master, knowing bette
r than to touch him. That would be a very bad idea, having made that mistake once and with the broken nose scar to prove it. If I am this hung over, I know he is going to be a real grouch, thought the Irishman with a grimace as a flash of hangover pain flashed before his eyes.
Slowly, Rowl exited his sleeping furs, looking as haggard as the Irishman felt. “In my pack there are a couple of sober ups. I don’t know about you but I sure need one,” growled a very hung over Rowl. “Now I remember why I don’t drink anything my dad makes very often.”
“Now you tell me,” grumbled the Irishman under his breath as he retrieved the sober ups for his friend, each footstep causing a fresh flash of pain through his skull.
Usually the sober up acted almost instantly, however it was several minutes before either of the pair felt any relief. Despite the tonic, the light was still too bright and the ground unsteady for the pair. I have to ride like this? thought the Irishman, glad there would be no canyons to search before rejoining the team at Snarth’s location.
As they mounted up Rowl said: “I am sorry my friend, I should have remembered how potent my dad’s spirits are. I should have put the bottle away rather than finish it, forgive me.”
“Nothing to forgive, my friend, You didn’t pour that turpentine down my throat, as I recall. I did this to myself,” answered the Irishman.
I and the stealth master were the first to arrive, finding Snarth pacing around the cave entrance. Tasha’s glance told me volumes, and I decided to keep my mouth shut until spoken to. Without even acknowledging the pair of us with his customary greeting, Snarth continued his pacing, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Tasha knew this to be a deception as Snarth missed nothing and it made her uneasy.
Finally, Snarth stopped his pacing in front of me and Tasha. With his version of an unhappy scowl Snarth hissed, “I trussst you two ssslept well,” causing the hair along Tasha’s back to rise slightly.
“We will be able to perform our duties satisfactorily, I assure you,” answered Tasha for the both of us.