by neetha Napew
“I can see why,’ Mike replied affably. “He’s got hair the same colour as we do. Mike’s poll was fiery red, much brighter than Cinnamon’s though both could be termed “red’. Where Kelly was dainty and slenderly built, Mike’s features were heavier and his frame carried extra bulk. He had a willing, open face that wore a grin of anticipation as the Gringg climbed awkwardly out of the Reeve family hovercraft.
“Cinnamon, this is my brother, Mike,’ Kelly said, holding on to his arm. Then she gestured towards a tall, hollow-chested Hayuman with black hair and a broad, blunt nose and the narrow-striped Hrruban.
“Bert Gross, who’s also a veterinarian, uh, animal doctor, and Errrne.
He’s an intern. Studying to be an animal doctor.”
“Fardles, he’s a monster!” Bert muttered, nevertheless extending a hand to the Gringg.
“Greetings, or whatever.” The Gringg touched his claws gently to the middle of the man’s palm. Bert drew back, pretending to make sure all the fingers were intact.
“I am most pleased,’ Cinnamon said after the usual preliminary growlings came through the voder. He showed his long, white teeth, and all three males swallowed.
“Bet he brrush zem a lot,’ Errrne quipped weakly.
“I’ve never seen anything with red eyes before that wasn’t stark raving mad,’ Gross added.
“All right!” Kelly said, keeping an affable grin on her own face, just as glad that neither Bert nor Eurne had voders. “Let’s see what effect Cinnamon has on the stock.
Today I’ve got to touch a lot of bases!”
“I dunno,’ Bert Gross said, muttering under his breath.
“I’ve been hearing rumours that these guys are pretty dangerous.
“Oh, horseapples,’ Mike said. He liked the Gringg on sight.
Cinnamon seemed friendly and curious, not threatening as some of those in-flow visitors from Earth had suggested. The Gringg stood looking around him, sniffing the air, nostrils wrinkling ever so slightly.
“I guess the barn does smell kind of pungent,’ Mike said, with a grin and wondered if the voder translated the tone in which words were said, or meant. “It’s a warm day, and we haven’t mucked out our patients’ stalls yet,’ he explained to the Gringg. “Come along. You don’t have to do any of it, but we can talk to you while we work.” The isolation stables were in a big airy barn that had ventilators along the roof line, to circulate air through the building without chilling the patients below. Sensing the visitors, sick horses and mules started to whicker, somewhat nervously: one kicked its side partitions.
Promptly Mike marched Cinnamon out again, while Kelly exclaimed in some dismay until Mike re-entered the Barn with Cinnamon through the downwind door.
“Can’t be too careful,’ he explaine to his slightly puzzled guests, keeping his tone low, hoping the voder translation would be quiet, too. It was. “Horses are delicate. There are a couple of high risk mares in foal.
I don’t want them to abort. Say, here’s a fellow who’s only in for a sore leg. Have a look.” He beckoned the Gringg close as he leaned over the stall door.
A low hiss of admiration escaped between Cinnamon’s lips as he gazed at the young bay horse standing on the straw. The animal looked up from the hay it was lipping, wisps hanging from its lips as it gave the unusual shape a long stare before it started to chew again, but it didn’t panic. It twitched its dark satin skin here and there as if ffies troubled it. It raised the white-bandaged leg, curling the hoof under the protection of its body.
“See? No reaction at all,’ Kelly said, “I’m off!” and she departed before anyone could delay her.
“The creature is very beautiful,’ Cinnamon said, speaking more softly through the voder than Mike could have thought possible. “What is such an animal used for?”
“We ride them,’ Mike explained, gritting his teeth as the voder squawked back. The gelding switched ears and rolled eyes apprehensively but didn’t do more since it also heard Mike’s familiar voice. “We use them as non-polluting - well, non-toxic-polluting - transportation around here. They run on hay instead of batteries, and besides, they can be good friends to you.
Some of this type,’ and he pulled Cinnamon across the aisle to a sick cow, “are reared as food animals and their hides are used for other things.
Cinnamon gave the cow a most cursory glance and went back to admire the horse. “They are like gentleness and night and wood,’ Cinnamon said, struggling for Hrruban words to express his admiration.
“Hrrrsses must surely be the most lovely creatures on Rraladoon,’ he pronounced with a trill that enhanced the Hrruban word.
“Well, we kind of like them, too,’ Mike said, a little overwhelmed to be on the receiving end of poetry so early in the morning. “Stay and see how we care for them. I’ve got to spend some time in the surgery this morning. Bert, you have the comm.” He passed his voder over so that any queries Cinnamon had could be understood. Then, with a nod at the others to begin their work, he left for his office.
Cinnamon watched intently as Mike and Bert hauled out soiled straw and spread fresh, doled out medication, checked bandages, and generally cared for the ailing hoofed animals. When the round device on the wall had its two indicators pointing directly skyward, work ceased, Mike returned to collect him.
“Do you have any questions about what you’ve been seeing today?” Mike asked.
Consideringly, Cinnamon rolled his fleshy lower lip. “I want to know what is the purpose of this place. I have watched you. Why have a vet-er-i-nor-y hospital when you eat animals? Why not just eat the ones who can no longer serve you?” Errrne and Gross thought this was the funniest thing they’d ever heard. Mike shut them up with an eloquent glance.
“You don’t farm animals, do you?” Mike asked rhetorically “Morra.
Only plants such as grain, vegetables and fruits.
All of our meat is caught wild. There is plenty of game around us, and we are good at preserving that which is uneaten,’ Cinnamon replied.
“Well, there are more reasons to have animals than for food,’ Mike said.
“Not all animals make good eating.”
“Can you show me some?”
“No, I can’t. Every beast we raise on Rraladoon has a double purpose.
These, for instance,’ Mike said, drawing Cinnamon to the sheep-fold, “we raise for the fleece on their backs which makes our clothes.” Capturing one of the merinos, he showed Cinnamon the depth and fineness of the wool and then demonstrated the difference with a hardier mountain sheep. The Gringg gingerly felt of each fleece, nodding as he appreciated the different textures.
“The captain will want to know about these,’ he said.
The Gringg was careful to input all new vocabulary into the memory of the voder at his throat. By the end of the morning, he could discuss what he had learned with intelligence and a measurable degree of clarity.
“These bruins are smart,’ Bert commented, impressed.
“Tape-learning,’ Errrne said, shrugging his plush-covered shoulders. “He is amassing a bluffrrr’s guide, zat is all.” Errrne was puzzled when Cinnamon shoved away the chair beside their table in the lunch room. Then he realized that the Gringg was quite capable of reaching the table even parked on the floor beside it. Not knowing how much a Gringg ate, Mike had made arrangements with the cafeteria cook for double quantities of everything.
As he watched the Gringg eat, though daintily enough for all his size, Mike was a little sorry that he hadn’t made that triple.
Cinnamon exclaimed with pleasure over everything he tried, and ended up consuming as much as all three Rraladoonans put together.
When his plate was empty, he was unobtrusively though politely looking around for more “You eat more than my brother Sean,’ Mike said, with respect, leaning over to speak through the voder around Bert’s neck.
“I didn’t think anything short of a Great Big Mamma Snake could pack it in tighter.”
“Everyt
hing had a most delicious flavour,’ Cinnamon said, rolling back on his tail and running the tip of a claw between his teeth for stray morsels. “I admire also the variety of textures and aromas.” Mike grinned. “The grub is good here. What’s Gringg food like?”
“We eat protein, carbohydrates, starch coming from different sources. I will show you some of our eatables at another time. Now I must be curious about all aspects of our new friends, who are so very different from Gringg.”
“You can say that again,’ Bert said, surveying the alien with a narrowed eye, forgetting that he was wearing the voder.
“Why must I repeat it?” Cinnamon asked, drawing his brows together over his snout.
“Uh,’ Bert said, and looked to his friends for help. Mike guffawed.
“It’s a colloquialism,’ Mike explained, taking hold of voder by the cord around Bert’s neck and bringing it to his mouth. “He means he agrees with what you said.”
“Would it not be simpler to say “I agree?”
“Cinnamon asked, and the men laughed again.
It was impossible for anyone passing through the lunch room to miss the shaggy hulk of the Gringg. A few eyed Cinnamon warily and passed on hurriedly. Mike recognized those as interns from Earth.
Most of the usual Rraladoon staff, however, stopped to be introduced.
Cinnamon’s head kept turning back and forth, trying to follow multiple conversations. Mike decided he was happy to be in the midst of everything. One by one, the medics and visitors recalled appointments, and disappeared, leaving the four of them alone at their table.
“OK,’ Bert asked. “So, Cinnamon, what do you want to do this afternoon?”
“I wish to learn more about the pretty hrrrsses,’ he said eagerly.
“You and everybody else,’ Mike said, pushing away from the table with a mock sigh of exasperation. “Come on. We’ve got Mrs Lawrence’s hunter gelding in for an abscess on his rump. He’s pretty calm. I don’t think he’ll spook at the sight of our pal here.” In the treatment barn, Mike greeted Nita Taylor, one of their veterinary assistants, who was washing out a bucket under the pump at one end of the horse barn.
“Got a visitor here to see Amber.” Nita glanced over her shoulder, then stood up to take a full-faced stare at the Gringg. She was a willowy girl of middle height with light-golden skin and dark brown eyes and hair. The things most people noticed about her were her perfect cupid’s-bow lips, and the fact that she was as shy as an urfa.
She nodded, tilting her head towards the stall.
“No problem,’ she said, collecting her wits. “Like you ordered, I changed the dressing before feeding this morning so it might need replacement.
The chestnut horse stood half asleep in the sun. Mike hopped over the fence and approached with soothing sounds, running one hand down the back and to the rump. Its eyelids fluttered as it shifted a leg, denoting it was aware of Mike.
“Hey, watch he don’t cowkick you, Mike!” Bert said, nervously, “if he catches sight of Cinnamon?”
“He’s all right,’ Mike said, turning to catch the tie-rope and halter in one hand.
The horse came fully awake and nosed at Mike’s chest.
He pushed away the gelding’s muzzle.
“You’re almost better, fellah,’ he said, affectionately “Another couple of days and you can go home.” Cinnamon walked halfway around the fence to get a better look at the animal’s face. Mike noticed the visitor was being very careful to stay downwind.
“We call horses the wealth of Doona,’ Mike explained, patting the gelding’s cheek. “No one in the galaxy raises better stock than we do: jumpers, hunters, or just riding hacks.”
“How is it ridden?” Cinnamon asked.
“I will show you,’ Errrne volunteered, taking another headcollar and lead rope from those on the peg of the turn-out field. As the Gringg watched, the Hrruban quietly approached an animal grazing just beyond the - sick gelding. Deftly he slipped on the halter, tied the rope on to the far side to make a impromptu rein. Then, with the ease of long practice, Errrne leaped to the gelding’s back and coaxed it into a walk.
“You hold on with your knees,’ Mike explained. “You don’t need a saddle unless you’re riding a long distance.
Then it’s vital for your comfort and the mount’s. They’ve got sharp spines.
“Ah,’ the Gringg said, his eyes glued to the graceful form of horse and rider. Errrne coaxed the beast to a fast trot, then into a canter which increased to the gallop stride.
“That Hrruban rides like he was part of the critter,’ Bert said, admiringly. “He breaks horses freelance.”
“He does what to hrrrsses?” Cinnamon asked, anxiously, tapping the voder. Bert laughed as he tried to explain.
“”Break” is not the direct translation,’ Mike said, his eyes dancing.
“Hello?” someone called.
“Back here!” Mike shouted back.
Footsteps ticked and scratched on the concrete floor of the barn.
Nita blushed suddenly. Mike noticed her reaction with a grin. If she knew those boots just by sound, the wearer had to be Robin Reeve.
The younger brother was a smaller, slighter copy of Todd. He had the same intense blue eyes, dynamite with the engaging grin that got him out of trouble as often as it got him into it.
“Afternoon,’ he drawled, then noticed the visitor. “Well, him!’ he greeted the Gringg. “I’m Robin. Which one are you?”
“I am this one,’ Cinnamon replied. “I am called Cinnamon.
“Welcome, well met, and well named,’ Robin said, cheerfully. “As our old friend, Kiachif, would say. Are you enjoying Rraladoona so far?” “Reh! Very especially the hrrrsses,’ Cinnamon said, enthusiastically.
“Glad to hear it,’ Robin replied. “We’re all horse-crazy here.”
“Robin is my brother-in-law, Mike said. “His brother is married to my sister-‘ “A most complicated explanation of a simple relationship,’ Cinnamon observed.
“Sometimes, it’s very complicated,’ Robin agreed. “Say, Mike, I’ve got a sow in the flitter out front. She’s due to farrow any time now, but she’s running a temperature.
I’m afraid she’ll lose the htter.”
“How in hell did you get a sick, pregnant pig into a hover?” Mike demanded.
“It’s only because she knows she’s my favorite that she trusted me enough. I have this way with women. Oh, hi, Nita,’ he said, mischievously peering at her sidelong from under his sweeping black lashes. Nita bent the bow of her delicious-looking lips into a shy smile, then retreated to the isolation stall.
“I’d better take a look at your pig then,’ Mike said, grinning.
“I hope she hasn’t decided to give birth right in your car.
Robin looked alarmed. “I hope not! It’s my sister Nessie “5
car.” Cinnamon barely noticed the two Hayumans depart, so entranced was he with the ruddy-coated gelding. He was mentally composing a poem to the species, and to this specimen in particular, when the Hayuman Bert Gross pulled at his forelimb fur.
“If you want to see some more horses, we’ve got a whole bunch of them in a corral over to the other side of the building,’ Gross said, studiously casual.
“Reh!” Cinnamon exclaimed, picturing a sea of the beautiful animals. “I would be most grateful.” The Hrruban pulled Gross to one side. “What are you up to?” Errrne said in a low voice.
“I’m gonna show our guest,’ Gross said, with careful emphasis, “a whole lot of horses.
Errrne, understanding the joke at last, dropped his jaw in a big grin. “Let us go!” The paddock contained some thirty animals, huddled together near the feed troughs. One tiger-spotted Appaloosa stood near the gate, scratching the side of his nose on the post. It glanced at the Hayuman and Hrruban without interest, but started violently and snorted at the sight of the Gringg. As Cinnamon came closer, the horse retreated until it was well within the crowd at the other side. It wheezed a warning sound. A
ll the others in the pen looked up, and stared with wary, brown eyes at the stranger.
“These are all two-year-old geldings,’ Gross said.
“They are not hrrrsses?” Cinnamon asked, puzzled.
“When is a hrrrss not a hrrrss?”
“Is that a joke?” Bert asked, elbowing his Hrruban companion. “Uh, when a horse - ah, forget it.
Yeah, they’re horses. Nice, aren’t they?”
“Reh,’ Cinnamon breathed.
He felt a deep affection rising in him for the big, liquid eyes, slender limbs, and smooth pelts of these animals. Oh, what very attractive creatures they were. “I understand why Rraladoon prizes them so.”
“Why don’t you just go in and get acquainted with them?” Bert asked, opening the gate and standing back to gesture him courteously through. “They’re all wellhandled.”
“Oh, I would like that,’ Cinnamon said. He stepped into the paddock.
Bert shut the gate behind him.
“What if he hurrrrts zem?” Errrne whispered.
“Don’t worry,’ Gross muttered back. “They won’t let him get anywhere near “em.” The veterinarian’s prediction almost came true.
Wearing a beatific expression, Cinnamon walked towards the herd.
Instantly, it split into two groups and cantered past him toward the opposite side of the corral.
The Gringg was disappointed that the animals were so shy around him. His new friend had assured him that they were friendly. Perhaps he was just too unfamiliar. If he allowed them to smell him, they would become used to him and come close enough to touch.
Extending one paw forward very slowly, Cinnamon walked towards them again. For the first ten paces, they stayed where they were, watching him approach.
He had not observed before that their huge brown eyes were edged with white under the lids. He took another step. One of the bigger animals tossed its head. That seemed to set off the others, who cantered away in a bunch, skittering and neighing, leaving the Gringg facing nothing at all. Patiently, he turned about and tried his approach again.