Hot damn, but she knew how to push my buttons! “Let’s get a few things straight,” I said through clenched teeth. “I’m a hundred percent hetero; males don’t ‘flip my switch’. Yularian females, while pleasing to my eye and sometimes pleasant to be around---when they’re not insulting me or accusing me of indecencies---are a species different from mine, and I've never had a desire to do any ‘cross-shopping’.
“And finally,” I stated, but without the earlier fire, “L’raan is…is too much like my oldest daughter. Was like, when…when Millie was her age. Smart, headstrong, loving---” I paused. “Sharon, her younger sister, wasn’t like that at all. She struggled in school, let her older sister boss her around, and eventually---threw her life away.”
B’naah noted the change that had come over me, and she stepped closer, her head tilted in canid puzzlement. “I knew your wife died some years ago, Tom, but you never said anything about your daughters. What have I missed?”
“You knew that Marge, my wife, died of cancer, right?” She nodded. “Finding a cure for cancer that works as well for us as it does for Yularians is one thing we hope your advance medical science can provide.”
“We’re working on that,” she said, “and with what we learned with you, our first live human subject, we believe we’re making solid progress.” She peered at me. “But tell me about your daughters.”
“They’re dead!” I snarled, and I guess the intensity of my response finally broke through the crusty old vixen’s veneer, because this time she recoiled in shock. “Why do you think I was so upset when you pushed L’raan into this…this mess? Other than her being a different species, she’s almost a carbon copy of my Millie! Every time I turned around I saw Millie---and I also saw Millie in horrible danger! Her mannerisms, her personality---other than it being Yularian-arrogant---remind me so much of Millie I sometimes find it hard to breathe!” After a moment I calmed down and only said, “Sorry. I…I didn’t mean to shout at you. You had no way of knowing.”
Still, she couldn’t leave it alone. “Thomas, I’m still confused. L’raan has shared your bed since you both arrived here, yet you claim to feel toward her as you would your daughter.” Her head was tilted again. “Doesn’t your society have strict taboos against incest?”
That did it! I bounced to my feet and towered over the old physician, rage---and youthful hormones---almost getting the best of me. “That’s enough!” I thundered, then at a slightly lower volume, “I never touched my daughters that way, nor did I ever touch your granddaughter. Once the mechs attacked us, L’raan begged to sleep with me because she was terrified of sleeping alone. I didn’t like it---not only because she stank, courtesy of your damned tampering, but because it was like having Millie crawl into bed with Marge and me like she did as a small child when the terrible thunder storms we have here rolled through at night. Still, I didn’t refuse my young child the comfort of her parents then, and I didn’t refuse L’raan what comfort she could find from curling up next to a warm alien body.
“But you’d better understand that in all cases it was a chaste sleep.”
The elderly scientist had backed up against the door in retreat from my outrage, and I grated, ice still in my voice, “You were quick to invite yourself to my bed, so let’s see just how quickly you can uninvited yourself. There’s no apparent threat hovering over us tonight, and I damned sure don’t need the company.” Her lower jaw dropped open in astonishment as she finally realized just how far she’d stepped over the bounds of propriety. “But on second thought,” I added, “since I’m the one who invited you to stay here, you can have the damned bed and I’ll sleep on the couch. At least one of us still has manners.”
I grabbed my pillow and pulled a sheet from the linen shelf in the closet, but when I moved to the door B’naah wouldn’t stand aside. Tail drooping, ears down, her entire manner was that of a whipped dog. Or fox. Crap. She didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands, and eventually she reached out with one and gently---firmly---nudged me back to the bed. “Sit, Tom. Please,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve let a tired old grandmother’s suspicions overrule my sensibilities, and for that I am truly sorry.” When I remained standing she again urged me, “Please sit. It makes my back hurt to always be looking up at you towering humans, so I would beg of you to make allowances for my age---and my foolishness.”
Against my better judgment I sat on the side of the bed, and before I could say anything she joined me---and leaned her head against me! I was so shocked I didn’t know which to do first; push her away or jump up and leave---so I did nothing for the moment, which gave her time to defuse the situation.
“Thomas, I’ve said so many hurtful, hateful things this evening I don’t know where to begin to…to repair the damage.” She wasn’t looking up at me, nor was she doing anything other than leaning against my arm. “When I arrived here I had no idea your daughters were dead, nor did I in any way suspect you held anything but the basest, crudest feelings toward L’raan. Most Yularians believe human males view females---human and alien alike---as little more than sex objects to be used and then discarded.” Then she did look up at me. “I’m glad to know that’s not true.”
“It’s still true in a few of the oppressive, theologically-barbaric cultures,” I grumbled, “but most men in the civilized world view females as equal partners, both in business and in life, and despite the rude jokes and comments I seriously doubt that, were they given an opportunity, very many decent men would be comfortable bedding a non-human female.”
“What happened to your daughters, Tom? This was not in your records.”
I stared into space for a time, then heard myself saying in a monotone, “Millie, the oldest, died many years ago in the World Trade Center terrorist attack. She left behind three children, all grown now, and a husband, now remarried. Sharon...was a problem child and left home shortly after she graduated from high school. She wound up living---if you can call it that---as a virtual slave in a commune-type setting in Costa Rica, and eventually died of malaria when the ignorant bastard running the place refused to allow a competent doctor access to their little ‘paradise’”. I glanced at B’naah, but didn’t really see her. “I received word a few years later from my good friend Art Goldman that the head of the place had died.” A pause. “Art didn’t tell me exactly how the bastard died, only that the roach died of ‘acute poisoning’.” I must have grinned evilly, because the old vixen recoiled a bit. “Knowing how good a shot Art is with a sniper rifle, it was probably lead poisoning---in the head.”
After a long moment of silence I took a deep breath, then looked at the old doctor. “Sorry,” I said with a sigh. “Parents aren't supposed to outlive their children, but life and reality have a way of breaking the rules.” I stood, the mental baggage of my long life suddenly making my rejuvenated body feel the full weight of its eighty six years. “And with that…I bid you good night.” Once again grabbing my pillow and sheet, I reached for the bedroom door.
“No,” came B’naah’s gently-barked response as she firmly grasped my arm. “If anybody sleeps on the couch in the den, it will be me.” When I paused to scowl at her she added, “This foolishness has gone on too long, Tom. I was wrong and I don’t know how else to apologize other than to plead for your forgiveness---which I'm doing---and to ask once more to share your bed tonight. Please?”
I sighed, then tossed my pillow back onto the bed. Pointing to the bathroom I said, “You first.”
Tilting her head at me in obvious confusion she said, “I…I bathed not all that long ago, Tom. Is my scent so offensive?”
Laughing, I explained, “If you can stand my hairless monkey stink, I can certainly deal with your natural vixen aroma.” When she still looked puzzled I clarified, “You drank plenty of iced tea at supper, and you also drank wine afterwards. Pee now, and you may not have to get up three times during the night. Don’t pee now…and suffer the consequences.”
Once we’d both relieved
ourselves I noticed her slowly bending and twisting while standing next to the bed. When I asked her why she was doing that, she said, “I’m basically as old as you were before your rejuvenation treatment, and my back hurts.”
Nodding, I said, “I can certainly relate to that, but I also know something that might help.” When I got a questioning stare I pointed to the bed and said, “Lie on your stomach with your muzzle barely hanging off the edge.” She looked at me like I’d sprouted horns and a devil’s tail. “For pity’s sake, I’m going to rub your back!” I growled. After a moment’s jaw-dropping surprise, she climbed onto the bed and positioned herself like I instructed---except for one thing: “Drop your butt!” I snapped. “I’m going to rub your back, not hump you!” She complied, and I thought I heard a soft giggle.
Over the next fifteen minutes I worked from her neck down to the base of her thick, furry tail. As I got there she looked back at me in apparent shock, and I said, “Will you relax! I’m not going to do anything rude to you. My old German Sheppard dog used to beg back rubs from me, and she’d get grouchy if I didn’t work the entire length of her spine. Since you’re obviously a distant canid cousin, I thought you’d appreciate my efforts.” She snorted, then dropped her head back to hang snout-down over the side of the bed. By the time I worked my way back up her spine she was nearly asleep, and when I was done I hated to disturb her, but I couldn’t lie down with her stretched out across the bed.
Once we were situated and the lights extinguished, she said, “Thank you, Tom. That was wonderful. Very few Yularians provide that service since it requires permanently removing our claws or learning to do it while wearing terribly uncomfortable gloves. Those who do are well-paid and highly respected.”
“I was happy to give my wife back rubs all the years we were together. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“Tom? Why did you save me?”
“Hmmm?”
“You saved my life twice; once carrying me like a child when we were told an airborne threat was imminent, and then again when the drone attacked me. Why? I can’t mean anything to you---”
“You’re wrong, B’naah. You have no idea just how wrong you are. Now go to sleep.”
Chapter 18
The Morning After
Breakfast time found me in the kitchen, hovering over a griddle of sizzling bacon while slurping my first mug of coffee. The two young Yularians came following their snouts, bumping shoulders and thighs as they walked, characteristic of four-legged canid/vulpine lovers.
“Grandmother is in the shower---” L’raan began after they groggily plopped their butts into chairs at the table, but after catching a whiff of strong, distinctive musk, I interrupted her.
“And that’s where you two need to be as soon as she’s done.” Momentarily confused, she started to question me, but I cut her short again with, “After a night of you two playing ‘hide-a-snake’, I’m not going to have you stinking up my kitchen---now git!” and I gestured towards their room with a long-handled grill fork.
They “got”.
A few slurps of coffee later, after I was mostly done frying the bacon, B’naah came padding through the doorway, her thinning, graying fur still damp. “Juice is in the ‘fridge, glasses in the dishwasher and straws in the drawer by the sink,” I stated, not pausing in my task.
Sniffing the air as she moved to pour herself some chilled grape juice, she said, “Were the youngsters just in here? I heard them in their room after I finished with the fur dryer, but---”
Laughing, I replied, “Yeah, they came mooching in a few minutes ago, but I threw them out with orders to go get a shower. Even my numb human nose could tell what they’d been doing all night, and I didn’t want them stinking up breakfast.”
The old vixen snorted in amusement, then pulled hard on her straw before setting her glass aside and beginning to dig out plates, glasses and tableware.
“I thought your species only engaged in sex when the females were in estrus,” I stated, blotting the platter of hot, cooked bacon with a couple of paper towels.
Tilting her head at me, she eventually replied, “Like you humans, we evolved to enjoy sexual relations most any time. It’s just that, at estrus, the extra hormones and pheromones make it more…‘intense’, and of course at that time an unprotected female can become pregnant.” I nodded as I began frying a griddle pan full of sausage links. “Luckily,” she added, “we long ago perfected an annual birth control implant that only prevents conception, with no detrimental health effects on the female.”
“Yeah,” I said, disgusted, “we did something similar, too, but several of our religions forbid the use of it or any other effective method. They’d rather breed us out of room and food than prevent a single unwanted pregnancy.”
The table was set, a baking sheet was covered with cheese-topped slices of whole-wheat bread ready for the broiler, and I was getting ready to start cracking eggs when the still-damp young couple again bumped and nudged their way through the door and sheepishly took their seats at the table. “Fried OK with everyone?” I asked and got happy nods all around. “Good! Somebody stick the bread under the broiler and start pouring juice. I’ll have the hen fruit up shortly.” F’leek didn’t understand the mealtime terminology, but the two females quickly moved to my bidding, and shortly thereafter we sat down to eat.
Conversation was sparse as we dined, but L’raan managed to softly yip/whine/growl to her grandmother, “Did you and Tom---?” and she looked suggestively in my direction, not realizing that my hearing was sharp enough to hear her question, and apparently forgetting that I understood Yularian.
“Manners!” B’naah softly snarled at the young female. “We are guests in this house, and private matters are to remain private!” With a final snort the old vixen added, “What Tom and I do is our business, not yours!”
Chastised, L’raan’s ears drooped and she silently returned to her breakfast. What the elderly physician did not reveal was that she’d awakened screaming and crying three times during the night, and each time I had to soothe her, holding her, petting her, talking her down from the nightmares brought on by the attack of the murderous Yularian drone. Fear had left her smelling quite rank, and we both knew the youngsters would quickly detect it and ask embarrassing questions. When we finally arose for the day she’d headed for the shower between my office and the other bedroom where her special fur shampoo and fur dryer awaited.
Once breakfast was done I had Bertha contact the Yularian embassy to come get F’leek, but before the flyer arrived we had one final strategy session---and a surprise.
“Then we’re all in agreement now?” I said in a quick review. “Both B’naah and L’raan will accompany me on the publicity tour, and since you, F’leek, feel it’s secure against unauthorized monitoring, we’ll carry the interstellar videophone to stay in touch with both you and trustworthy contacts on your home world.”
The ambassador yipped and nodded in agreement, stating, “I may be new at this, but I’m not without my own resources, and as I make discoveries I will notify you.” He stepped close to me and extended his right hand. “Thank you, friend Tom. My eyes have been opened, and my duty is clear.” I shook his hand---and he quickly leaned closer and licked me on the cheek. “Take good care of the females,” he whispered.
Turning to the vixens, he stated seriously, “There are many issues to be addressed, wrongs to be corrected, attitudes to be changed. It began here.” He leaned forward and licked B’naah properly on the snout, and she returned the courtesy. Then he stepped closer to L’raan. “Please keep me in your heart, as I hold you in mine. If…if we survive the coming storm I believe we could have a bright future together.” The young vixen smiled and licked his face so thoroughly I thought she’d wash off the fur. He gave her a long, sensuous lick in return, then reluctantly turned to head out the front door and meet the Yularian flyer that had just landed.
“Wait!” came a sharp command from one of Bertha’s ever-present spiders. “I
foresee the need to remain in contact with all of you in the coming time, and the best way I know to do that is by having you wear a device disguised as innocent-looking jewelry. My recent upgrade included a small repair and fabrication module, and while this is the only one completed, by the end of the day I will complete slightly different-looking ones for Tom and the females. Ambassador D’naad, it is not my intention to spy on you and your official business (a whopper of a lie---and by a machine!), but if you wear this small trinket I can communicate directly with you at any time, any place, and by going through me you can make instant contact with Tom, B’naah and L’raan as well, and without having to set up the videophone. Also, while your interstellar videophone system may be secure at this moment, due to its widespread use it is subject to compromise at any time. My small-scale means of communication can-and-will be frequently updated, hopefully keeping at least one step ahead of our foes.” The young male reached down and took a rather plain-looking inch-wide pewter-colored medallion on a thin silver rope chain from the spider’s outstretched claws. In the middle of it was a round onyx cabochon. He quickly hung it around his neck, and the medallion and chain almost vanished into his lush upper chest fur. “There are no controls; just speak my name when you know you’re not being observed. If anyone questions you about it,” the AI’s voice said, now coming from the medallion in a surprisingly-rich tone, and with ample volume, “simply smile and say it was a gift from a female admirer.”
As he again turned to leave I added with a smirk and a nod to the ugly mechanical spider, “I guarantee L’raan won’t be jealous.”
Last Dance of the Phoenix Page 15