I Was An Alien Cat Toy (16 page)

Jeng, your timing sucks, lover.

Gredar put a paw out and drew Temin close to him, so his face was level with Temin’s. “T’meen

ganaa.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Temin muttered, too dispirited for more language lessons.

“T’meen ganaa. No good.” Gredar leaned forward and licked at Temin’s cheek, tasting the salt.

“Ganaa.”

“Sad? Yeah, I’m sad. Leave me....” But Gredar ignored his desire to be left alone, wrapping his tail

around him. He licked Temin’s face, even knocked off the makeshift head covering to lick into his hair and

down his neck. “Hey, that’s cold, big guy.” It was kind of nice, though. Ticklish and strange, but still nice.

Comforting.

“Hmmm. T’meen good,” Gredar rumbled, as he tugged Temin onto his lap. “T’meen go Kadit najil.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think your mother likes me,” he muttered, snuggling into the thick fur of Gredar’s

chest. What the sheft was he going to do now? He would have to wait until the snow melted before he could

do any serious repairs, but even then he would only be able to possibly repair the sublights, which meant he’d

be marooned up in space and not down here, where, for the time being at least, he had access to food and

shelter.

Gredar seemed content to pet him and hold him, and as Temin contemplated the wreck of his future,

there were worse places to be. But then the big guy shifted, and growled. “Martek.”

“What the sheft is a martek? What?”

“Martek day-neh....”

“No!”

“Martek day-neh
good
. Martek basne T’meen.”

“Look, Gredar, I’m tired, I’m cranky, I’m cold....”

Gredar stroked Temin’s cheek. “Martek basne T’meen.”

‘Basne’ could be anything from ‘eat’ to ‘heat’. “Okay. Yes. Whatever.” It wasn’t like he had other

plans.

Gredar picked up the head covering he’d knocked off with his tongue and tried to place it back on

Temin’s head. Temin gave him an exasperated look as he fixed it in place. “You can’t help yourself, can

you? Shame you can’t have kittens. You’d make someone a wonderful mother.”

Gredar chirruped, apparently happy Temin was in a better mood, even if he had no idea what was

being said, then he hoisted Temin up onto his shoulders, and strode off. Temin refused to look back at where

the podpod would be visible, if it wasn’t cloaked. He needed time to think about what the sheft he was going

to do with the rest of his life.

~~~~~~~~

His huu-man friend was having a hard day, Gredar thought as they walked back to the settlement. He

couldn’t begin to understand what it was he’d just seen, or why it had upset T’meen so much, but he knew

this—going out, T’meen was fairly bouncing with impatience, waving his ummm around, and now he didn’t

seem to care about anything. If Gredar had understood his words correctly, T’meen had no home to go any

more, or no way of getting there. Gredar’s family had granted him a bare cycle of tenuous safety, and after

that Gredar would have to help T’meen find another answer. The one Gredar had always turned to for help in

his youth—and afterwards too—had been Martek, and he hoped his old friend would be able to offer some

solution, or at least comfort, where Gredar had neither wit nor experience to.

There were more daiyne around now, many returning to their homes for the midday meal, and

T’meen was attracting more curious and some hostile looks. Filwui would have been quick to put his version

of events out, but he was at a disadvantage if he wanted to stir up serious discontent about Gredar’s mother.

He had influence among the younger males, but little among the females where it counted—he wasn’t sought

after as Gredar was to care for young kitlings, to train youngsters up and guide them in the necessary skills of

hunt and chase. One day it would be Filwui’s turn, or someone like him, to be the prominent male in the clan,

but without female support, Filwui could do little to change clan thinking. Gredar would have to protect his

little friend from possible revenge attacks but Filwui would have to be stupider than Gredar judged him to

provoke Gredar’s mother further. Filwui was greedy but no fool. Killing or harming T’meen would not

benefit him.

More worrying was Jilen’s attitude. Gredar doubted she was behind any of the overt hostility, little

though it was, but she was more important for T’meen’s long-term future. Right now, she could only see the

possible harm the little huu-man might bring. Somehow, Gredar had to convince her that T’meen could offer

something to the clan. What that might be, Gredar didn’t know but T’meen was quick-witted and generous.

Surely they could make something of that.

Martek was surprised to see him, but his tail quivered with delight as he saw T’meen on Gredar’s

shoulders. “Finally!”

T’meen clung to Gredar’s head, and the vibrating tension in his thighs and the anxious, painful grip

on Gredar’s fur told him Martek’s enthusiasm had frightened his little friend.

“Quietly, Martek. He’s still nervous of us, especially males. Introduce yourself, he understands that.”

“Of course, foolish of me.” He pointed to his chest. “Martek.”

T’meen made it clear he wished to be put down. When he was on the floor, he pointed to himself.

“T’meen. Huu-man.”

“Paznitl! He really speaks!” T’meen flinched back at Martek’s shout of delight. “Ah, sorry, little huu-

man.” Martek made soothing gestures T’meen apparently understood, though he approached no closer.

“Come in, you can have something to eat.”

T’meen stared at Martek’s main room, hands behind his back as if he was afraid to touch anything.

Gredar was only slowly beginning to read T’meen’s more subtle body signals—the lack of a tail and his

subdued scent, made it very difficult—but he had come to understand his naked face was important in

signalling emotion. Wide eyes were a sign of either alarm or surprise, but there was nothing about the way

T’meen held himself to indicate fear. “He likes your books,” Gredar said as Martek watched T’meen walk

around, examining the walls and the many, many artefacts and records of the clan. “Already we’ve started to

make a list of each other’s language.”

“You have? I must see those....” Martek suddenly recalled his manners. “Please, come and sit, let me

feed you. What does he eat?”

Gredar motioned T’meen over to the cushion Martek indicated, and the huu-man sat down neatly—

Gredar still found his movements so elsart, though he would never tell his friend that. “He won’t drink pkite

—water, in the smallest cup you have. Bread, and fully cooked meat sliced very fine—his teeth are weak.”

“If he wasn’t so very rare, kitling, I would say he’s a lot of trouble for a pet.”

“Martek, he’s not a pet!” T’meen went rigid beside him. Gredar patted his leg gently to reassure him.

“Sure about that, are you, Gredar?” Martek said with a wry twitch of an ear. “I won’t be long. You

may let him look, if his paws are clean.”

T’meen sat politely, waiting for Gredar to tell him what was permitted. Still behaving like a pet,

certainly, but was that so very surprising in his situation?

Gredar thought he should explain Martek’s role in the clan, but how could he...? Ah, yes. He

beckoned T’meen over to the stand where the book of Kelara stood, and pulled over a stool for him to stand

on so he could see. Gredar remembered the first time he had stood here, when he was no taller than T’meen,

and Martek had explained his position in the illustrious history of their clan, which was one of the oldest in

Ptane. He opened the book carefully. “Kadit,” he said, pointing to her name. “Jilen, Gredar.” He traced the

names of his younger siblings, and their offspring, and then his mother’s siblings, and her mother. “Martek,”

he said, running his fingers carefully down the page. “Martek records.”

T’meen tilted his head. “Martek...?” He leafed carefully through several pages, and then swept his

hand around the room.

“Ye-esss. Martek is a historian.

T’meen repeated the word slowly, having difficulty with it, and then said another which Gredar

assumed was the same term in his tongue. Of course, he could never be sure that they really did understand

each other, but T’meen was very clever, so Gredar hoped they did.

He showed him other books, and a couple of the artefacts that had been dug from the ground many

years ago, close to the coast. One of Martek’s predecessors had traded for them, who knew why, and

historians never, ever threw anything away, however apparently useless or puzzling. Gredar was impressed

by the reverence and care T’meen took in handling the objects. He seemed fascinated, spending quite a long

time on a long dark box that was fashioned from material Martek had never been able to identify.

“Now, now, here’s a feast for my guests, I hope,” Martek said, setting a tray down on the table he

used when entertaining small groups of friends or visitors—those whose manner he trusted. “Gredar, why are

you showing him those things? Surely he has no interest in our history.”

“I think he has an interest in everything. He’s very bright. T’meen?” He reached for the box. T’meen

seemed reluctant to give it up, but did so, allowing Gredar to put it back on the shelf. “Come sit.”

T’meen still seemed rather wary of Martek, but then he had no way of knowing if their historian was

as big a rogue as Filwui. Martek, for his part, and despite his teasing, was delighted to be able to examine

T’meen more closely, fascinated by the cloze and the way T’meen spoke, though he considered the loss of

the hair and the damage Filwui had caused to T’meen’s looks to be a great pity. “Will it grow back, do you

think? And how long would it take?”

“I have no idea, and we haven’t covered time measurement. I was hoping...you might take him on.”

Martek’s ears twitched. “As a pupil, kitling?”

“That—and perhaps you could learn more about where he came from. He seems to think he can’t get

home now.” Gredar decided to leave a description of the frankly astonishing sights of the morning until

T’meen’s language skills were stronger and he could explain it all to them. “Mother and the surat decided he

could stay a cycle, no more. I don’t know how long huu-man live, but if he lives longer than a cycle, he’ll

need a home.”

Gredar poured some water for T’meen as Martek sat back on his haunches to consider the suggestion.

“Hmmm. Well, if Kadit agrees, and it won’t interfere with my duties, I can’t see why not. His arrival should

be recorded. Can I count on you to make some pictures for my words?”

“Yes, though I wish I’d drawn him before.” He stroked the back of T’meen’s neck with his tail, which

seemed to amuse him. “If we can find a role for him, a use, then Mother might permit him to stay longer.”

“Perhaps. Don’t get your hopes up, Gredar. Better to find a proper place for him to live. If you say

he’s not a pet, and he’s no daiyne, then what can he do here? He’s too small and weak to work—you could

never use him in the pottery—and without our tongue, how can he help someone like me? There must be

more of his kind around.”

Gredar, who’d heard the voice of another huu-man from inside the amazing appearing and

disappearing structure that morning, agreed, though he didn’t explain. “I haven’t asked him about that.”

“Then eat up, kitling, and then we can interrogate him properly. I’m looking forward to it,” Martek

said, chortling a little with anticipation. Gredar started to feel a little sorry for his huu-man friend—Martek

could be very persistent.

~~~~~~~~

They’d been at it for hours, and Temin was beginning to feel about as alert and useful as a burned out

diode. On the one hand, it was a welcome distraction from his depressed mood to watch Gredar and this other

male—clearly a friend and some kind of librarian—talk so happily and animatedly together, and to be

brought in as much his limited language skills allowed. Sitting in this huge room with the treasures and

records of a hundred generations of day-neh was a lot more interesting than being stuck in Gredar’s room

too, even if it made Temin a little homesick. It reminded him a lot of the Museum of Terran Culture that his

family used to visit when he was a kid.

On the other hand...Martek seemed to want to learn all about humans and their culture and their

language without any delay, and certainly without any concessions to Temin’s convalescent state, though

Gredar had several times clearly told his friend to back off and let Temin catch his breath. Temin was starting

to lose his voice, though he doubted they could tell the difference in tone.

But it had been worth it—his understanding of the day-neh had grown exponentially, and he now had

a huge sheaf of notes, word lists and observations. He knew how to tell time, measure distance, weight and

volume in day-neh, and learned some fascinating stuff about day-neh physiology, including the fact day-neh

males had a pseudo-vagina called a
taeng
. (They pitied him for not having one. Temin couldn’t begin to

explain how weird the idea was to him. Not as weird as the egg thing, but still.) He’d learned Gredar’s clan

was very old and one of the most respected in the whole land, which they called Ptane, that Gredar was about

forty-one standard years old and that Martek was about sixty. Gredar had been shocked to find Temin was

twenty-eight—when Temin asked him how old he’d thought he was, Gredar had said ‘six cycles’—about