I Was An Alien Cat Toy (35 page)

he did want to leave the lad something to remember him by, and by pure luck, he had the perfect gift—the

knife that killed the boril. He didn’t want to take it with him, since its blade was in suspiciously good

condition considering he was supposed to have been living off the land for the best part of a year. Karwa’s

tail shivered in delight when Temin handed it to him, and Temin found himself engulfed in a furry hug that

nearly squeezed the life out of him. “Uh, Karwa?” he managed to squeak.

“Karwa, let T’meen go,” Gredar warned.

“Oh. Is sorry. Uncle, I have the knife!” He licked Temin’s face excitedly, then put up a finger. “You

wait for me?”

“Okay. What...?” But Karwa had already bounced off back towards the house. “What he do?” Temin

asked Gredar.

But his friend only shrugged. “Not know. Just wait.”

Karwa was back in five minutes. “This for T’meen. Is for you.” He thrust something long and white

and rather sharp at Temin, who took it carefully. “Is kizaz tooth. Is....” He poked at one of his own canines.

“Poison thing.”

“The fang? Wow!” It was twenty centimetres long, surprisingly small to have come from such an

enormous animal, but sharp and nearly as deadly as any knife even without the venom, beautiful in a creepy

sort of way. Someone had cleaned it with great care. Temin was holding something no other human had ever

seen before. “This is great.”

“You say you find,” Gredar murmured. “To huu-man.”

“Yes, I can do that. Thank you, Karwa. Are you sure? Is precious thing.”

“Preshusss?”

“Is very good thing for Karwa. You sure?”

Karwa nodded emphatically. “Yes. Is for you, my good friend. I miss you. Is sad. You see this tooth,

remember me, yes?”

Temin threw his arms around Karwa and hugged him tight. “Oh yes. Remember you all.”

He wanted to give something to Gredar as a keepsake but he had nothing at all that he thought his

friend would like. He kept coming back to the problem as the hours, and then days, went past, however much

he tried to distract himself by keeping busy, even though he knew Gredar expected nothing, and probably

would be hurt to think Temin was wasting time on such a trivial issue. But it was easier to think about that,

than the thing that was really bothering him.

The call finally came late on the third evening, just as he was preparing to leave Martek’s house.

Temin listened carefully to the message, then turned the radio speaker off before turning to his host.

“Tomorrow. My friend come tomorrow, midday.”

“Is farewell then?” Martek said. “You tell Gredar.”

Temin nodded, unable to speak. He stood and put his arms around Martek’s neck, rubbed his face

over and over in the thick fur. Martek patted him. “You good friend, T’meen. Be happy.”

He found himself walking up the now familiar street, under the now familiar sky with its triple moons

and huge sun, consciously noting every detail, storing it all up in his mind, wondering if time would dim his

recollections, and if he could ever forget all that had happened to him in this place. The fear of forgetting had

been the worst part—that he would eventually lose even the consolation of memory, and those who were

most precious to him now, would seem unreal and unclear in the future. But he had no way of capturing

concrete reminders—he could take nothing with him, not a note, not a picture, not the smallest thing made by

the hand of any of his friends. The kizaz fang passed only because he could pretend he’d picked it up, but it

wasn’t the same as the voice recordings he made of Martek and Gredar and the others, or the photos and

videos he’d taken of them, or the diary notes he’d made from time to time in the handheld. All that would

stay in Martek’s archives, to the puzzlement of future generations, who would never see a human and not

know that somewhere, at least one member of an alien race held their people close to his heart.

He found Kadit in her smallest workroom, writing notes about the herbs lying on her desk. “Message

come from friend,” he said, kneeling at the side of the desk. He removed the clan medallion, so proudly worn

for months, from around his neck and held it out. When she put out her hand, he placed it in her palm and

folded her fingers over it. “Thank you for all, and this thing. Is sad I cannot take. Please...keep.”

She bowed her head, closing her fist tight over the medallion. “Yes, I will keep. T’meen...you forgive

day-neh for all? Forgive me?”

“Yes, forgive all. Even Buhi. Please...please tell him this thing. Be happy, Kadit.”

She beckoned him forward, and gently rubbed her face against him. “You are regaijen even when you

leave, T’meen. Know this.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

His stomach in knots, he couldn’t face supper with all the goodbyes. He was talked out, thought out,

farewelled out. He ought to be happy and he’d never been more miserable. Did it mean he didn’t love Jeng

the way he thought he did? And if he didn’t, was this a pointless exercise? But the idea of never seeing Jeng

again hurt as much as losing Gredar. He was getting used to the pain of being torn in half. Now he just

wanted it to be over.

He was lying on the bed, going over what he would need to do to the podpod before Jeng arrived to

make his unaided survival for so long appear credible, when Gredar walked in with a lamp, which he set

down on the table. “Mother say...message come. You leave soon?”

“Tomorrow. Midday. Need to go early, things to do at podpod. Understand?”

“Yes.” Gredar sat on the bed and placed his paw on Temin’s stomach. “You not happy.”

“No.” Temin covered his eyes with his arm.

Silence for some time, then he felt Gredar shift, and then Temin yelped as he felt Gredar’s hands

under him lifting him up. “What the...?”

But Gredar just wanted to hold Temin in his lap, and had taken the matter into his own hands—

literally. “It’s not like I don’t
want
you to hold me,” Temin muttered, burrowing into Gredar’s fur. Gredar’s

tail wrapped tightly around Temin as if trying to say he didn’t want Temin to leave. But it was the tail’s

owner which had set this in motion, and now it was too late to change things.

All Gredar wanted to do was hold him, it seemed, and now, when words were so useless, so

redundant, Temin was grateful to return to how they’d begun—with touches, with gestures, with a wordless

meeting of minds that had transcended race and language. He would never, ever, be able to tell anyone how

he felt at this moment, and it was knowing that, knowing he could never share or describe what he had

discovered, the generosity he had experienced, which tore at his soul now. If his shefting race had not been

such brutal, mindless destroyers, it could have been the start of a wonderful friendship between two peoples.

Two peoples who must never meet now, if the day-neh were to survive at all.

Gredar allowed him to shift position so he was sitting sideways, and could look up at his friend’s face

while still being held close against his chest. Gredar’s face, of course, showed little to Temin, but his ears

were drooping, and his tail was a limp, sad thing. “I wish I have thing to give my friend,” Temin said, patting

carefully over the faint disturbance in the fur pattern where it had grown back over Gredar’s injuries. “But no

have thing.”

“Yes. Have thing. Give thing already. Many things.”

“Huh?”

“Come.” He was abruptly shifted off the furry lap as Gredar stood up and walked over to his desk.

“Come. Look.”

Gredar pulled out one of the large drawers in the chest next to his desk, and drew out the rolls of

sketches he had made of Temin over the last few months. He spread them out on the desk top for Temin to

see—there were dozens and dozens of them, of Temin in all kinds of poses and positions and lighting, day

and night. Literal to a fault, Gredar had recorded every scar and mark and bump, but somehow he had

managed to make no judgement about them—just added them as part of the whole, so that it seemed

perfectly natural that Temin’s skin was so flawed now.

Gredar tapped one of the pictures. “You give me this thing. This elsart thing.”

“This your thing. You make this.”

Gredar shook his head. “No. You give me thing to keep. Elsart thing. Remember always, T’meen. Is

best thing for me.” He reached over and cupped Temin’s face. “I keep this, in here.” He tapped his head.

“Always.”

“You forget, maybe. I forget, maybe. Is scared, to forget.”

Gredar shook his head again, and stroked Temin’s cheek with his thumb, before leaning over and

licking his face. “No. No forget. Know this thing. Is forever thing, T’meen.”

Gredar’s face was getting all blurry. “Big guy, you...you...no. I won’t forget. How could I forget

you?”

Gredar gave a little yowl of enquiry, but when he didn’t get an answer, he just pulled Temin onto his

lap and held him tight again. “Is okay. You see Jeng, you be happy. Gredar be happy T’meen happy. Is

okay.”

Was it? Would it be fine once he saw Jeng? He looked down at the pictures Gredar had drawn with

honesty, with affection—and maybe even love, as much as the day-neh understood the concept. “No. Is not

okay. But I’ll be fine.”

I hope,
anyway
.

~~~~~~~~

They left at dawn, Martek tagging along because he didn’t want to miss this momentous event. He

hung back though, giving Gredar and Temin privacy, though they didn’t have much to say to each other.

Temin had said all he’d wanted in making love that one last time. It wasn’t like there were words that could

make this easier for any of them.

At the podpod, he stripped out everything he might have conceivably used for survival over the past

nine months and gave it to Martek. He kept the weapons though—they were just too dangerous to leave

behind. He had nightmares about one of the kits blowing a paw off by banging the shefting things around too

much.

He was going to say his shelter was some distance away and that he was leaving most of his gear

there, to explain his lack of improvised tools and the like. He and Gredar had discussed how he could have

survived on his own, and what would sound plausible. Temin was hoping that people would just be so

amazed at his return he could fudge the actual details. So long as no one suspected the truth, he thought they

would not ask too many hard questions.

They scuffed up his clothes and shoes to simulate months of hard wear. His scars and the damage the

boril had caused to his stuff would all lend veracity to his story, he hoped. He didn’t know what he’d do if

anyone wanted to see where he’d been living, but he was determined about one thing—he would never lead

them to the day-neh village. All the day-neh had been warned for some time that they must conceal themselves if they spotted humans. But provided Temin’s rescue didn’t stir up too much interest, he thought

the day-neh would remain undiscovered for many more years. He couldn’t promise their secret would be safe

forever—one day, inevitably, someone would come exploring, or another spacer would crash. All he could

really hope for was that this current generation would be safe.

A little before noon, his radio crackled. “Temin, are you there?”

“Yeah, Jeng, waiting for you by the podpod. Site is clear.”

“Then stand back. At your position in T minus five minutes.”

So this was it. He hugged Martek quickly. “He comes, you must leave.”

“Understand. Is farewell, my friend.”

He accepted a quick lick, and then Martek moved away. Then Temin faced Gredar, his heart racing,

his gut churning with tension and sadness. “Is farewell. Be happy.”

Gredar put his hands on Temin’s shoulders, and very slowly and deliberately marked his face, his

clothes, even his hands with his scent. Then he curled his tail around Temin’s waist. “Farewell.”

Temin stared into his great, green eyes, and fought back tears. Jeng would never understand if he

found Temin weeping like a kid. “Go. Be safe.”

Gredar nodded, and then stood. He turned and ran off a little way, to wait with Martek.

A bare minute later, Temin heard the engines, and then dust and dirt and leaves flew everywhere as a

cargo ship hovered overhead. He squinted up and waved, and then the ship slowly descended, main hatch

opening, as it lowered itself right over the podpod. So they wanted to retrieve it—made sense, he supposed.

He kept well clear until the ship was fully down, and then a small rear hatch popped open.

“Temin!”

Jeng.
His heart flip-flopped as his lover’s smiling face appeared. Temin waved. “Hey. What took you

so long?”

“You...come here, you shefting idiot!” Jeng ran to him and scooped him up, swinging him round and

round. “What the hell happened to your hair? And you weigh nothing!” He kissed him hard, and then put

Temin down, still keeping his hands tight on his shoulders. “I can’t believe it. You’re...you’re really, really

alive.” And why Temin had been worried about crying when Jeng’s eyes were red, he didn’t know, but other

than that, Jeng looked the same as ever—broad, tall, incredibly handsome. “I never thought I’d see you

again.”

“Well that goes twice for me. Can we get out here now...no!” He broke free of Jeng’s grip and ran to

the crewman who was aiming a pulse pistol at Gredar and Martek, sitting on their haunches two hundred