Part 7 (1/2)

Now, in an alien world with a dog who was also a man curled against him, Collins smiled at the memory. As weird as the situation had become, it seemed marginally preferable to having made what might have seemed like a s.e.xual advance on some strange woman who, properly and without insult, could be better called a b.i.t.c.h.

Oblivious to Collins' train of thought, Falima continued. ”A young male, of course.”

Great, so now I'm a child molester. Collins cringed. That makes it much better.

Attuned to Collins' discomfort, Falima continued, ”It is all right, really. He is probably the closest thing to a dog of your world that you will find here. He clearly enjoys the attention, and he probably will not remember much of it in human form.”

Collins studied the dog's brown-and-white patches.

”So go ahead and stroke him. If it makes him uncomfortable, he will let you know.”

Yeah. Collins glanced at his wound. Next time, he'll bite my hand clean off. Tentatively, he petted the dog's back. It sighed and snuggled more closely to him.

Falima smiled. ”Actually, I like it when people stroke my nose.”

Collins gave Falima a strange look.

”In switch-form, of course.” Falima's cheeks turned scarlet, to Collins' surprise. She seemed too strong to let anything embarra.s.s her. ”And a scratch behind my ears now and then feels wonderful.

Especially when the flies are biting.” Her features lapsed back into their tough demeanor. ”But I do not like being kicked. In any form.”

”I'm sorry,” Collins said, meaning it. ”It's just that's how we steer in-””-your world,” Falima finished.

”Yes. In my world. The only world I knew existed until yesterday. I'm very sorry I kicked you. It won't happen again.”

A strained silence followed, into which Collins wanted to insert something clever that might finally bridge the gap between them. Instead, a question came to mind. He wanted to know why discussing her petting spots shamed her more than switching to human form buck naked. Wisely, he put aside that train of thought for a safer one. ”I guess it's just us till Zylas becomes a man again.”

Ialin strolled to them, crunching something between his teeth and carrying handfuls of leaves and stems. He turned Collins a withering, imperious look, then focused on Falima. He remained standing, the only position that allowed the tiny man to tower over his seated companions. He spoke in the language of Barakhai.

Falima's reply took much longer as she, apparently, filled him in on the conversation to date.

With the memory of Bill and Jean Dusumter in his mind, Collins studied Ialin. The hummingbird/man, too, could pa.s.s for a slight, curveless woman. For an instant, the thought that he might have made the same mistake twice swept through Collins, banished by the memory of Zylas' use of the p.r.o.noun ”he” to refer to the hummingbird's human form. Of course, Zylas' English is rather primitive.

Falima addressed Collins again. ”Zylas will not desert us just because he is in switch-form.”

The dog stretched its legs, pressing its back against Collins, groaned, and dropped back off to sleep.

Collins nodded, certain Falima spoke the truth. ”I just meant we won't have a way to talk to him until he's . . . until he's human.”

”I will.” Falima patted her tummy and tossed her black hair, highlights of scarlet, purple, and green s.h.i.+fting through her tresses.

”You will?” Hope rose in a wild rush. ”You can . . . you can ...” Collins barely dared to believe. ”...

talk to each other in animal form?”

Falima held a brief exchange with Ialin that left the man snickering before replying, ”Not usually. But Zylas is older. He has good, solid overlap between his forms; I know of no one with more. And I still have his translation stone.” Her blue gaze hardened. ”Thanks to you.”

Collins stroked the dog's side, and its tail thumped in grat.i.tude. In addition to a near-flawless grasp of English, Falima had clearly mastered sarcasm. ”I'm sorry.” He wondered how many times he would have to apologize before Falima would forgive him, hoping she would not prove as difficult to appease as Marlys. Maybe it's a woman thing.

Apparently mistaking Collins' attention to the dog for an unspoken question, Falima said, ”No, I cannot talk to him. He has little or no overlap. He might not even have reached coming-of-age yet.”

”Coming-of-age?” Collins repeated. That brought to mind David Fein's bar mitzvah, expanding lip disks, and quests to kill wild boars and leopards.

Ialin made a grunted comment to which Falima responded before switching back to English. ”When a child is born, he a.s.sumes the same switch-form and at the same times as his mother. He has no overlap at all. On his thirteenth birthday, he gets a party. His switch time melds with his personality, overlap begins, and, if he is a Random, he trans.m.u.tes.”

Collins put up a hand to stay Falima. ”Hold it. I was with you up until the thirteenth birthday party.

Randoms. Trans.m.u.ting.” He shook his head. ”What are you talking about?”

Falima eased to a cross-legged sitting position. She spoke painfully slowly, as if to an idiot. ”At thirteen, all right?”

Collins did not grace the question with so much as a nod. If he did, he felt certain she would drag a simple explanation into next week.

”A child becomes a man or woman. He gets a switch time ...” Falima glanced at Collins to see if he still followed her description.

Collins bobbed his head. He knew about switch times from Zylas. ”Does some person a.s.sign each teen a switching time? Or is it random?”

Falima conversed with Ialin before answering. ”Neither. It seems to have more to do with the ...” She used Collins' word, ”. . . teen's personality. It just happens, and it seems to suit the person. Overlapbetween human and animal form begins. Regulars tend to learn control faster than Randoms, but they also spend more time in animal form.”

Collins frowned, shaking his head. ”You've lost me again.” He considered the problem. ”Maybe if you explain what you mean by Regulars and Randoms.” He looked up at the sky. The moon had risen higher, a crescent that scarcely grazed the darkness. Stars spread across the darkness, remarkably similar to the spring pattern of his own world.

”Regulars occur when animals of like type mate, whether in human or animal form. A man who becomes a bull, for example, marries a woman whose switch-form is a cow.” Falima studied Collins'

reaction, and he gave her what he hoped was an encouraging look. This made sense to him. ”Since animals can only mate within their type, and they tend not to worry about or understand human conventions when it comes to marriage, Regulars outnumber Randoms by about three hundred to one.”

Collins reasoned, ”So a Random would come of a union between two humans with different types of switch-forms.”

”Right.” Apparently impressed by his reasoning, Falima pa.s.sed it on to Ialin.

Latin came back with something that sounded gruff, almost warning.

Beaming, Collins struggled to continue. Falima's opinion of him mattered more than he could explain.

”Until thirteen, Randoms become the animal of their mother. Then, they become . . .”He did not know how to proceed. Logic dictated that boys might follow the father and girls the mother, but the opposite could prove equally true. What am I doing seeking logic in magic? Sticking with what the name implied, he tried, ”. . . something random?”

”Exactly,” Falima crowed. ”Though maybe not totally random. It probably has something to do with the physical or emotional makeup of the person. Or maybe the animal-type influences those things. It would be hard to ever know for sure.”

”Which are you?”

Falima's open excitement disappeared. Her features lapsed into a mask, and her movements looked calculatedly casual. ”What?”

”Which are you?” Collins repeated carefully. ”Regular or Random?”

”All horses are guards,” Falima said in a not-quite-indifferent tone. ”Senior to dogs. Ours is a respected position, nearly always bred on purpose.”

”And you?” Collins pressed.