Chapter 9

The next morning came all too quickly. Excited as I was to be starting this new page of my life, I couldn't deny the fact that my bed had felt just right...so warm...soft... It was tough to leave it behind.

Of course, it didn't help that during the night I'd dreamt of Shiana...the first time I'd done so since before my attack. I wasn't sure exactly why I'd dreamt of her...I mean there was no way we'd ever be together so long as I was an exile. Perhaps it was just my mind riding the good feelings I'd gone to bed with the night before. This day marked the end of my moping about feeling sorry for myself, and the beginning of my re-claiming some of my dignity. I could hold my head high, knowing I was doing something to better myself despite my exile. If feeling such a way conjured up dreams of a lost love, then so be it.

After shaking the cobwebs out of my head, I moved about as quietly as I could so as not to disturb the cougar. I packed a couple of camp meals and a change of clothes into my knapsack before putting it by the door. I was just about to leave when I looked back at her. She was still sleeping peacefully, and while I hated the thought of disturbing that sleep, I figured it best to at least let her know I was heading out for the day. Hmph...now there's a decision I'd regret...

I knelt down beside her and reached out for her shoulder. The second I touched it, she cut loose a scream that knocked me flat on my backside. She rolled away from me, trying frantically to get free of the blanket in which she was tangled. Finally she managed to get to her hands and knees, and she glared right at me, a look of utter terror in her eyes.

"Easy," I said, putting my hands up. "It's me...remember? The guy who's trying to help you?" She said nothing, but continued to stare at me with those fear-filled eyes. She was nearly hyperventilating, and what I could see of her body was trembling almost uncontrollably. Gods...whatever dream I'd awakened her from, it must have been horrifying. What kinds of depths did a mind go to in order to scare someone that deeply?

After about a minute her breathing slowed. Her eyes seemed to come back into focus, and when they locked on me I felt my temperature drop. Still, even her usual glare of contempt was infinitely better than what I'd seen only a minute before. "What?" she growled harshly. "What the hell do you want?"

"I...I just wanted to let you know I was heading out for the day," I said. "I didn't want you to wake up and wond..."

"Whatever," she interrupted, crawling back to her mat. "Fine...have a nice day...blah blah blah...you want a good-bye kiss too?"

"Fine," I sighed. "See you tonight, I suppose." I headed for the door and slung my knapsack over my shoulder. What was it I'd said the night before about wanting to help her? Well...I'd said I was up for a challenge...I just didn't realize how much of a challenge it was going to be. Oh well...it was too late to back out of it now, wasn't it? I stepped out into the early morning air and closed the door.

I was just about to take a step away from the dwelling when I heard something...a sound coming from within. At first I was thinking of opening the door to see what was going on, but instead I merely leaned in and pressed my ear to it. I closed my eyes and felt my heart sink as I heard the one sound I not only least expected, but also felt guilty for causing...

It was the sound...of her crying...

I arrived at the Port Authority a quarter of an hour early. I felt thankful that in spite of the early morning's antics back at my dwelling that I was still able to make it to work on time. The last thing I needed was to show up late on my first day of work...not exactly the best way to make a first impression.

Once I cleared security, Sharaya escorted me back to the office where I'd been the day before. However, instead of taking me to the Dock-master's office, we headed into another one that looked a bit like a doctor's office combined with a home fitness centre. I remember the facility reminding me of the rehabilitation centre at the hospital, though not quite as elaborate.

The evaluation took about two hours, during which time my sight, hearing, and tactile senses were all tested, as well as my physical strength and endurance. I made sure not to go overboard during the strength tests, trying my best to appear just slightly above average for someone my age. The person evaluating me - a rather wiry looking jaguar - didn't bat so much as an ear during the tests. He merely nodded each time before making a mark on his chart.

When the test was done, it was revealed that I was, according to the jaguar, more than fit for duty, so Sharaya escorted me out of the administration building and towards another building adjacent to it. There, I was measured from head to toe and subsequently issued a pair of blue coveralls, safety boots, gloves, and a few other items. I later learned that the colour of one's coveralls helped distinguish one's place at the docks. Blue was the colour worn by general labourers, orange by machine operators, grey was reserved for crew chiefs and foremen, red was Occupational Health and Safety, and black was security. There were other colours as well for the more specialized workers around the docks, but seeing anyone garbed in them was a rare occurrence.

Sharaya led me to another building next, this one a bit closer to where people seemed to be working. This next building was the change-house/break area which, to my surprise, was co-ed. As we walked in, I could see people milling about in various states of dress and undress, both male and female. I remember my ears blushing hot that first day, an almost primal sense of modesty and shyness washing over me. Ah, the innocence of youth.

My escort, however, seemed rather unmoved by this as she led me to one of several empty lockers. After a few moments, its locking device was calibrated to my palm, at which point I stowed my knapsack inside. I then changed into my new work clothes and stowed my 'civvies' in the locker before we headed out again.

The next person I was formally introduced to was Allister Krang, a rather stiff-looking lion who spoke with a rather high Lakayan accent. Had Sharaya not been Shontoan, I would have been convinced that I'd somehow been transported overseas. Not that I had anything against Lakayans, mind you...but it was a little off-putting.

After the introductions were made, Sharaya basically handed me off to Allister, and he took me on a tour of the facility. I remember being wide-eyed as he showed me the seemingly chaotic workings of the docks. Gargantuan cargo ships lay still in their berths as the towering cranes nimbly plucked its load of containers off one by one, either placing them on skimmer platforms, or stacking them in preset patterns on the ground. I met many of those who were milling about on the ground, and watched as they coordinated with the crane operators high overhead, or directed the platform drivers into position.

"As you can see," said Allister as we walked, "it takes more than mere machines to properly tend to these vessels." He was right; every docked ship had a small crew completely devoted to it, and many of those people wore the same coveralls as I did. This relieved me somewhat, as I feared the blue would point me out as some kind of low-man or something.

When we were done with the docks, Allister guided me towards where the Port Authority tended to its other form of cargo handling: The tarmac and hangars. Here, I could see ships of varying sizes and shapes resting on their landing pads, their cargo doors opened and crews tending to the cargo within. Here, there were no cranes to assist in the off-loading and re-loading of cargo. Instead, machines like forklifts, skimmer trucks, and power loaders were used. I noted as we walked that the containers being transferred to and from the ships were a lot smaller than those I'd seen on the sea-faring vessels.

"Many of these freighters are mere ferry ships," said Allister as we walked. "They transfer goods to and from the Tigris Orbital Station, where the cargo is subsequently loaded onto the larger deep-space freighters." I'd heard about the Orbital Station in school, and had even seen documentaries about it on the telescreen. I remember wondering at that point if I'd ever get the chance to fly up to it.

"Do any deep-space ships ever land here?" I asked. I felt a little foolish asking that question. After all, how could a ship small enough to land on a planet possibly be able to withstand any kind of deep space sojourn?

"Occasionally we have some small courier ships," said Allister. "Those we keep in the hangars, as for them, security is usually a priority." He gestured towards the immense buildings flanking the tarmac. I had a feeling I wouldn't be seeing the insides of those for a while. "And for those too small to dock with the station, but too large to actually land..." He again gestured, but this time to a series of pillars off to one side of the tarmac. "Those pylons emit a reduced gravity field when activated," he explained. "This way, larger ships can keep their reactors powered at all times." I shuddered to think just what kind of ship would require such an elaborate facility just to transfer cargo.

"The spaceport area is more for the specialized workers," Allister explained. "You will be starting dockside as all workers do. Should you decide to after your evaluation period, you may start your training progression on the various equipment we use here." I nodded, already thinking ahead to that point just a few months away. While I was sure I could make a decent living as a general labourer, I figured there would be no better way to further hide my true identity from prying eyes than to try and better myself.

After the tour of the spaceport, Allister took me back to the docks and introduced me to some more of the crew members there. For the most part they seemed a friendly group, and I got the impression they'd be more than willing to teach one who was willing to learn. I'd later learn about everyone's little personality quirks and how they all interacted with each other, but for the moment I had the feeling I was in good company.

I had no idea how quickly that feeling would change...

The rest of my first shift was fairly uneventful. I was placed with the crew serving a Shontoan container ship, the McAvey. For as long as she was berthed, she would be as much my responsibility as anyone else's on that crew. I ended up shadowing a couple of the ground crew workers, and they began to teach me how to communicate with the crane operators high above us. While the work was far from exciting, it was fascinating nonetheless.

At the end of the shift, I quickly made my way to the nearest transit stop and before long arrived at Sensei's dance studio. Unlike the last time I was there, the place had undergone a rather startling transformation. Practice dummies, weapon racks, and holo-projectors all but littered the place, and I remember spending most of that first session wondering just how many others were going to show up.

Like my first shift on the docks, my first night of training was more of an orientation/evaluation session. Sensei had me run through whatever Katu drills I could remember from my grandfather, and while I was rather impressed with all I could remember, he seemed anything but.

My strength and endurance were also tested, which reminded me a lot of that torturous month in rehabilitation. Like my time at the hospital I tried to beat Sensei's expectations in terms of how far I could push myself. However, like with my drills, he remained completely stone-faced.

After three hours of testing, testing, and more testing, he finally said: "That is all," and he bid me to change back into my regular clothes. I remember never having felt more confused than I had at that moment. Grandfather had been a very vocal teacher, and was quick to point out when I'd done something wrong in a routine. He'd always stressed to me the importance of precision and form when it came to Katu, and I'd always assumed the same for any martial art.

I had just emerged from the change room when I noticed Sensei standing at the door. Again, his muzzle bore no kind of expression other than neutral...which really bothered me. In our past meetings, he seemed to think I had what it took not only to become a L'au Tari, but possibly one of the greatest in recent years. Had I done something to let him down? Was this night the last time I would see him?

"You did well tonight," he finally said as I approached. "You have retained much of your past training, which means you take instruction well. I will see you in two days, when your real training will begin." I bowed slightly in thanks and headed out the door. It hadn't been much of a compliment, but I was willing to take what I could get.

I'd seen cruelty...I'd witnessed murder...I'd walked in blood and defied the Patrons of my old life to try and make sense of the world into which I'd been thrust. But compared to what I saw that first week of my 'new life,' I'd seen nothing.

There was an ocelot on the same crew I was on...an exile from the Clans. For an exile like me he was easy to spot just by looking at him. He walked with a stooped posture, and his face always bore a look of tired shame. He rarely socialized with anyone else in the crew, and only smirked when someone thought themselves a stand-up comic during meal break.

During those breaks, a lot of less-than-civil remarks abounded about exiles and what a blemish they were on society. Several off-colour jokes were made, much to the amusement of the crew, and I admit I laughed at them too. Maybe it was because I was so young, or maybe it was because of how I was exiled, but I really had very little sympathy for any of them. They'd shown me just how much they deserved their fates just a few nights before when they left three innocent children to die kneeling in their own blood. What, if anything, did I owe them?

It was during one of these improvised comedy routines that the ocelot finally stood up. His poise was like that of a Clansman, and his voice rang true and loud, as befitted his former heritage. He decried the comedian's 'pathetic attempts at humour' and how 'he would fare no better were he cast out from society.' He'd basically admitted he was an exile at that point, and I remember holding my breath, praying that he didn't out me as well. I didn't recognize him from the warehouse, but if he'd been there the night of my outburst, he could easily tear down this little ruse I'd only just constructed.

Thankfully, he'd only incriminated himself, and the place suddenly went quiet. All eyes were on him but he stood tall...proud...I wondered what exactly was going through his mind at that moment. Had he finally snapped? Had his mind been overwhelmed with the constant verbal abuse those like us...no...like him...were taking? What would motivate someone to admit they represented the very object of hatred of this crew?

The buzzer suddenly sounded, ending the meal period and we all moved quickly to stow our things and return to work. The ocelot walked out of the break room with his head held high...and that was the last I saw of him.

The official report, according to Sharaya, was that he'd taken his own life like every other exile on the docks, but I knew better. I saw the blood running down the drain of the showers, originating from several people's knuckles. It didn't take a sage to know what happened, and what the end result was. I felt sick to my stomach. From the Shatlia I would expect such cruelty, but from these people? I could never have imagined how merciless the non-Clan folk could be had I not witnessed it first-hand.

What really put, as the humans say, the icing on the cake for the week was at the end of my last shift. I was just getting changed when Sharaya stopped by. Again, I was a little unsettled by being nearly naked in front of her, and the look in her eyes told me she knew exactly how I felt...and she was enjoying it. I dressed rather quickly after that and she walked out with me.

"So," she said, "how was your first week?"

"It was all right," I replied, lying through my teeth. "Definitely an educational one." I let her read into that whatever she wanted; I was too tired and frustrated to care. She didn't seem to pick up on the subtext, though, and carried on. All the way to the front gate, she carried the conversation, alternating between how much the week had dragged and her plans for the weekend. From the sounds of it, her grand scheme of weekend relaxation was going to involve a dance club, several drinks, and some pretty hot and heavy action with a male of her choosing. As I'd said earlier, she was nice to look at, and I imagined away from a place like this she was probably a nice enough person. I couldn't shake what I knew about her attitude, though, and that knowledge even made her physical beauty seem that much less appealing.

"What about you?" she finally asked. "Got any plans for the weekend?"

"Not really," I replied. I thought briefly about my roommate, who had been recovering rather well during the week. She was beginning to move about more, and more than once I'd caught the scent of damp fur in the dwelling when I'd returned. She'd obviously found the pool. "I'll probably spend it around town."

As we reached the gate I felt her hand on my arm. It wasn't a forceful grip...more tender...almost caring. I looked into her eyes and saw what I thought was a look of genuine sympathy. My ears perked up in curiosity.

"It must be awful, living in a hostel," she said. "Especially after losing your family the way you did."

I shrugged. "It's just a place to lay my head at night," I said. "Nothing more. Someday I'll find something better." I turned to go and her grip grew more insistent.

"You know," she said, a hint of...something...in her voice. "You could lay your head somewhere else this weekend." Remember what I said about a 'male of her choosing?' I quickly realized she'd chosen me. At that moment I felt like laughing until I was in tears. The irony of the situation was so delicious I almost licked my lips. I envisioned myself taking her up on her invitation, going to her home, and letting her have her way with me all weekend. Then, in that last moment of afterglow, as I held her through the last of our ecstasy together, I'd lean into her ear and whisper gently:

"By the way, you just yiffed an exile."

The purely sadistic nature of such a thing sent a shiver up my spine. It would almost be worth risking my job and my cover just to do it...just to put it in that arrogant panther's face that she'd not only been attracted to, but had spent an entire weekend loin-locked with one of the fallen from the Clans. She'd never live it down. Unfortunately for me, such a prank would no doubt cost me my job, and given how the other dockworkers fawned after her, I'd probably end up in worse shape than that ocelot had, cybernetic strength or not.

Instead though, I merely covered her hand with mine and smiled. "Another time, maybe," I said gently. "But thank you." She seemed disappointed by my decline, but she recovered quickly, smiling in some form of understanding. I smiled back briefly before heading out the gate to summon a transit shuttle. It arrived a few minutes later and I boarded it, headed for my last training session of the week where I could hopefully work through the growing frustration and anger that was building deep inside. My mind was slowly shifting into the perfect frame for training. In fact, as I travelled I was already starting to envision every practice target as a member of the dockworker crew, all of them with smug looks on their muzzles just begging to be clawed off by me.

It was a little disturbing, the feelings I had, but at the same time they were so...well...

Delicious...

It was early evening by the time I stepped off the shuttle near my dwelling. There wasn't a single part of my body that didn't hurt in some way...a reminder that being overzealous in the presence of a L'au Tari is not the best idea.

Sensei had noted my frustration the moment I'd stepped into his studio, and after that he proceeded to have his holographic sparring partners beat that attitude out of me. Each time I fell, he merely pointed out that anger and frustration served no purpose to the L'au Tari except to cloud one's thoughts and block from the conscious mind the way to the beast within. He was also quick to point out that predators never struck out in malice or hatred. Their actions, like those of the L'au Tari, were governed by the forces of nature. Every contest, every match, was a contest between predator and prey, not between rivals or enemies.

It was a tough lesson to learn, and my body paid for it. Even if I had taken Sharaya up on her carnal offer, I would have been in no shape to do much more than lay there while she used me. I was covered almost head to toe in bruises, and my muscles ached something fierce. Were it not for my enhanced strength, I probably would have fallen to the ground the moment I stepped off the shuttle and lay there all weekend. As it was, I limped back to my dwelling, feeling the frustration begin to build again.

I was fully expecting either some snarky remark from my cougar room-mate, or a healthy dose of silence...and in the latter she didn't disappoint. I all but stumbled inside, startling her to the point where she shrieked, but then stopped the moment she saw me. She then let out an exasperated sigh and returned her attention to the low fire in the fireplace.

I said nothing and merely unpacked my knapsack. Once my things were put away I fished out a camp meal for myself and put out a couple for her. That had become our routine over the past few days: I would pick a meal for myself, then give her a choice of what was left over. After she picked one and ate it, I would put the other away to be added into the next day's ritual. Beyond that, there was little if any interaction between us. Gods...she'd been here a week and I still didn't know her name.

The thought of spending an entire weekend cooped up in my dwelling with her like this was about as appealing to me as was spending the weekend with Sharaya. Of course, at least with Sharaya there would be some form of interaction, verbal or otherwise.

"How are you feeling?" I asked finally, halfway through my dinner. "Is the medicine working?"

"Is there some reason it shouldn't be?" Her tone was as venomous as always, and she never once looked up from her meal.

"No," I said, trying to remain civil. "I was just curious, that's all."

"Oh," she said. "Well, then yes, I'm feeling better." Her words still stung, but not as much as they had before. We ate in silence for a few minutes before she did something that took me completely off guard: She asked me a question. "So how was your week?" she asked.

I looked at her, my mind still trying to register the fact that she'd initiated a conversation.

"What?" she said. "You asked me something...isn't it fair that I do the same?"

"Uh, yeah...of course," I said once my mind finally clued in. I went over how the week went without mentioning my training. Given the Clans' thoughts on the art of the L'au Tari, I thought it best that I keep that little secret to myself for the time being. Still, I was able to talk about learning the different duties on the docks, some of the people, and for some stupid reason I mentioned what happened with the ocelot exile.

The next words out of her mouth were some of the most heartless ones I'd ever heard:

"Ah...so...did you bury him too?"

I dropped my tray and glared at her. My right hand began shaking with building rage and it took everything I had not to pounce her and strangle that hateful life right out of her. As it was I quickly stood up, ignoring the pain in my legs and made for the door. I couldn't stand to be in the same room as her at that moment.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

I merely glared back at her, seeing the sudden shift in her face from sarcasm to fear. "I just remembered," I said, mustering up as much venom as I could in my words. "I need to finish digging that grave." I headed outside, slamming the door as I did so.

I don't know how long I sat there at the foot of the grave I'd dug only a few days before. I can't remember how many tears of defeat and frustration I cried while sitting there. I was tired...exhausted...and I'd had enough. I'd tried...I'd tried so damned hard to do the right thing, and for what? Why was I pushing myself so hard when all the world wanted to do was push me back...push me down? What was the point?

The cougar's little quip finally put everything in perspective for me...brought it into that clear, ugly focus that I'd been trying to deny: I really had nothing...had no one. It didn't matter how hard I tried, or how much unlike an exile I tried to be. That's what I would always be...that was how others would see me. All the achievement, all the accomplishment in the galaxy wouldn't matter to them. The moment they found out what I was, everything I'd done wouldn't amount to a pile of baloth dung.

I was so wrapped up in my own grief that I never heard her approach. I must have looked like a fool right then, sitting before a grave blubbering like some kitten. When I realized she had sat down beside me, I braced myself for some kind of taunt or other bullying tactic. She'd already shown me that kicking someone when they were down wasn't beneath her. I clenched my hand into a fist, ready to show her the folly of mocking a cyborg when she spoke three words...words so filled with compassion and regret that I nearly fell over.

"Silas was right."

I turned to her, hastily wiping away any tears that were still running down my muzzle. What did Silas have to do with any of this? She was looking right at me when she said it, and for the first time she didn't have that anger in her eyes. There was apprehension, sure, but the normal spiteful, hateful glare I'd grown used to seeing was nowhere on her muzzle. If anything, she started to look like that tender person I'd watched her become when she slept.

"What to you mean?" I sniffled.

"After you left with them," she said, motioning towards the grave, "he said you had a big heart...and that someday it was gonna hurt you."

"Score one for Silas," I said bitterly. "Big heart and a soft head." I turned away, looking back towards the grave. "I never thought the world could be so hateful," I said, wondering how long this respite from her normal personality would last. "Makes me wonder why I even tried in the first place."

"We all tried," she said. "We all try at the start to be like you...tried to keep that spirit alive...but over time it just dies out." She sighed. "The world just opens you up and swallows you whole. That's why no one helped you that night...it wasn't that they were afraid...they didn't care."

That statement hurt almost as much as her little quip about the ocelot. I bit back more tears as I recalled that horrific night. Fear was something I could understand; I'd felt it enough times. But indifference...in the face of murder? It was a shade of grey no soul should ever reach, and yet for all exiles that was the end of the journey, wasn't it? All the anger, the indignation...all that fire that once consumed your soul and pushed you to try and find a way back...a way home. Eventually it all faded away, leaving behind a mere shadow of your former self.

"Do you?" I asked.

"I thought I didn't," she answered after a while. "At first I didn't believe you when you said you were going to bury them. I...I followed you that first night to this place. I watched you dig that grave and lay them in it."

"Why did you come back the next night?"

She shrugged. "I wanted to see for myself what you did again," she said. "I dunno; part of me hoped that maybe if I saw it...if I touched it, maybe I could get back part of that spark...the same one you have in you. Of course, then the cur...sickness hit, and the rest you know."

"Yeah," I said, my words sounding tired and defeated.

"I'm sorry, Dalan," she said finally, and at this I turned to face her. Again, I was expecting some kind of aggressive look, as though she was apologizing just to either placate me or to help segue into some new subject. Yet, what I saw there was more of that same honest look I'd seen before. Her eyes spoke volumes of the truth behind what she was saying. "I know I've been a bitch this past week to you, and you didn't deserve it. It...it's hard for me to trust people...and being sick I..."

Her voice trailed off; it sounded to me like there was more there but I didn't want to pry. Hell, I was still trying to get over the fact that she was actually talking to me...and being nice about it.

She finally continued. "You've shown me more kindness this week than anyone in Shonto's shown me since I got here," she said. "For that, I'm grateful." I forced a smile, still feeling glum. She smiled back, and in the fading sunlight I finally saw that face I'd only seen when she slept...all of it.

She was breath-taking.

"Thanks," I said. "It's good to know at least someone appreciates what I'm doing."

She leaned towards me and, to my utter shock, planted a small kiss on my cheek. I thought I felt every strand of fur on my body stand straight up when she did that. As much as I'd blushed before in the change room at work, I was positive my ears were glowing now.

"Let's go inside," she said, standing. "I think we have a lot to talk about."

And we did...