Turlon woke to the smell of hot caffoid.  Following his nose, he
found Red on the bridge; not really surprising, there weren't many places
she could be.  A star chart was on the tridisplay, and another pop-up
had lines of text.  Red was hard at work on something.

"Anything I can help with?" he offered, more out of politeness than actual
assistance.  Turlon always marvelled at the fliers, he never really had the
patience or aptitude to become one with the machine.  Much of it was
attitude, he surmised, at least that was about all the flyboys had back in
StarForce was attitude.  They may have ruled the skies, but they had to
land sometime and that was when he and his squad 're-educated' several of
them.

"Good morning.  Thanks but no.  I'm just working on some advanced
astrogation techniques. I'm not bad, mind you," she hastened to
assure him, "but I'm still, not as sharp and quick as I'd like to
be.  I get the job done, though. I'm working toward a Master
Astrogator certification."  Red took a sip, "Want some caffoid?"
"We made the run up to FTL about three hours ago.  Now we just cruise
for a hair over seven days, then we'll hit Valperce."

Turlon stifled a chuckle at Red's use of a 'hair' for measuring, thinking
that only a 'whisker' would have been funnier.  "No complaints from the
crew," he reassured her.  Turlon retrieved the case of tapes and decided to
do his own homework.

Turlon didn't own a MiniComp, and made a mental note to buy one,
but the chips would also fit the Mark IV and he could also borrow
Red's.  He settled in for a quiet trip through interstellar space.

The trip to Valperce fell into the usual routine of space travel.  Red
and Turlon slept in shifts, and during the time they were awake they
talked or studied.  Turlon quickly skimmed through the first tape
without finding much of interest, the second though was laden with 
information that was new to him and he began to study in earnest.

Several times over the next few days, Red entered the crew compartment to
find Turlon deep in meditation.  At those times, she would quietly close
the door and retreat back to the bridge. 

After a little over seven days of travel, the warning bell rang in the
ship, indicating that the return to sublight was nearing.  Red doubled
all her figures and had Turlon strap down.  All precautions were
unneccesary, though, and the exit was faultless.

"All right, Turlon, we've got another three or four hours to Valperce,
so you're at ease for a bit," said Red. "That's after I calculate the
course," she continued punching up the appropriate programs. About
ten minutes later she announced, "Course plotted, we'll be there
in a few hours.

Turlon sighed audibly.  He had never been one for hitting the datachips,
but the tapes really held his interest as if they were speaking to him
alone.  Being different wasn't a foreign concept to Turlon, whether it was
explainable or not, but even he had to admit that since his awakening he
had felt even more isolated and unusual.  Instead of feeling alone though,
he felt special and part of a much larger group; a feeling he couldn't
explain and quite frankly didn't need to.

A few minutes later, Red was ready to move, carrying a military style
duffel of her own and wearing something that looked like a cross
between Arabian robes and a kimono -- with venting and cutouts for
her tail.

Turlon packed up his things, securing the tapes deep in his duffel bag, and
changed into his Mordor-style desert wear to appear to fit in.  It had been
awhile since the dry heat like home spread over his body, and the layers
were perfect for storing items which were best left out of the public eye.

The pair left the ship, and Red activated the security systems.
They left the bay, after sealing it to their biometrics as well.
"We've still got a way to go.  We'll take the maglev train as far
as we can, then we travel on foot.  Or by jump belt, at least.
Have you got one? No?  All right, we can pick one up before we leave
town."

Red's speech was interrupted when a large feline bumped into Turlon
practically knocking him over.  "You should train your pets better,"
he snapped at Red in Mek'Purr.

Turlon stumbled back a few paces from the impact and righted himself.
Immediately his fists clenched, but he took in a deep breath to calm
himself.  There was no need to end up before the police within his first
few minutes planetside.

"Were you raised by wild dogs?" snapped Red.

"You dare insult me?" came the retort.

"You have insulted my companion," said Red, "both with your clumsiness and
your words."

"Has it," he indicated Turlon, "no honour then?  Can it not speak?
Shall it depend on you to avenge this 'insult'?"

Turlon stepped forward to stare deep within the slitted feline eyes and
spoke in Mek'Purr, "Your lack of grace, both social and physical, may not
bother the sandfleas which live upon your mother -- but they bother me."
It felt good to say, Turlon had been cooped up on Red's Firebird for too
long, he wasn't an academic, but a soldier.  And if what he said didn't
cause a war, he wasn't sure what would.  He readied himself for whatever
attack was coming.

"Ha, it does talk.  And it makes insults.  Good," the cat hissed.
"Then you can tell it where the Field-of-Honour is.  I do not expect
it has honour, but mine will still be avenged in its cooling blood."
The feline drew himself up and became very formal, "I am Ke'ke'Hiss'Groowl
and I proclaim that I am insulted by this being before me.  By our laws
and customs, I call him to answer the insult in the traditional
fashion at the Field-of-Honour."  He completed the ritual, and became
again a swaggering bully. "You keep can contact the Field-of-Honour
to determine the hour of our meeting.  Good day."

With that he turned and walked away.

Turlon turned to Red, "Looks like there will never be a dull moment on
Valperce, after all."

"I don't like it.  Something's wrong.  There's no way out now, though,
unless ... yes.  We can leave the planet and arrange some other way for
you to meet your purposed employers," said Red.  "This just stinks."

"No offense," Turlon softened the upcoming reply, "are you crazy?  I'm not
going to walk away from some two-bit thug who smells like the southern end
of of a northbound desert goat."  He turned to Red, "you're right, this was
all too nicely planned but for that reason alone we can't let them think
they've outsmarted us.  We'll make them search for a Plan B.  I'd be
honored for you to second me."

Red adopted the formal pose and phrasing, "I am R'claw Purr'owma
and I shall be honoured to serve as such in this matter." She shifted
back.  "Damn it.  Let's get to a hotel, they can't schedule us until
tomorrow."  She led Turlon off quickly to a moving sidewalk and
eventually to a hotel, where she registered for a suite. 

"Take a load off," she said, "I've got a call to make."

She pulled a communit out of her pack, clipped on a scrambler and 
punched in a code.  She walked away and spoke quietly into the
comm.

After a few minutes, she returned.  "Now, let's see when your
appointment is," she sat at the tridisplay console in the room.
"Here it is, 1030 hours."

She spun around to face Turlon, "You have to fight the duel with
the Fang-of-Steel, I would be honoured if you would use this one,"
she drew the weapon in a fluid motion then reversed it and handed it
to Turlon.  "Have you any familiarity with such weapons?"

Turlon grasped the weapon by the hilt and checked it's balance marvelling
at its construction.  His training with the similar katana within StarForce
came to the surface as he executed a kata which proved a bit awkward due to
the subtle differences in construction, but perhaps whatever concessions he
had to make would benefit him on the morrow.  "A little, you stick people
with it, right?" he flashed a smile that looked more like a sneer.

"No, you cut them," Red smiled a little wanly, "But you've obviously
had some training with similar weapons.  Very well, let's get to work
on the the details."  The pair settled in to begin accustoming Turlon
to the blade.

At the appointed hour, Red and Turlon presented themselves at the 
Field-of-Honour, the Riow'Mrr.  After signing the documents and
being examined for weapons or armour, Turlon was passed into a
waiting area.  After some minutes, his name was called and he
was admitted into the Riow'Mrr proper. From the opposite door
came Ke'ke'Hiss'Groowl.  The viewing stand to one side contained
the appropriate witnesses and medical personnel.  

The presiding official intoned the ritual opening, citing the offense
and exhorting both combatants to behave with honour.  Then
the signal was given to begin.

Turlon moved first, a quick strike designed to disable or least disconcert
the foe. It missed, but the cat was thrown off balance and Turlon
quickly pushed him back almost to the wall, at which point Turlon
overextended himself and the cat flipped a quick blow around his
guard and cut him across the left lower arm.

The official waited until the combatants broke, and asked if Ke'ke'Hiss'Groowl
was satisified. He replied he was not, this was combat to the incapacitation.
The official nodded, he would not again interfere until one or the other
was unable to continue.

Scenting blood, the cat struck again and scored a grazing wound on Turlon's
right leg.  He smirked and closed in again ... and walked right into
a spinning overhand cut by Turlon. Ke'ke'Hiss'Groowl gasped, but 
did not lose his grip on his weapon.

More carefully now, the two circled looking for a weakness, an opening.
Again and again, their steel clashed. Then Turlon saw it, he stepped in,
feinted and brought the blade around for a long but shallow cut
on his foe's right shoulder. 

Ke'ke'Hiss'Groowl grunted and swung a return blow, but his timing was off
and Turlon was able to put another light cut on Ke'ke'Hiss'Groowl's belly.
In doing so he opened himself up and was cut lightly in his belly. In turn,
that let Turlon land another blow, and in the exchange that followed
Ke'ke'Hiss'Groowl struck a blow that nearly dropped Turlon to his knees.
Blindly Turlon raised his weapon, and felt rather than saw
Ke'ke'Hiss'Groowl run onto it.

He heard the voice of the official asking him if he wished to stop the
fight.

Turlon lowered his weapon and dragged a soiled hand across his forehead to
clear his vision.  "Enough.  I show mercy in this duel proclaiming that the
chain of honor remains unbroken."  Just speaking caused Turlon to waver a
bit, fortunately he was able to remain standing and turned to the official.

     *    *    *

When Turlon awoke, he quickly determined that he was in a hospital.
Red was waiting by his bed.  "Glad to you have you back, big guy.
You were a mess.  That head wound had the doctors worried.  I brought
your gear, you'll be here for a while."

"Thanks."  Turlon attempted to pull himself upright but his head began to
swim as the room took off in an orbit all its own.  Regaining some
equilibrium, accompanied by a throb of pain, he decided it best if he just
laid there.  "I hope this hasn't wrecked our plans," he wheezed through the
medication, "can that interview be rescheduled?"

"It already has," said Red.  "The docs tell me that you're in here
for at least three weeks.  More like three months for a full recovery,
but they said you can leave in three weeks if you try to take it
easy."

The sigh was heavy and painful.  "I suppose you're going to make sure I do,
huh?"  "What about the other guy, I hope he's not getting it better than I
am."

"No," said Red with some satisfaction, "He's got a nice sucking chest
wound that'll keep him out of our way for a good long while."  She
put a package on the table, "Here's your books and a MiniComp, call
it a get well present."

"Well, I suppose there is some morbid satisfaction in that," he said.
Turlon looked over to the table, "thanks, and be careful out there."

"Oh, I will," said Red meaningfully.

*	*	*

While he recuperated, Turlon studied the datachips, discovering
isometric exercises and meditations which he could perform
even while in the hospital.  Between studies, he patched into
the hospital's datachannel and read up on the planet Valperce
and browsed the inventory of nearby merchants.  He remembered
that he would need a jump belt, and purchased one to be delivered.
A simple delivery mek brought it within the hour.

Red visited him regularly, and was there three weeks
later when the doctors had told him he could be discharged.
"How do you feel?  Ready to take on the world?" she asked.

"Oh sure, and then what should we do after lunch?" quipped Turlon as he
lightly touched the patch of simskin that had nearly grafted itself to his
skull.

"Seriously, do you want to spend another week or two here?  The doctors
think it's a good idea," Red asked.

"I'll be fine," no sooner did Turlon say the words than he staggered into
Red's arms.  "Maybe you should help me back to the bed," he said while
grasping for the rail.

"Maybe that's a good idea," said Red.

*       *       *       *

After another couple of weeks, Turlon was recovered enough to check out,
and after the formalities were taken care of he and Red stood on the
moving sidewalk near the hospital.  Each carried a bag with their gear.
They hopped the slideway to the maglev train, and Red purchased tickets
for a small settlement at the far eastern edge of Hissp.  They settled
in for the trip, about 2400 km, in about 12 hours.

Red opened a large bag that she had been carrying in addition to her
own pack.  "I've humped this far enough by myself," she said.  "Here."
She handed Turlon a bodysuit, "This is your size.  It can get chilly
up in the mountains, sometimes as low as 10 or 12 degrees."


"We'll probably be a couple of weeks in the mountains on the way, too.
So, I've brought these," Red said.  Turlon sighed at the sight of
the nutrasim lozenges.  "100% in 100 grams" was the motto.  They
didn't taste very good, though, but they were light, and that
mattered.  He brightened up at the next words, though.  "We may also
be able to do a little hunting along the way, which will help, too."

"Hunting?" he interrupted.  "For fun, sport, food, or business?"

"Three out of four, maybe" came the reply.  "I think it's fun.
We'll damn well eat it, and it's serious business. We aren't
going to haul out pelts or anything, and we're not set up --
or licensed -- for kralda.  If we find any poachers ... that's
business, though."

"And I brought these," she pulled out a couple of large boxed lunches.
"Enjoy, it may be the last real food until we get there."
As they ate, she asked, "Any questions?"

Turlon was a connoisseur of bad food, the service had done that to him.
The ambrosia in a box was a welcome relief from the hospital food he had
been forced to choke down.  Looking up, he brushed some crumbs from his
chin.  "What's your story? he said, "you're not some bright-eyed school
girl."

"Me?  I'm just Lt. Commander R'claw Purr'owma, retired, of the Mek'Purr
StarForce. Valpercian native. Student of the Way of the Sword. Pilot.
Free spirit.  The usual. Oh, and babysitter to big humans," she finished.

Turlon rubbed his head, "you may need to work on that last one."  He looked
out the window, "this interviewer likes his privacy, huh?  Should I expect
trouble between here and there?"

"Sorry, what do you want to know.  I just don't think there's all that
much to hear," Red said.  "As for trouble ... there shouldn't be,
but I wasn't expecting to get gutted fresh off the boat, either."

"Who is he? why me? what kind of job?," a wash of questions came forth
stored up in his mind ever since the not-so-chance meeting in Spica.

"He is my sensei, Kral'Hiss'Growl.  His dojo-retreat is high in the
mountains about 1000 kilometers from the HissP village at which
we are stopping," said Red.  "I don't know what kind of job, I'm
afraid." She paused to collect her thoughts. "I don't think I
should say much about what he may want.  It's not my place to
speculate.  I will say that he is the most honorable man I know, or
have ever known.

"After I mustered out, I joined the dojo.  Those were some happy
years.  After a while, we became friends and soon ... well, I'm
a pilot, and he was able to help me get into space again.  I owe
him for that.  I help out where I can.  I have two homes; one
is the Firebird, the other is where we are going now."

"Honor is good, there isn't much to trust in out there," Turlon wrapped his
knuckle against the window.  "Soon enough, we'll know," he said out loud to
no one in particular.  Turlon sat back and stared out the window, hoping
that whatever lay ahead wasn't the fancy of some eccentric codger who had
too many credits.

After a few minutes, the gnawing question needed to be asked, "This sensai
of yours, he's not some rich guy who likes to play general with his own
private army, is he?"  Turlon had seen the weekend warrior type whenever
StarForce pulled into a station, the local dreamers who washed out in basic
and loved to talk the game, wearing their souvenir patches and regaling
cantina girls with tall tales.

Red hissed, and it took Turlon a second to remember that Mek'Purrs
didn't laugh when they were amused, but made that hissing sound
instead; as opposed to the hissing they made when they were angry, which
had a completely different quality.  "No, that is not Sensei.  He teaches
Do-Fith'Ik, the Way of the Fang-of-Steel; not merely how to fight,
but an understanding of when and why to fight."

"I look forward to meeting him," he said sincerely.  "You're a pilot, you
have usable skills.  Me? I do a little of this and a little of that; but
nothing special that a thousand other guys couldn't do.  If your sensei is
looking to hire mercs then he's got the wrong man.  I'll kill, but not for
some private little war over poaching."  Turlon hoped he didn't sound sour
towards all the hospitality that Red and her benefactor but he just got out
of one man's army and would have stayed in if that was his calling.

Red looked appraisingly at Turlon, "He might have made a mistake, but
I doubt it.  He must see something in you.  I don't think he'd send
me two-hundred light years on a whim."

"Let's hope not, I doubt I could find my way home if he did," he mused.

"Well, I wouldn't leave you stranded.  Heck, if you sweet talk me
enough, I might offer you a job if he doesn't.  How're you
as a StarShip Technician?" joked Red.

"You've seen me fight?" he deadpanned.  "The Firebird would end up worse
than I did."  Turlon offered, "I have a little medical training, mostly
patch'em up type stuff."

"That can't hurt," she said.  "Seriously, though, relax.  Wait and
see what the Sensei has to say."  She pulled out her MiniComp and
checked the time.  "We'll have a couple hours of light after we
get to the end of the line.  Do you want to see if there's a hotel
there, or hit the road and put a few klicks behind us?"

"The more I delay the more trouble I seem to get in, we better hit the
road.  Unless you want to store up some comforts before roughing it," he
offered.

"I'm ready to get home," said Red, and so it was decided.

*       *       *       *

The duo disembarked at the last station on the train, a small
farming village.  As soon as the train stopped moving, the
cargo meks began to load up the foodstuffs piled nearby.

Red and Turlon walked to the outskirts of the village, which didn't
take but a few minutes.  The mountains just a few kilometers away
dominated the skyline.  A rough track headed nearly due east.
"We follow this path," said Red, "so we might as well get
started."


Red dropped her pack and pulled out her jumpbelt, strapping it in
place.  A laser pistol went into a holster.  Out of the bag
came a rifle case, she opened it and snapped together a
needler rifle and checked the load.  It was slung across the pack
which she lifted into place.  Her Fith'Ik was already in place
at her hip, of course.  Thus attired she was ready to go. She
toggled the Jumpbelt on and turned to Turlon.

Turlon looked on in amusement and said, "something tells me this isn't
going to be a friendly hike."  He kneeled down and opened his pack.   To
his belt he attached the Blaster pistol with the Nomad dagger sheathed on
his left.  Turlon slipped into his Jumpbelt, and slung his Vibrosword
across the his back for an overhead draw.  The backpack went on last as he
powered up the Jumpbelt.

"Well, it should be friendly, but it may not be safe," said
Red.  "The pistol's for poachers, the rifle for game, and the Fith'Ik
is ... just is.

"Let's move," said Red, and she set off in the long low leaps
of the trained JumpBelt user.  Turlon followed.  The
jumpbelts let them move in leaps of 10 to 25 meters at a height
of 2 to 4 meters.  The speed they achieved was like that of
a running man, but the effort was much less.  "You set the pace,"
called Red, "you're the wounded one."

Turlon nodded and adopted the standard Commando march routine
of 55 minutes of travel and 5 minutes of rest.  Red called a
halt after two hours and about 30 km of travel.  "We've got
a little light left, so let's make camp. We'll start into the mountains
tomorrow."  They found a good spot a few moments later and
zipped their shelter halves together to make a tent.


Red clipped a scope onto her needler.  "I'll see if I can find us
something more interesting for dinner."  She set off into
the woods.

Turlon finished setting up camp, spreading out in a widening circle to
gather firewood as well as learn the terrain.  Knowing where a fallen tree,
a ditch, or pile of thick foliage was could always assist in pursuit or
guard duty at night.  With Red away Turlon felt he was able to relax and
enjoy the peaceful surroundings, the Blaster at his hip slapping against
his thigh with each step reminding him not to get too complacent.

A gentle breeze from the mountains piqued his interest, its craggy front a
veritable haven for concealment.  Wonders of who might be watching him
coupled with tomorrow's climb inspired him to call upon his special gifts.
Turlon delved into his mind, reaching out to connect with unseen forces,
knitting together the distant with the near so that he could see the
looming mountain.

Turlon pulled his PK crystal out and used to further hone his concentration.
He could feel that the track they were following grew narrower and headed
up slightly to the north through a pass.  Nothing unusual came to
his senses.  


About an hour later, Red returned with a small rodent-like creature.
"Just a varmint, but better than nothing."  They quickly gutted the
critter and roasted it on skewers over the fire before retiring.

Turlon, not surprisingly, preferred his a bit more cooked than Red but food
was food, and an appetite was earned through the earlier hike.  "You want
first watch?" he asked out of habit.

"I doubt we need a watch," she replied, "but we are still pretty close
to civilization and you did get setup ... Ok.  Done deal.  I'll wake you
in, what, 6 hours?"

"Six hours it is," affirmed Turlon as he crawled into his sleeping bag to
rest up for the next day's climb going over potential ambush spots on the
next day's path in his dreams.

Turlon was woken six hours later, and left alone with his thoughts
for six hours while Red got her beauty sleep.

For breakfast, they ate the last of the beastie. Then they
loaded up and set off. Once they hit the mountains proper,
the pace slowed, otherwise they kept to the same pattern of
55 on, 5 off.  They stopped for a lunch break after 5 hours
of travel, then went for another 5.  They had covered
approximately 100 km in eleven hours.


"We've still got hours of light yet," said Red.  "It's about a
33 standard hour day here.  But how are you feeling, big guy? Shall
we call it a day?"

Turlon couldn't kid himself any longer, he had attributed his windedness to
the atmosphere and thought he could work his way through it.  The truth
was, he wasn't fully recovered and that put him at less than peak physical
condition -- something he took for granted while in the Commando unit.  "I
think some rest could do me good," he exhaled.

"Right.  Let's look for a place to camp." They found a good spot
a short distance from the path, which by now had narrowed quite a bit
and was probably impassable to most ground vehicles.  The temperature
had dropped some as well, to hot planet dwellers like Turlon it
was chilly although not uncomfortable.  They gathered some of
the tough fibrous plants that grew in the arid climate.  "We'll probably
be too high for firewood in another couple of days.  We should
be able to find enough shrubs and such for a fire, though."


Once again, Red took her rifle and went foraging.  This time, though,
she was unsuccesful. Dinner would be food lozenges, tonight.

Turlon mouthed the fabricated food, and sat back in the chilled air, "You
got any family, Red?"

"A bit. My father's in the court at Hassa.  He's a magistrate and
also lord of one of the manors, a glorified landlord really. Mother
died right before I got out of the service. No brothers or sisters,
though," said Red.  Turlon knew that was only slightly odd, Mek'Purr birth 
rates were low.

"Sounds like you had a good family life though," Turlon observed.  "Not a
surprise you ended up where you are though.  I mean, not here with me, but
a life out there," he gestured.

"I was pretty lucky.  What about you," she asked, "You said no family,
but ... is that the literal truth?  Don't answer if you don't
want to."

"Depends on what you consider family," he theorized.  "I mean, I wasn't
hatched in some seed farm," he clarified since he had heard about genetic
labs which grew individuals, "but I didn't have much family life.  Left on
my own I ended up first shipped off to the desert," he fingered the dagger
at his side," and then it was off to StarForce."

"I see," Red said, then dropped the subject. "My watch first?"

*		*		*		*

For the next week, they followed the same basic pattern, rising
higher into the mountains each day.  On the eighth day, they
stopped and Red pointed out a kralda in the distance.  The big
predator moved with a light grace, and didn't seem to fear them.
Neither did it seem particularly interested in them, moving off
after just a few moments.

"Beautiful beast," commented Turlon.  He could see the challenge in hunting
an animal of its majesty.  "Poachers should think twice about going up
against that," remembering the man back at Spica.

"Poachers," spat Red, "don't go up against that.  They sit back
and shoot it with a needler from half a click away or from a gravsled.  
The traditional, and only legal, method of hunting the kralda is on foot
with a spear and light protective jerkin.  Real traditionalists use
leather, but you can get ones in synthemesh."


When they made camp the night of the tenth day, Red commented that
they should probably arrive at their destination sometime tomorrow.

Turlon slept better knowing that their destination was close at hand, and
he was feeling better too with each passing day.

About noon the next day, Red called a halt and pointed to a cleft in the
mountain in front them, "Through there, and we're home."

After another hour, they passed through the cleft and found themselves
on a high plateau.  In front of them was a cluster of buildings and
outbuildings.  The largest building looked something like a medieval
monastery, although some of the architectural flourishes had the vaguely
Japanese feel to them that Turlon had always indentified with traditional
Mek'Purr architecture.  That building was built into the cliffwall, and
seemed built of native stone.  There were several outbuildings, most
built out of preformed stresscrete. His trained military eye promptly 
catalogued them: solar powered hydrox generator, storage, vehicle
hangar, livestock.  Next the hangar was a cleared space also covered with
stresscrete that was obviously some sort of landing pad.  A stream
trickled down the cliffside, and spilled onto the plain near
the main building, before running across the plateau and then
off and down.  Further on was a smallish garden, with a field of
what looked like, and probably was, genetically optimized grain growing in
it.  Turlon could make out the forms of a few farm meks in the field,
and what looked like people in the garden. Further out was what looked
like a stockade with some kind of quadraped roaming in it.

"Home," said Red and she led him in.  They went straight to the main
building, waving at the felines tending the garden.  They were greeted
by a feline of indeterminate age, wearing garb much like the one Red had
worn in the city.  Red bowed deeply, "Sss'Ith'K'k'k, my spirit soars to
see you again."

"And mine to see you, Daughter-of-the-House," answered the man.

"This is Turlon Vantilles, the Sensei asked me to fetch him."

"I am honoured to meet you, sir, welcome to our humble school. We have
been expecting you," Sss'Ith'K'k'k continued. "Quarters are in readieness."

Turlon bowed in gratitude and soaked in the surroundings, happy to have
finally arrived without incident.  Well, not much, he thought as he reached
for his head and shifted his pack.  "Many thanks, I am honored to be
welcomed as a guest."

The man nodded, "Please rest and refresh yourselves.  I will inform
the Sensei that you have arrived.

Turlon entered the waiting room and admired the decoration and wall
hangings, recognizing several as depictions of Mek'Purr lore.

A young Mek'Purr arrived to lead the guests to their rooms.  The
rooms were simple, but comfortable.  The young man bowed and
said to Turlon, "The baths are down this hall and to the right.
Dinner will be served in an hour and a half, although if you
need refreshment sooner that can be arranged."

"Thank you, I'll be fine."  Turlon dropped his bag in an unobtrusive place
and began to think about how nice a shower would be, there was no debate
has he shuffled down the hall with the cleanest of his clothes in hand.

The door indicated opened onto a public bath.  Two largish pools
had been carved out of the rock, and were fed by what
appeared to be a stream -- presumably from the same source as the
one outside the school.  One pool had a nod to the present, in the
form of a sheet of heating web along one wall, with a safety grate
over it.

Turlon remembered his Mek'Purr etiquette and prepared himself for a bath.
He'd have loved to just dive in and do a backstroke across the expanse
splashing around, but thought better of it considering the hospitality he
had been shown.  A relaxing soak was just what he needed to rejuvenate his
aching body.

A few moments later, Red arrived and slid into the hot pool.  "Ah,
that does feel good." She closed her eyes for a long moment, then
spoke, "Any questions?"

Turlon leaned back in the water and slurred "Yeah, does this ever have to
end?"  He sat upright wiping his face, "when I was in the hospital I read
about this Brak is off planet looking for a squeeze.  A big man like that
away could cause concern with some ambitious types like Ryear'Ba'Chikik.
You're from around here, what is your take on things?"

Red opened one eye, "I don't see it as a problem.  HissP and Hassa
are both large landholdings, and there's a lot of unclaimed space
on the planet.  Brak wants an heir, I think, and maybe to expand
off planet.  I'm not holding my breath for a bloodbath.

"I hope you're right, wars have been started for less.  Maybe the Mek'Purr
are more civilized than my people," he reasoned.  "So now that I'm here, I
guess it won't be long until we see what the future holds."

After a soak, and a quick dip in the cold pool, Red went back to her
room to get ready for dinner.

Turlon watched Red stride away lithely and reclined back once more
submerging himself under the warm water.  He surfaced feeling refreshed and
climbed out to prepare for dinner.