THE SPICY SWEET TANG

1563 4D

Marra answered the knock at the door. Two men in gray and blue ArCorp coveralls waited, each one holding a wolfbreed on a tightened leash. A gray corporate police van squatted in the access road a few steps from the door. “Yes?” she said, looking them over. Both of them raised gold wrap goggles and watched her with dark intense eyes. Their upper faces, framed by the oval of full round helms, showed almost andro-pale, with sun-darkened patches on their cheeks, and blistered lips. One man gently scratched his pointed nose where it peeled red at the end. His partner’s chin displayed a vertical cleft.

“We’re looking for this man,” Red-Nose said, showing Marra an image on a datacard. “He’s caused a lot of trouble. Have you seen him?” He put his other hand on the blue holster of his large sidearm.

She studied Andrew‘s picture. A family color image, it showed his smile, brown face and brown hair above a wiry muscular body. A strong-faced woman with dark hair and honey-brown skin, next to him in the picture, as tall as he: his wife.

To keep the corpos from reading her face, Marra quickly adjusted her eyes so that she could only see an olive-dark blur, and visualized an ape in a coverall.

She said, shaking her head, “No. Is he from around here? I’ve never seen him. Deen?” Deen came from the kitchen. “They want to know whether we’ve seen this man.”

Deen squinted at the picture, then at the men. “Looks kind of like him,” she said, pointing at Red-Nose.

The men looked at each other. “We’d like to look around your place,” Cleft-Chin said. “No offense, but he’s dangerous. He could be hiding out here without you knowing. You’re isolated out here, nobody would know.” He hefted the long beam gun he carried. Marra stared.

“Well, come in, then,” she said as Deen headed back to the kitchen. She hid her shaking hands under a towel she carried. “Would you like some refreshment? She’s just baked some fruit dessert.”

Without answering, the men brought their wolfbreeds — huge half-tamed pack dogs — into the small parlor and let them go. One knocked over a small table. The animals snuffled around the rugs and furniture, sneezing occasionally. Room by room, the men and animals methodically quartered the house. They finally entered the tiny guest room as Marra watched.

Aoriver awoke inside her, uncoiling, asking her, Do you need me? You’re afraid.

She answered deep into herself: Hang on, let it pass. We’ll take care of this.

That’s right. Just keep us starved. Try calling the doctor when you’re shot. The feeling subsided.

The dogs sneezed again and again. One of the men called out, “Damn it! What’s the smell in here? It’s enough to make my eyes water.” He blew his nose.

Marra quavered, “Oh, that’s where we put up guests. My sister likes plant bouquet when she visits, so I keep the room nice for her.” The men dragged their wolven back to the main room. Marra let out a breath. Those dried amitralia bulb shavings only worked on dogs — she was glad she’d let Trig sniff the concealed bed. He’d sneezed for an hour, and given her his most wounded doggy look.

Cleft-Chin said, “We’re done, for now. But we’ll be back. You know what happened to the last one out here who hid people. Don’t you?” His face drew close to Marra‘s, and his breath stank of brew; she jerked back involuntarily. His animal tensed and growled.

“I’m… I’m…" Marra stammered. The man pulled back his face and smiled as she tried to form words.

“Remember,” he said into the midst of her attempt to speak. He turned away. “Come on, that’s the last of them for now.” His partner followed him.

On a table by the door, Deen had set a plate of hot, fresh pastries. The spicy sweet tang of chender fruit, coming into season early in the slight summer, filled the air. As they left, each man took several and began eating on the way out to their van. When the wolven whined, the men offered them each one, which they gulped down instantly.

As she watched them go, Marra let out a long breath. “That was close,” she muttered as Deen came up beside her. “I almost lost it and called Aoriver.”

Deen said, “Glad you didn’t. Things get messy that way.”