Chapter 2

Dave:

"Are we there, yet?"

"That's not even funny, Marie." We had left the Springs city limits an hour before, heading towards Kansas. Nothing but sage and creosote bushes visible from horizon to horizon. "I ought to make you drive."

"You know you never could stand my driving. Some macho thing. Besides, my feet don't reach the pedals in this trashy old van." She had been curled up in a ball on the passenger seat, now she lowered her hind legs over the edge and swung them back and forth.

"I'll get it converted for hand controls as soon as we get back."

"Look! A herd of antelope," Chessec observed from the back bench seat, leaning over Marie's shoulder.

"You have antelope on Dyim'yi too, don't you?" I asked.

"Yes. They have such good eyesight, you almost never get this close to one, though. I've only seen pictures." She said this between pants. "Could you open the wing vents, it's starting to get warm back here." Marie agreed, and opened the passenger side vent. The van's air conditioning had not lasted a month after I bought it, and the Midwestern summer was nowhere near over.

"You'll have to make do. Why don't you get some ice out of the cooler?" Chessec disappeared into the back, and rummaged in the cooler. "While you're back there, could I have a…!" Chessec inserted a piece of ice under my collar.

We drove100 miles, reaching the stop sign for the one and only right turn onto US-24, in fact, the only turn for the next 500 miles. (Then take a left. Easy driving instructions.)

A hitchhiker sat at the base of the stop sign, holding a piece of cardboard that said "K-State." He looked young; college age even, and fairly clean, so I said to the girls, "What do you think? Should I pick him up?" Bored and curious, they agreed.

I reached over Marie and cranked her window open. He sprang to his feet and grabbed his pack. "Howdy! Throw your stuff in the back and climb in. Mind the dogs."

His name was Joel, and he was just starting his third year of college. A disagreement with his now apparently ex-girlfriend had left him minus a ride back to campus after the long weekend. I reminded him about serial killers, then asked him the standard set of questions you ask young hitchhikers while he negotiated with Hobo for room on the middle bench seat. Finally, they ended up with Hobo's head in his lap, and his feet between the front seats. Chessec was sitting behind him on the back bench seat, while Marie had swung her head around so that she could watch him while he and I talked. I gradually worked the conversation around to the UFO convention I had just attended. I described the presentation I had given, and was feeling for his views on the subject, occasionally glancing backwards as I spoke, when I became aware that he seemed in some distress. He was having trouble breathing.

"You're allergic, aren't you?" He nodded, and started fumbling open his pack. He finally found his inhaler. Eventually his breathing improved slightly.

"I'm nod normally allergic to dogs. My parents have two."

"The two red ones are a special breed. Maybe it's the finer hair in their coat that is causing it."

"It could be. I've never seen anything like them." He sneezed. "Excuse me. Could I have a drink of water? I'm going to need to take a pill also, I think."

"Sure. The cooler is behind your seat. There's a cup back there someplace."

"Here you are." Chessec handed him a glass of water. To his credit, he neither spilled it, nor choked.

"She spoke! Hey, I read a story on the Internet about…."

"Pure coincidence. Just drop it." I made introductions, then turned the conversation over to the girls. By the time we dropped him off in Manhattan, we had another solid recruit.

As we turned back onto I-70, Chessec remarked, "Everyone we've met so far seems very friendly and accepting of aliens. What makes you think we shouldn't just call up your president and say 'hello.'

I reminded her that, except for Joel, everyone she had met so far had been picked in advance. I encouraged her to think about all the law enforcement activity around the site of our "UFO incident" in Illinois, and promised to try to set up a meet with someone in authority under controlled conditions.

"Oh, Dave? One other thing. How come every human male you've introduced me to has immediately lowered his eyes to my chest as soon as he knows I'm not a dog?"

Prepared for this very question, and observing that Marie was asleep, I explained what the literature had to say about the size and location of secondary sex characteristics of anthropomorphic animals. I kept my head forward so that she couldn't see me blush. She thought about it for a while.

"That wouldn't work at all! How could I run on all fours built that way? I'll keep mine right where they are, thank you very much."

"Beep-beep; beep-beep; click." Finally, somebody answered the phone.

"Hello?" A cautious, male voice, in English.

"Dave, this is H'raawl-Hrkh. Can you hear me all right?" It was hard to hold the receiver and both talk and listen at the same time. Too small for my head, just like the buttons were too small for my claws.

"Yeah, You sound fine. I told you it would work better with that directional antenna. What's up?"

"Well, you said you would be back from your trip tonight, so I thought I would call now. We need some supplies up here. Can you copy a list?" I read off various things, mainly foodstuffs and expendables. "Oh, and we need some more videos."

"Fine. How did you like the last ones?"

"Lion King was good; but I didn't think 'Cat People' was funny at all! Although, I did let Mitzep talk me into…"

"So you two have reached an accommodation?"

"He agreed to become an occasional partner, if that's what you mean. You and these foxes! You both ask for too much commitment. We're just friends. Friends having sex together, when we're both in the mood. Nothing more than that. I'd do the same with you, if you'd agree. Anyway; the ship is about to cross out of range. Call me back when you're ready for those supplies to be picked up. Bye now!" I hung up. The phone was still the clearest quality connection we had, although we were experimenting with an SHF directional antenna and some modified ham gear. By focusing the amplified cell phone's signal toward one of the major east-west highways, we were able to fool a series of cell repeaters into thinking we were roaming really fast. The bills were high, though.

Thoughtful, I left the bridge to Navigator Lossp and walked back to my office in engineering. With the ship in a high orbit around the earth, there wasn't too much to do but watch TV and listen to the radios. And the other thing too, Mitzep willing, of course. He was nice, and much more considerate than males of my own species, but, just so small and delicate. It was always hard to hold myself back, not so much out of fear of injuring him, as of losing his trust. That had taken a long time to gain, and I wasn't going through that again, not locked up in a small ship with only one eligible male.

The compartment door opened and Dr. Plaksa came in. "Hi, H'raawl-Hrkh. I've been running tests on some water samples from the main tanks, and we're getting a lot of algae build-up. Have we got anything to clean them?"

"Probably not. What's happening is the recycler is getting clogged, and backing untreated water into the storage tanks. It won't get into the potable drinking water system, but it might make the showers and laundry smell funny. We could add some pool chemicals to the supply list when Dave calls tomorrow."

"That would work."

"It's just a matter of time, though. This ship wasn't made for such long trips. We need a refit when we go back to D'yimyi."

"That's true. People as well as ship. Though some fresh air might help. I think I'll mention that to the Captain. I'll see if we can start cycling people down to the surface when Mitzep makes his supply runs."

"I would like that. I get a crick in my neck from bending to go through doorways all the time."

"You would get that anywhere, at over seven feet tall."

"That's true. M'raenn aren't big believers in doors, back home. Tent flaps are more common. Still, it would be good to be outside."

"I agree." She waved and left, and I went back to brooding. Great, first Mitzep, now home. I get depressed whenever I think of home, not that I could ever live there again. The primitive culture, still barely into their industrial revolution, has no hold on me any longer. If I ever chose a mate, it will be one of the hundred or so other M'raenn who work in space. For better or worse, I am part of Diyim'yi society now, just a big 'ol cat in a universe of tiny little foxes.

A while later, a woke out of my nap suddenly as someone removed my glasses from the bridge of my nose. Mitzep stepped nimbly back as I jerked and rocked my swivel chair backwards. When I recovered my balance, he handed them back at the end of his arm's reach.

"Sorry."

"It's all right. If I had slept in that chair much longer, I wouldn't be able to stand at all. What's up?"

"I brought the fuel reports. At the rate I'm burning fuel, we have enough for about five more round trips to the surface and back. If we drain the reserve from the ship's in-system tanks, I could manage three more."

"We might have to do that. Chopka wants to try to stay on station for another twenty days. It won't hurt us to make a minimum acceleration departure from the system. That would add two days to the return trip, at most."

"You might mention that to him at the next staff meeting. I guess I'm going down for a supply run tomorrow."

"Just come back safe." I leaned forward and scooped him in with one paw, plucking the clipboard out of his hands with the other.

"Eeeep!" He yelped as I tucked him under one arm and started for the door.

"Say, if you're flying tomorrow, aren't you supposed to be on crew rest right now?

Mitzep:

There I was, at thirty thousand feet, when my port side viewscreen flashed a brilliant white, then the entire outside view went completely black as the solar flare shields darkened. The ship shuddered briefly, then steadied. I switched to instruments and pinged the radar for five seconds. Two aircraft shared the northern New Mexico skies with me, according to my set. One was the commuter flight from Farmington to Albuquerque that I was shadowing, exactly 15,000 feet directly below me. The other was a jumbo jet-size craft, that I had assessed as an Air Force Reserve tanker, which was almost 100 miles away over WSMR. No sign of any high performance aircraft, yet I had clearly taken a hit by an unknown weapon. My radar warning receiver was silent, but it also wasn't very smart. Deciding not to tempt fate any longer, and pulled up into a maximum rate climb. None of my instruments showed any damage, yet. Passing through 80,000 feet, though, I noticed it was taking increasing amounts of attitude thruster to keep the nose pointed up. This was not good, as I needed precision control to establish a stable orbit. Five seconds later, the ship shuddered again, and my heat sensors recorded overload on half of the upper saucer surface. This ship was not going back to orbit any time soon.

I cut all the thrusters and left the main drive running, building up velocity and energy for some dead stick maneuvering. At 130,000 feet, I cut the drive and dropped my nose downward, pointing north east. If all went well, I would be landing near Moorcroft, Wyoming, where we had a car stashed. I figured I had better get on the radio and tell someone I'd be late for dinner.

"Continental Express Shuttle Flight 1203 to Denver Maintenance Center, over." I repeated this twice, before I got a response. We had no secure communication capability, so Dave had devised this simple code.

"1203, this is Denver. What is your request, over?" Chopka answered in his heavy accent.

"This is Flight 1203. I require non-routine maintenance upon arrival. Estimate indefinite ground stay. Please notify gate agent that I will contact from terminal. I do not need wheelchair assistance at this time." Meaning I was still in one piece, and that I would call Dave and Chessec from a pay phone.

As I descended, I pinged the radar again. As I headed north, I was getting closer to the transcontinental air routes, so I had several airliners ahead. Behind me, I could still see the 'tanker' which had matched an intercept course, although with him at 500 knots and me at 12,000 knots, he was not likely to catch me this millennia. I shut down the radar, and tuned in the Santa Fe regional air traffic control center.

"… repeat. Effective immediately, a restricted airspace is established over northern New Mexico north of I-20 and southern Colorado south of US highway 50. All aircraft above flight level 15 will immediately assume level flight attitude and activate transponders. Repeat. Eff.." I turned it off. Not good. Dave assured me that continental air defense was the weak stepchild of the US defense infrastructure. But I guess our program of buzzing military installations had finally caught some attention. I still didn't see any fighters, and the aircraft back behind me wasn't an AWACS, and I still didn't have any idea what hit me.

The air was getting thicker, and it was time to dump some speed. I pulled the nose up to near vertical, exposing the bottom heat shields to the airflow. This accomplished two things. First, it immediately dumped half my speed. Second, it sent a hammer of superheated air along my previous course, creating a sonic boom that probably smashed every window in Las Animas, Colorado. While I was tipped up, I fired my left downward thruster, tipping that edge of the saucer back into the air stream, causing me to slide sideways into a hard turn. My vision blanked momentarily from g's, and when my eyes recovered, I could see that the viewscreen had reset and I could see outside again, but through a red heat haze.

I was passing through 25,000 feet, traveling mach 2.5. I briefly keyed the radar again. Same players, but now, coming over the mountains from the south were two transonic jets, probably out of Holloman AFB, and to my north, two more at the extreme limits of my coverage. I was crossing the front range and heading out over the high plains. With no weapons or protection, the last place I wanted to be was out there in the open. I dumped speed again, dropping subsonic, this time turning south along the mountain front. At six hundred knots and 8,000 feet above mean sea level, I slipped down into the folds of the terrain, heading west toward La Veta Pass. I knew I had to land before the fighters got there, as I had little protection from missiles. Across the pass, I turned north again, and followed the first side canyon, just below the rim. One last radar ping. As I turned on the set, my RWR went wild, indicating a fire control radar lock-on. I fired up the jammer. It caused the fighter's radar to break lock for about ten seconds, then complained loudly as the tone steadied again. I shut down everything, having spotted my landing strip. One of the advantages of flying saucers is their low speed maneuverability. I stopped the ship in about a thousand feet, shutting down the main drive and hovering on thrusters, then side-slipped three hundred feet laterally, straight into a rusting metal shed at an abandoned mine entrance.

I shut down immediately, killing the master power switch, and popped the hatch. The hull was still a coppery red, so I dropped free straight to the ground not touching the sides of the hatch. I ran outside the shed and began grabbing sheets of corrugated tin and creosote soaked timbers, leaning them across the doorway. About two minutes later, I heard the approaching whine of jet engines. I froze as a Colorado Air Guard F16 popped over the ridge at about 500 feet, crossing the valley in a matter of seconds. I could see his wing man about 2,000 feet above and behind. I breathed a sigh of relief. The F16 had no thermal sensors, and the tin from the shed would hide my ship from radar. I had about an hour until the ship's skin cooled enough to check it for damage, so I decided to walk down to the stream in the valley to get some water. To camouflage myself, I stripped out of my G-suit. Hiding it under a board, I trotted away on all four paws, just another wild animal, one with a badly kinked bushy tail waving in the fresh breeze.

Jena:

I urged my pony along the trail, slowly picking my way up the canyon. It was a perfect summer day, and run-off filled the stream to overflowing, incorporating into its bed what in dry weather would be a jeep trail. The pony did not want to get his feet wet, and he hugged the bushes along the edge. I had to jerk his reins several times to keep him in the rut.

"Come on, you! Pay attention. We only have another half mile till we stop."

He was just being difficult. He knew every trail in the canyon as well as I did, and he knew I never left them. I had picked this canyon for that very reason, and I returned here every summer vacation, and always rented the same cabin, with this same, stubborn little pony. The old mining claim, bounded by near vertical canyon walls, with a fence at the mouth of the canyon, provides me a safe but carefully confined patch of wilderness. While I'm there, I am on my own, until I decide to call for a ride back to town.

Due to an injury several years ago, I am legally blind, my eyesight able to resolve small blurs at close range, and really big ones at a distance. I can no longer read anything smaller than a billboard. I've been this way since I was twenty, ever since my pottery kiln exploded, spraying both eyes with brick and clay fragments. Reconstructive surgery repaired the appearance of my face, and could have replaced both corneas, but the underlying optic nerve damage proved permanent. In a way, it has been the salvation of my career as a sculptor, since the novelty of my condition has raised the prices brought by my work. But after a season of gallery shows, listening to sympathetic voices explaining 'especially with the poor artist's condition', I always retreat to the mountains. This time I had reserved the cabin for the full three months between snow melt and snow fall. Jarret Wilks, the rancher who owns this land, calls my unlisted cell phone no more than once a week to check on me, and keeps the gate to the property chained tight.

The pony rounded a large, house size pink granite boulder that divided the wide meadow with the mine ruins from the narrower canyon, and we looked across the valley at the ochre tailings dump and rusting metal beneath a late-spring snow field that fed the runoff stream. For about ten feet on either side of the stream the valley was choked with a yellow-green smear of willow brush, the rest open alpine meadow. I could distinguish the blurred shape of a large dog or coyote trotting toward the stream. I halted the pony and dismounted, tying the reins loosely to a willow branch. The wind was against my face, so I decided to discover how close I could get. It looked like it was a coyote, with a brown and black mottled color, and a lighter chest. It approached the stream bank, wading right into the water, and sat on its haunches facing away from me. I continued to close the distance, now about one hundred feet away. I still could not be sure what kind of canid it was, as it lay full length in the shallow pool and started to rub it's paws in the bottom sand, resembling a raccoon hunting for crawfish. Thirty feet away I reached the last clump of willows before the pool. I kneeled down and watched.

It cleaned itself with bottom sand for a few more minutes, then rolled in the water one more time to rinse. He (it was now apparent) stepped out of the water and shook vigorously from head to tail, flinging water in all directions. When he stopped shaking, he was facing directly toward me. Suddenly, he noticed I was standing there and stopped absolutely still. I said in a soft voice,

"Hello, boy. Are you a good dog? You don't look too much like a coyote from here."

He froze and stared silently for a count of ten. He finally replied, saying "Woof" as a distinct, clearly enunciated word. He then turned as fast as he could and ran up the hill toward the old mine. I watched him run, noticing the large bushy tail streaming out behind him. If he wasn't so large, I would have thought him some kind of fox. I lost sight of him behind a pile of debris, and heard a rock clatter on tin near the ruins. I decided I had seen the last of him, and went back to my pony. After watering the horse, I returned back down the canyon to my cabin.

Mitzep:

The human woman scared about a year off my life. I had just washed most of the creosote off my hands and fur, and was feeling all the stresses of the forced landing and high g's leave my muscles, when I looked up and there she was. She spoke, I didn't know how to react. When I realized what she had said, I thought: Act like an animal, maybe she didn't notice my opposable thumbs or the chain with the small folding knife hanging around my neck. I decided to play dumb, and ran.

When I reached the cover of the mine, I looked back around at her. She was already leaving with her horse. I wondered, though. Maybe she would call the local sheriff, but I decided to check the ship first. I watched her ride out of sight. When she was gone, I went into the shed and looked at the ship. It looked perfect, except for two half-inch wide burn marks, one leading into the exhaust aperture of the forward attitude thruster, and another which had marbleized and shattered the ceramic-graphite composite surface of the upper saucer in a groove about a foot in length, and melted the surrounding titanium honeycomb structure. Bad, but not fatal. I opened the panel above the thruster. The unknown energy blast, maybe a laser, had bored the thruster's venturi nozzle perfectly cylindrical, leaving me with a lithium hydride water hose, rather than a functioning rocket engine. That meant a trip to the shop, except that the shop was about fifty light-years away. And without the shuttle, there was no way to get to orbit to rendezvous with the mother ship. It looked like I was going to have to walk back to Dave's house in Missouri.

Since the ship wasn't moving, I decided I had better follow the woman, and see where she went. By this time she had a thirty minute head start, so I ran down the trail on all fours for half a mile, then stopped to listen. I could hear her voice and the clop of the pony's hooves on the rocks echo back up the canyon. Moving slower, but with more caution, I closed the distance. I finally spotted her fifty yards up the trail. She seemed to be talking to the horse.

"I don't care if it's feeding time, we'll walk at a slow pace back to the barn. No running for you." She was an alert horsewoman, sitting straight in the saddle and directing the horse as much with her voice as the reins. She was about five foot eight, wiry build, and had short cut brown hair under her cowboy hat. She was dressed in boots, jeans and a man's khaki shirt, with a denim, fleece-lined jacket rolled behind her on the saddle.

I the trail left the creek and ran alongside a fenced pasture that enclosed a five acre meadow. At the far end was a small corral with a lean-to barn, and on a small knob above that was placed an old railroad cabin. There was a dirt jeep trail that left the cabin and continued further down the valley. I did not see a car. The woman dismounted at the gate to the corral and led the pony inside. I found a concealed position beside a rock and watched as she removed the saddle and turned loose the pony. He wandered out of the corral, but watched her carefully as she filled his water barrel and feed bin. She hung the tack inside the barn and walked up to the cabin, went inside and closed the door. I listened for several hours, but did not hear any other voices.

I watched the cabin from my vantage point until dark, waiting for any signs of activity. There was an bare bulb electric light on inside, and I could smell cooking. I slipped up under the partially open window and listened. I could occasionally hear her walk around the one-room cabin, and then heard a light scraping noise for about an hour. Outside, I heard a real coyote howl about half a mile away, and realized that I was a long way from the ship, had no matches (or clothes, for that matter), and that I hadn't eaten for twelve hours.

Just as I was considering walking back to the ship, a cell phone rang. She answered,

"Hello, Jarret."

" "

"No, I'm fine. Maybe the day after tomorrow, if that's all right."

" "

"Oh. That's interesting. I saw some jets flying low overhead earlier today, but didn't hear a crash or see any smoke. OK. I'd rather not talk to the sheriff, but if he want's to come up, I'll meet him at the gate tomorrow at one."

" "

"OK. You take care, too. Bye now."

The coyotes howled again, a small pack now, and I reached a decision. As I was starting around the cabin to the front door, she stepped outside carrying a flashlight. I froze, and pressed myself against the building. She walked out to the barn and checked on the pony, then went over to the outhouse. I took a chance and slipped into the house. It had a kitchen against one wall, a table and two chairs, a bed and an old leather sofa.

Lying on the table was the source of the scratching sound I had heard earlier. It was a sort-of impressionist, colored chalk drawing of me shaking myself by the stream. I had a moment to study it, when I heard her climbing the steps. I sat down in the middle of the rug, trying to look harmless and even shorter than I already was.

She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. I said,

"Woof." This time it was her turn to freeze in place. She squinted at me and said,

"Hello. How did you get in here?"

Remaining motionless, I spoke: "Don't be frightened. I'd like to talk to you."

"Who are you. No, what are you?"

"I'm an alien from another planet. Please, come in and sit down. My name is Mitzep." I climbed up on the couch and sat with my tail curled around my feet, waiting for her to make the next move.

"Oh. Was the plane crash your ship? So that's what Jarret said the sheriff was looking for." She took one of the kitchen chairs, and turned it to face me across the room. "My poor manners. I'm Jena." She stayed well away from me.

"I should apologize. Here I am in your house uninvited, sitting on your couch. I was wondering, though, could I borrow your phone?" I smiled at her in the human fashion, keeping the number of teeth displayed to a minimum. She glanced vaguely over at the kitchen table, and reached over for the phone. She brushed her hand around the table, feeling for it. I said, "Don't smudge your drawing, it's very good."

"Oh, thank you. It's just a quick sketch I made. I usually use them to light the stove after I'm finished." She snagged the phone. "I could call the sheriff, you know. How do I know you aren't going to attack me?"

"Well, for one thing, I'd never do that. I've been told I'm a very polite alien by several humans, one of which I'd like to call to come pick me up, so I won't be bothering you any longer. For another thing, if you haven't noticed, you're about twice my size, and I don't think I would stand much of a chance if you attacked me. Heck, I'd probably have a better chance against those three coyotes outside. Thirdly, please don't call the sheriff. I would really hate to spend the rest of my life in some government laboratory."

Holding the phone, with her finger on the speed dial, she thought about my little speech. I hoped I looked suitably cute and harmless. She asked, "Tell me some more about yourself. You speak excellent English."

"OK. I'm a member of a race of people descended from an ancestor of your fox, just as you are a member of a race descended from a primate that you now call Australopithecus. We live about fifty light-years from here. We have been visiting earth for about four years now, studying your culture, language, and science, while we try to figure out how to approach your various governments. I learned English from listening to your radio broadcasts, TV and through talking to humans such as yourself."

"When you say you're related to our foxes, doesn't that imply an earlier contact with earth?"

"That's been suggested. DNA and other genetic material seem to lead to that conclusion. We don't have near the archaeological record that you have, but it's entirely possible that we both evolved here on earth together up until about six million years ago. I'm not a specialist."

She settled more comfortably in her chair. "And the ship, the one I assume you crashed somewhere near here. Did you come from…"

"Diyim'yi," I interjected.

"Diyim'yi. …all by yourself?"

"No. I still have friends on our mother ship, up in orbit. They'll be getting concerned. Could I please make that phone call?"

"I guess I'll trust you. You seem at least calm, and this story is much more interesting than listening to KPIK's Heartline radio call-in show. Is this a local call?"

"No, but I'll call collect." She got out of her chair and carefully walked over to me. With me sitting on the couch and her standing, I only reached just above her belt. She started to hand me the phone, then stopped.

"I hate to admit this, but I have such poor eyesight that you could be a trained dog with a microphone hanging around his neck. Would you mind if I touched your face and made sure this is not just a cruel prank?"

"That explains all the squinting and tilting of the head you've been doing. Please, if it makes you more comfortable, feel free." She placed her hand on my snout first, then ran it along my jaw line to my ear (which felt great), then across my throat. She felt the chain I was wearing. "That's all the clothes I have on. It's a small penknife on a chain. Here." I took her hand in my own, spreading apart my fingers with claws retracted, interlacing them with her much longer ones. "Have you ever seen a dog with fingers and a thumb?"

"I guess not. Thank you. Here, use the phone." She sat down next to me and handed over the phone. I dialed the Chicago number of a 24-hour answering service.

"Collect for Dr. Plaksa," I said.

"What number, please?" I read the number off her phone. "Thank you." I hung up.

Turning to her I said. "They'll call back in a minute. While we are waiting, let me ask you: What brings you out here in the Sangre de Christo mountains all by yourself?"

She told me her story, about her art and life, how she came to the mountains to get away from the artistic community and "recharge her batteries in the real world." She had started to tell me about her breakup with her last lover, when the phone rang. I reached to pick it up, and realized she was holding my hand again. I listened.

"Dr. Plaksa's service, returning your call." It was Dave's voice. I used the code phrase for talking while someone was listening, but I was not in any danger.

"Yes, I have a question about my prescription." If I had been under any kind of duress, I would have said, "I need a new prescription."

"OK, I understand. Mitzep, what's going on, old boy? Who's your friend?" I explained my situation, mentioning only that I had hidden the ship, and, other than not having eaten or slept since yesterday, was just fine. I told him I had met someone who seemed friendly enough, but was unsure how much to trust me. He said to pass the phone to her.

"Hello?" She spoke uncertainly. I could hear Dave doing his 'hale, hearty fellow' act, and she smiled a little, then glanced at me and laughed. Then I heard either Chessec or Marie's say a few words, then she handed the phone back to me.

"Mitzep, how long do you need to fix it?" Dave again.

"I don't think I can, without some parts fabrication. I'll get you the specs tomorrow. Any advice?"

"Yeah, use the same cut-out next time for the phone. Use a pay phone rather than the portable, if you can. Good luck, we'll talk tomorrow." He broke the connection. I gave her back the phone.

"They both seem to like you very much. I think they were humans, but how can you tell on the phone? You said you haven't eaten. Can I offer you something?"

I said any leftovers would be fine, but that I had better eat quickly so that I could find a place to sleep tonight. She protested, "No. Please stay. I don't mind the company at all."

She got a pot of chicken stew out of the small refrigerator, and put it on the burner to heat. Then she reached up on the shelf above the bed and pulled down an old Pendelton trade blanket. She put it on one end of the couch. "Here, use this." I thanked her. While I was eating, she picked up her sketch pad and drew me again. As I washed out my bowl, she tore it off the pad, saying, "Wrong! I made you look just like the terrier in 'dogs playing cards.' I've always been a better sculptor than painter, anyway." I went over and looked at it. It was another impressionist work, to me.

"Is this how you really see things?" I asked.

"No, it's probably got much more detail than I can actually see, now. But I had fine vision up until about eight years ago, so my brain apparently fills in the missing detail for me. When I sculpt, I feel my subject with my fingers, then transfer that to the clay. I could probably do a good miniature of you, if you would stay and pose tomorrow."

"I have to go check on my ship in the morning, but maybe in the afternoon."

"No, wait a minute, I promised Jarret I would meet the sheriff down at the bottom of the valley at one. Don't worry. I wouldn't tell him about you."

"Thank you. If you will excuse me, I need to visit your outhouse. I'll be right back." I went outside. The sky was a brilliant sea of stars, and to my eyes it was as bright as noon. When I came back inside, she had changed into a long, flannel sleeping shirt. She was sitting on one end of the couch. She looked up as I came in the door.

"Find everything OK?" I nodded, and sat down in the middle of the couch, facing her.

"I'm pretty tired, would you mind if I went to bed now? It's been a busy day. Thank you for your hospitality." I unfolded the blanket and curled up on top of it. She got up and shut off the light, then went over to her bunk and climbed into the covers.

"Mitzep, you've been a perfect guest. Stay as long as you like. I guess I've needed some company out here more than I thought." I looked over at her. Her eyes were on me from across the room, although I doubted she could see anything in the dark. She laid there quietly, watching me, until I fell asleep.

Pah! Time card audit and annual personnel evaluations in the same week. No decent excuse to be in the office alone on a Saturday morning. I sipped another mouthful of re-microwaved coffee left over from Friday. As I debated making a fresh pot, my pager buzzed, and I examined the display:

"Chuck. Call SPACECOM J-2 duty desk ask for MAJ B. New Event."

I threw the time cards into a Fed Ex pouch and picked up the phone. A teenage girl's voice answered at the other end. "Extension 8817. This is Airman Gebhardt. How may I help you?"

"This is Mr. Hansen. Is Major Baugher there?"

"One moment, Sir." She made me feel old just listening to her. "He's with the duty officer, I'll transfer your call." The Major picked up.

"Morning, Chuck! Sorry to call on your day off, but we've got an event underway about a hundred miles south of here, and I'd like you and Cindy to drive down as soon as possible and see what's happening. I'll fax you what we've got so far, and meet you down there tonight."

"You sound excited."

"I am. We've probably got something on the ground this time. Can't talk on an unsecured line, but it might just be Russian, and then again, it might not. We'll talk tonight. Bye."

A minute later, the fax machine started spitting out paper. I called my partner on the other line.

"MOM!!! The phone!" A voice almost indistinguishable in pitch, although louder, than Airman Gebhardt's answered. I could hear a pointed discussion about telephone etiquette on the other end. Eventually Cindy picked up the phone.

"Hello?."

"Yes ma'am. We have a WILDFIRE alert."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean, Chuck? Why are you calling on my day off?"

"I just always wanted to say that. You don't remember 'Andromeda Strain'? Seriously, we're going out of town this weekend. I'll pick you up in half an hour."

"But Kaye's home from school this weekend! Can't this wait until Monday? It's probably just another weather balloon, anyway."

"The Air Force says to go. Besides, if Kaye's old enough to vote, she's old enough to order pizza tonight. I see you in a bit." I hung up.

I grabbed up the pile of faxes, leafed through them briefly, then went to the closet and grabbed my travel case, and, thinking for a moment, threw my own key ring into my desk drawer and grabbed the key to the company car. Cindy would never forgive me if we took my old Landcruiser. By the time I reached her townhouse, she was waiting on the porch with her own bag.

"Where are we going?"

"Southern Colorado, somewhere between Pueblo and the New Mexico line." I handed her the papers. "The Air Force think they shot one down."

"Oh, no! I wonder what they really hit?"

"Look at the picture on the bottom of the stack. Somebody's not going to be happy." She examined the photo.

"That's the ship that landed in Illinois. I'll be damned! It really is a saucer."

"I'll concede a certain saucer-like aspect to the craft, but I prefer to avoid that particular word. It is a crystal sharp image, isn't it? White Sands got that photo with a 24" cinetheodolite camera from less than ten miles range. If it had anything written on the side, you would be able to read it."

"You were hoping for a red star on the tail, weren't you?

"Yup! Or at least the word "Lockheed." Although as blunt as the front end is, I'd guess a Grumman product. Read the rest of that stuff while we drive. I didn't have time to look at it all." I got on I-25 south.

"It says here that SPACETRAK picked up a northbound unidentified object over Mexico. They tentatively ID'd it as debris from a Russian Resurs-M earth observation satellite de-orbiting ahead of schedule. When it started maneuvering though, they aborted a planned YAL-1 airborne anti-missile laser test over WSMR and diverted all the sensors to watch it. The camera took that shot next, and then the Ultraviolet sensors on the laser platform locked onto the exhaust plume from the craft. I assume, although they don't say, that somebody at NORAD gave the laser permission to shoot. Apparently, they hit it and forced it down. NORAD scrambled some fighters, but they lost it in the mountains."

"Peachy. So we've shot down a UFO. We're probably at war with somebody, and we don't even know it."

"You're supposed to be the skeptic. How come, all of a sudden, you're buying the story? This might still be swamp gas."

"I'm not saying that I think it's extraterrestrial. It just means that the odds for that being the case are orders of magnitude higher than they were before, and I've handled real espionage cases with odds slimmer than that. Watch and see who else shows up to investigate, and what they do. If they leave the field to us, somebody knows it's a hoax. Look for the classic MIB's. Or spooks."

"It says here the cover story is a downed Air Force plane. We're looking for the pilot, and making sure all the ordnance and black boxes are accounted for. Some reserve Colonel from a combat search and rescue squadron is the figurehead, but we still report to Major B. The command post is set up at a highway department snow shed at the base of Poncha Pass. We've got reservations in Walsenberg, twenty-five miles away." We drove for a while in silence. I tried to think how best to conduct our search. A lot of people were going to be beating the bushes, and I didn't intend to duplicate their effort. We needed to look for the out of place, the things that didn't fit the cover story. Things like, say, bug-eyed monsters.

We arrived at the command center about sunset, behind a small military truck convoy. Soldiers and airmen were milling around, and had several antennas and a satellite dish erected, but as no security was in place yet, I walked right in. Inside, six or eight people were gathered around a map. I spotted the Major and caught his eye. He walked over and led me outside to join Cindy.

"Glad you made it. I flew down with the CSAR folks. Officially, I'm just an extra body NORAD volunteered. I'll probably work a shift here at the command post. I'd like you two to stay away from here as much as possible, it's going to be a circus as soon as the media get here. I'll have the sheriff's office give you a list of anybody who says they saw anything, and I'll clear you to get into the crash site, once we find it."

"They haven't found it yet?"

"No. They say they'll start radar mapping tonight, and take some pictures tomorrow. It shouldn't be hard to find."

"Yeah, just like that A-10. OK, we'll go check into our motel, and see the sheriff in the morning."

Jena:

The endless capacity of a person to calmly accept the irrational will always amaze me. I had just spent an evening with a talking fox, and was prepared to trust him based on his politeness and the word of two total strangers over the phone. Maybe I had slipped over the line that hermits and artists often cross, straight into madness. As I lay there, not six feet away, close enough to hear his quiet breathing, I was beginning to have another mad thought: Maybe this was the one to replace Jakob, the object of my last of many failed relationships. One sentence the woman on the phone had said kept running through my head, "Mitzep is shy until you get to know him, but he's well worth the effort." I wondered how much to read into that; indeed how much did I want to read into it. It was a measure of how many months I had been alone, and the low ratio of masculine personalities, or even persons, for that matter, in my own social circle, that my thoughts were running toward a physical relationship with an alien. As I finally fell asleep, I was planning scenarios to 'trip him up', as the quaint phrase ran.

Next morning was a typical alpine spring morning, with frost on the grass, and a chill everywhere the sun had not reached yet. I woke up, and saw Mitzep was curled up asleep on the couch, his bushy tail covering his forefeet, serving as a pillow for his head. I climbed out of bed and went outside to attend to business. He was still asleep when I returned. I walked over and lightly rubbed the edge of his ear. It flicked a few times, then he woke, opening his eyes and smiling.

"Hello, there," I said. He stood up on two legs beside the couch and stretched all the muscles in his body. Standing upright, his head came to my chest. I looked him up and down. His fur was a dark brown with a slight tint of red, and his chest fur shaded from sandy down to creamy off-white between his hind legs. I noticed something else down there, and went quickly over to the sink on the pretense of filling the coffee pot with water.

He bent over and performed a second stretch on all fours, working the knots out of his neck. He finally said, "Oh, boy. I didn't realize how tense I must have been when I was flying yesterday. I feel like half my body is bruised."

"Would you like something to eat? I'm having eggs and a muffin, but I've got other things if you prefer."

"Thank you. Three eggs scrambled with some kind of meat would be wonderful."

"How about ham?"

"Fine."

I did the domestic thing, and we talked. I asked him about his experiences on earth so far. He explained that most of the time, he was nothing more than a glorified taxi driver, ferrying foxes and humans back and forth to the ship, or from one place on the planet to another. He guessed he spent about two thirds of his time up in space. He said that he had met about a dozen humans, besides Dave, but usually just while he was driving them someplace. Most of then were apparently UFO fanatics, and were disappointed that he didn't look more alien. He said he had been to town on his own a few times, disguised as a dog.

"Adults never notice I'm not one. It's the small children that don't buy the disguise. They see me from the same level, and I guess I don't act dog-like enough to fool them." He hung his tongue out of his mouth and panted, giving his best imitation of a drooling mutt. "See?"

"Looks OK to me." I reached over and ruffled his ears. "Good boy, Rover. Time to wash the dishes." He barked.

After breakfast, he said he needed to go check on his ship, and asked if I wanted to come with him. I agreed, and we went outside. I saddled my pony, and we walked back up the trail to the upper meadow. He stayed mostly on all fours, occasionally standing up and looking around. At the meadow, I dismounted and hobbled the pony. He asked why I didn't just tie him to something.

"Being by myself out here, I've learned to be careful. If I fell down an old mine pit or something, I want him to be able to free himself so he could walk back down to the cabin. If Jarret saw him there without me, he would know something was wrong." I explained that I stayed to a few well-marked paths while we were riding. "For example, I've never climbed up to the mine over there. You are going to have to guide me, so that I don't twist an ankle on a rock or old piece of metal."

"Just call me Mitzep, your faithful seeing-eye dog." I laughed, but felt reassured nonetheless when I kept one hand on his neck as we walked up the hill. When we reached the old engine shed, he stood up and pulled a piece of tin off of the doorway. We walked inside where his ship was parked. He climbed up the ladder, then returned with a roll of cloth and a flashlight. Handing me the cloth, he said, "Here's something to sit on while I work. This floor is pretty dirty."

While he clattered around inside a hatch into the ship, I sat and let my eyes adjust to the shade inside the building. The mine closed for the last time just after WWII, and old notice signs still hung on the walls. Shafts of bright sunlight shone through holes in the tin on the roof and walls. Every once in a while, Mitzep's body would pass through one such beam, and it would light a brown corona in his fur. I let my eyes go unfocused, and just enjoyed the interplay of light and dark. After a while, he called out, "There. That's all I can do here. Do you want the tour of the ship, while I pack my bag?"

I stood up and brushed off my hands. "Why not?" He held out a paw for me, and I climbed up a short ladder into the cabin. It was about six by ten feet, and had two chairs facing forward. There was a pile of cushions on the floor in the middle of the cabin, and behind them was a large pile of boxes, with a cargo net holding them in place.

"Welcome to my office. Normally I'd take you for a spin, impressing you with my fine sports car." He grinned, and showed my a silver-gray item that looked like a funnel on a handle, or a toilet plunger. "But since this thing here is broke, I'll just have to show you what it looks like, and promise you a rain check." He grabbed a backpack, and put the device and a smaller bag inside it. "Ready to go back?"

I nodded. We stepped outside, and he shut and locked the door to the shuttle, then replaced the tin over the outside of the shed. He put on the backpack, cinching straps around his shoulders and neck, and then around the barrel of his chest. He led me back down the hill to the pony. This time I held onto the pack. We went back down to the cabin for a quick lunch, then it was time for me to go down to meet the sheriff. Mitzep offered to go with me, disguised as my new dog.

"You like that dog act, don't you," I teased.

"Sure. It's one of the great things about earth. Dogs can get away with almost anything. They have all the benefits and none of the responsibilities of civilization. Not that they ever admit it."

"Come on, Rover!" We headed down the jeep trail about half a mile, to the point where my side-canyon opened up into the main valley. A 3-strand barbed wire fence, with a sturdy gate made of welded drill pipe blocked our path. Prominent signs said (I'm told) "No Trespassing" and "Cattleman's Association: $500 Reward." I tied the pony to a branch on a tree next to the gate post and sat down on a rock beside Mitzep.

We talked for about twenty minutes, just socializing, until a white bronco with the Sheriff's star on the doors drove slowly up the gravel road. A very young officer got out.

"Howdy, Ma'am. I'm Deputy Harrington. Mr. Wilks said you live up the canyon over there. We're looking for a small jet that crashed yesterday afternoon. Have you heard or seen anything?

"No, and I was out on horseback all day. While I was up at the high meadow, some jets flew over very low, but there was no sign of any crash. What kind of jet was it?"

"Some kind of military one. There's some army and federal folks down in town, and they're supposed to be searching the backcountry clear over on the continental divide. Thanks for your time, though. Oh, does your jeep trail go on up over the pass?"

"No. Maybe by late summer, but right now it's more river than road. Your bronco wouldn't make it much past my cabin. Besides, Mr. Wilks has the gate key back at his place."

He seemed surprised. "How do you get to town? It's too far to ride that pony in."

"I can't drive, so it wouldn't do me much good to have a car up here. I call down when I need a ride. Somebody can usually give me one." I smiled at the deputy as I patted Mitzep on the head. "Nope, just me and the dog, here. He's good company. Heck, If he could dance, I'd marry him!"

The deputy looked at him, then at me, then opened his mouth to comment, and then thought better of it. "He does look like a good dog. What kind is he?"

"Wolf hybrid, I think. Maybe some fox in there, too." He looked dubious, and decided he ought to get away from this crazy woman. He made some social noises, and climbed back into his bronco and drove off. Mitzep and I sat and watched silently until he was lost in a trail of dust.

"I dance very well, thank you. Wolf hybrid, indeed. And another thing.." He reached over and placed his hand on my head, mimicking the pat I had given him. "Wrong. Do it like this, please." He gently rubbed the back of my ear. It did feel pretty good. "Isn't that better?"

I reached over and imitated his technique on his ear. He sighed, and took my hand in his. "That's enough. We might have to get married if you keep that up." He kissed my hand. "We'd better go back up to the cabin." We each kept our thoughts to ourselves on the way back. I unsaddled the pony and let him loose to graze. I said nothing until I had turned to face him.

"Mitzep, I'm drawn to you, and I don't know why. We don't have much in common, you and I, but do admit I feel a certain chemistry. Maybe I've just been out here alone too long."

"Jena, I'll be honest. I feel a physical attraction to you, and I certainly like to talk to you. We are probably good for each other, too. But you have to realize that as a pilot, I can only visit your world for brief trips, maybe years apart. I would rather have you for a friend, if it would mean not hurting you when I leave. I know from talking to my other human friends, that you value monogamous relationships. I don't think I could honestly promise you one."

"I admire your honesty, and you are right, I might get hurt. But I'm lonely now, and you are the first person I've spoken to in months that was even he slightest bit considerate of my feelings. Let's not stop. I'm not as fragile as all that."

"One more thing, I am seeing, no that's the wrong word, sleeping with, another member of our crew. She is a different kind of alien than I am, and doesn't have any concept of jealousy, but she does expect me to continue our relationship. Can you handle that? I would not want to hurt her feelings, as she is a nice person."

"Mitzep, I have had more bad experiences with casual sex than you can imagine. If you are as thoughtful a person as you have been with me so far, this will be one of the best, even if we end this tomorrow."

With that, there was nothing left but to make love. He was much different physically, of course, but seemed to require the same amount of holding and touching as any human lover. He was a small person, but wiry and more flexible than a man. By the time we were both spent, we were hot and covered with sweat and other things, so I suggested a dip in the concrete stock tank.

"I could probably share you as long as you can maintain that level of performance, I think."

"I don't know. I seem to be attracted to women bigger and stronger than myself. If this trend keeps up, I'll certainly die young." I splashed him. "Bully!" He dove underwater, I'm sure intending to come up behind me. I grabbed his tail and pulled him to the surface, then cradled him in a basket of my arms, using the buoyancy of the water to support him.

"You're trapped now," I said. He squirmed half-heatedly. "We'll go up to the cabin, where I'll finish you off." We climbed out, he shook himself off, and we went to bed, soaking my rug and bed thoroughly.

Mitzep:

Once again, I've fallen for a giantess, this time a furless human. I wonder what this says about my mental condition and personal perversions. Could this be the beginnings of a fetish? Better have a talk with the good doctor once I get back to the ship. Right now, though, I've got a pretty pleasant problem staring me right in the face. OK, technically she's looking down her chest at the tip of my muzzle, which is lying between her giant (by my standards), mammary glands, as I lay on her chest and pant in exhaustion. We've been working each other to a frenzy for about three hours, and I think I've worn her out, and I know she's certainly worn me out. She still has her arms around my back, but she finally let go with her incredibly muscular legs and is just resting on her back, her chest is heaving from exertion, and she is soaked in sweat. Of course, so am I, and I don't even have any sweat glands. Definitely need another bath tonight.

"Penny for your thoughts," she says. I recognize the phrase from Marie's vocabulary.

"Oh, just resting. You were amazing, Jena. Human's bodies are much more flexible than they appear. And strong. But nice."

"You are a gentleman, Mitzep. I almost tore your ears off, and I know you couldn't have taken much more of my weight on top of you. But I've got to tell you, you surprised me. I had expected this to be not much more than simple bestiality, but it wasn't. We made love. Do you understand what I mean by the difference?"

"Yes, Jena I do. A good friend of mine, a human, and his wives have talked to me at length on the subject, because of my relationship with H'raawl-Hrkh, the one I told you about. Her species seem not to express 'love' as such, more 'a comfortable intimacy'. I could not understand why she was friendly, liked sleeping with me, but could not express anything more than friendship. I like her, but I can't understand her. I hope I understand you, because this is at least that serious."

Waaay too serious. Time for a joke. "Oh, and Dave says the rule is: If the animal can talk, it's not bestiality; unless you wake up with feathers in your mouth." I stretched my tongue out and licked her nose.

"I can see you are not a newcomer to complicated relations either. Remind me to tell you about it sometime." She hugged me again. "I'll tell you what: If you'll have me as your girl here on earth, I guess I can't complain if some strange alien has you while you're away in space. Just be aware, us earth girls require constant emotional support, and reserve the right to break into tears at any moment."

Dave had also told me that, but not while either of his wives were within earshot. Jena and I held each other for a while longer, then went back out to the stock tank, rinsed off, and came back inside for supper. We were both pretty much physically and emotionally spent, and a lot of hand holding went on.

About eight o'clock, the phone rang. Jena answered, then handed it to me.

"Mitzep, it's Dave. Let's try to keep this call under a minute, just in case. One, I know what shot at you. Two, the folks upstairs know you are OK. Three, what's your repair status?"

"One part needs fabrication. Titanium. We need to meet so I can get it to you. There are some federals around, but they appear to be looking further west."

"Can Jena drive you into town tomorrow?"

"No. She doesn't drive." Jena reached for the phone and spoke to Dave.

"We can get a ride in Friday afternoon. Where should we meet?"

"That will work fine. Is there someplace that's open till midnight or later that's not too rough? We'll meet there, then go out to the parking lot."

"Ruis' Tapeteria, just off the old highway. About three blocks east of I-25. I'll be the blind woman with the seeing eye dog. Can't miss me."

"Bye. Let me talk to Mitzep. Mitzep, sounds like you've got a keeper, there. Both of you be careful. If it looks like I've been followed, just ignore me. If you've been followed, don't show. We'll try again another day. Both of you, be careful. Bye." He hung up.

I asked her, "OK, how do we get to town, oh lady of mystery?"

"I go get a motel room in town on the weekends whenever I start talking to myself out loud. There are a few local ranchers and similar helpful folks, like that young deputy, for example, who wouldn't mind giving me a lift. We'll go out, get a meal at a restaurant, have a few drinks on Friday, then buy some groceries and come back Saturday. With you to guide me around, I'll get to visit some of Walsenburg besides the bus station and the Safeway, for a change."

"What about me? They're not going to let a dog into those places."

"Half the town knows I'm almost blind. Here, let's try something." She grabbed my backpack from the chair, and adjusted the cinch strap. "Put this on, but leave the neck strap behind your head." I put it on. She stood next to me and held the strap in one hand. "That's the ticket. This plus my sunglasses should do the trick."

We slept in one bed that night. We both dropped off by nine-thirty, and woke in each other's arms as soon as the sun shone in on us. The next day was spent in housekeeping chores, horse maintenance and similar things. Jena made a few calls and got a local rancher's wife to agree to pick us up Friday afternoon. Her deputy said he could return us the next day. He seemed awfully eager to see her again. I remarked on that, and she said, "What, jealous already? He's a sweet boy."

As I was standing out in the pasture, straightening the gatepost to the corral, I heard the sound of a helicopter. I quickly unfastened my tool belt, and called to Jena, as I dropped to all fours. She came around the barn and walked over to me.

"Better take these tools. If they land, I'll need to play dumb."

The chopper circled the cabin once, then landed about one hundred yards away. It was a Colorado National Guard UH-60 Blackhawk. I said, "Good luck, Jena," and wandered over into the shadows of the barn, nosing around in my best dog fashion.

A young sergeant and a man in a lightweight suit walked over from the helicopter and talked to Jena for about five minutes. The suit showed her an identification badge, and did most of the talking. The sergeant, looking bored, walked away from the two of them, and admired the scenery. He spotted the pony leaning against the barn, and tried to catch his attention by clicking his fingers. I stuck my head out of the barn, and tilted my head and whined. He saw me, and called me. I came out, but acting wary, I kept my distance. Finally, the suit noticed him, and called him back. They both left for the helicopter, which took off.

"Same questions the deputy had," she said once they were out of sight. "His badge said he was a Department of Defense special agent. Said they were looking for an air force jet that had crashed. He said they might bring in search parties, once the snow higher up melts. Oh, he gave me his card." I looked at it. Meant nothing, but Dave could probably make something of it.

We worked until the sun got too hot, then went inside and enjoyed each other's intimate company until sunset, then grilled some steaks on the porch. I remarked, "I could get used to this, Jena."

"Enjoy it while it lasts, Mitzep. I'm afraid they'll find you if you stay too long."

"I'm afraid you are right."

Jena:

I woke up early Friday morning, looked down at Mitzep sleeping, and said to myself, "Girl, you've gone and gotten in too deep this time." Not only is the man of my dreams short, furry, and wanted by the government, but he admits he's in some kind of relationship with another woman (of some sort). He insists that he loves me, and we both seem to relate perfectly to each other, but, what? I don't understand. One thing is certain, the sex is great, better than my last three failed relationships. Maybe that's enough for right now."

Mrs. Renteria was a close neighbor, by local standards, living only about fifteen miles farther from town than my own cabin. She met us at the gate at two o'clock in her ancient full size Suburban, a vehicle the size of an aircraft carrier. She wished me a cheerful hello, admired my new dog, packed my bag in the back and off we went. I thanked her for the ride. She explained that she was picking up her kids and all their friends in town after a birthday party, and would have had to make the drive anyway. I asked how her husband was doing. She reminded me that he had taken their sheep herd up in the high pastures until Fall, and allowed as she might remember to go visit him next week sometime. She said my dog was much better behaved than Stimpy and Tavo, his two working dogs, they always got nose prints all over the windows. She was lonely for adult conversation, and kept up a steady commentary during the hour-long drive to town. Even though I usually only saw her 2-3 times a year, she always brought me up to speed on the local gossip, her children's activities, and her many relatives.

We were not close friends, but she had helped me a few times these past few years, and I had managed to get her oldest son a job with a gallery in Santa Fe that displayed some of my work. They were not a poor family, not with 2,000 plus sheep, but I knew she planned to push all six of his younger siblings through college as well, and every bit helped.

Finally the subject came around to current events. She said her husband was upset about all the helicopters and troops walking around the higher elevations, spooking his flocks. They seemed to think that just because he and his two Basque herdsmen were camped a different place each night, they had to question them each time they came by. She laughed, and said that now they just claimed not to speak English whenever they showed up.

"Which is about true for those two. Thirty-five years in this country, and they barely speak understandable Spanish, never mind English. How do they expect to get ahead if they don't speak the language?" I suggested that the sheep were not much on conversation.

We drove into town, and she dropped me off at the motel. I put Mitzep into his harness and put on my dark glasses. The teenager behind the counter launched herself to open the door before we got to it. She was solicitous, and asked if she could show me to the room. I raised up my glasses and explained I was only almost blind, not completely, and that if she told me how many doors away it was, I'd have no trouble finding it.

As soon as I closed the room door, Mitzep said, "I have to say something, just to prove I still can talk. Dave was right: If you act the way people expect a dog to act, you're a dog. You know, that's pretty frightening, in a way. If we hadn't learned to speak you language before we came to your planet, I don't know if we could have proved we were even sentient." He plopped down on one of the beds and grabbed the remote. "What's next on our agenda?"

I thought. "We have three hours until the restaurants start serving dinner. Why don't you shut off that TV and come over here. I'm not going back to the lobby to ask that innocent young teenager if I can rent a porno tape to show to my dog, so you'll just have to settle for the real thing."

When we went outside, the sun was still up, but the evening had begun to take the heat out of it. With Mitzep on all fours at my side, we walked downtown. Walsenburg is an old town with lots of brick, including the streets on the old town square. It is far enough from the major cities that it still looks like it's locked in the 1950's, with actual people strolling around the courthouse square in the evening. It's atmosphere reflects the heritage of it's Hispanic and German immigrant communities, and still shows some of the effects of the depression that struck and stayed when the coal mines closed. We walked around for a while, sat on a few park benches and talked quietly unless anybody came too close. Then we went to dinner.

I chose a quiet, family-run steakhouse where I had eaten before. The cashier started to say something about Mitzep, but the owner spotted us and guided us personally to a table out of the flow of traffic. He complimented me on getting such a fine dog, saying that he had seen a special on TV just that week about how hard it was to train dogs to work with the blind. He took my drink order himself, then went over to talk to the waitress. Mitzep, who was sitting on the floor beside my seat, whispered, "I don't like dog biscuits, but I would like a KC strip, rare, but not raw."

I asked the waitress what was good that night, and then ordered. I had them bring his steak on a small plate, with a bowl of water. We did not hurry, but finished in about an hour. We received exemplary service, and I complimented the owner on his treatment of the two of us. Mitzep sat through it all with a grave expression of duty on his face, then led me out into the night. I had a hard time not laughing.

"Jena, I'm going to take you back into that restaurant again once we establish relations with your people, and I'm going to sit across the table from you, not down under it."

"I would like that. Do you think you could sit under another table for a few more hours? I would like to go to a bar and watch people until time for our meeting. Present company excepted, I don't see too many during the summer." He agreed, and we walked down toward the interstate exit, where some optimist had built a chain restaurant-sports bar. The crowd was the younger local businessmen, lawyers, real estate people and anyone who had stopped for the night along the highway. I got a booth that faced the bar, and gestured Mitzep onto one of the benches, then slid in next to him. He whispered that he would like an ale, if they had any. I ordered a 'foo-foo' drink with an umbrella for myself, and a local micro-brewed ale (this is Colorado, after all) and a bowl. The waitress took it well, joking about which one of us was the designated driver. I poured a small amount of beer into the bowl.

Mitzep took a look around, evaluating how dark the room was, decided no one was looking, then grabbed the bottle and took a swig, setting it down immediately. "Lapping beer from a bowl is worse than sipping it through a straw."

"Just don't get caught," I whispered.

We sat and watched the people, and the more observant ones watched the two of us, some doing a double-take to be sure there was a dog in my booth. As the night grew on, the married contingent filtered out of the bar, and the single male to female ratio increased dramatically. It was still a civilized crowd, as the prices kept out most of the rowdies. A few brave souls stopped by my table to try to strike up a conversation, most using Mitzep as an excuse, but I turned them away with a few pleasant words. At eleven-thirty, before the rest of the bars in town started to close, I paid our bill and we walked the four blocks to the last destination. It was late enough that I got a few catcalls from teenagers in passing pickup trucks, but nobody caused any trouble.

The Tapeteria was a sort of combination bakery, diner and coffee shop, and was the only place in town open all night. The girl behind the counter was not about to let a dog inside, and only after a long argument in Spanish with the cook did she agree to serve me. I sat at a table near the door, and ordered a bowl of chips and salsa, and a cup of coffee. There were four working class men along the bar, either farm workers or truckers. In the back booths were a gaggle of teenagers, and a pair of off-duty waitresses from the truck stop were sitting at a table smoking and discussing their sore feet. A couple, too well dressed for this place, were sitting across the room, looking at some papers spread on the table. Mitzep sat on the floor next to my chair. It beagan filling up as the bars closed, and by one o'clock, the waitress was giving me nasty looks for taking up a table.

About that time, a man wearing a wool plaid jacket came in by himself, and headed for the restroom. Mitzep reached over and pricked the back of my leg with a claw, and whispered, "Let's go!" I threw two bucks on the table and let him lead me out the door. Outside, parked in the shadow of the building, was an old van. Mitzep led me past it, then, seeing the coast was clear, quickly stood up and opened the side door. "Get in!" We both climbed in ,and I sat on the bench seat while he closed the door. I sensed there was someone behind me.

"Hello? Who is back there?" I took off my dark glasses, not that it helped much, and saw two sets of glowing eyes shining at me from the back seat.

"We're Marie and Chessec, we spoke on the phone. You must be Jena." I felt a paw take my hand and shake it. I responded to the greeting with the other fox as well. Her voice was identical to he first one in tone, but had a different accent.

Mitzep was watching the front door of the van. After a minute, the driver's door opened, and the man, who I assumed was Dave, climbed in. He said hello over his shoulder as he started the van. As we merged onto the interstate, heading north, he said, "We'll drive around and talk for a while until I'm sure we're not being followed. What motel are you two at?" I told him, and he nodded. "This time of night, we had better just stay in the van. Somebody might notice if you had guests. Mitzep, why don't you climb up front and show me that piece of your ship, and Jena you can ask the girls whatever questions I'm sure you have."

We rearranged ourselves, and Chessec sat next to me. "I've always wondered what the woman my little brother would fall for might be like. I would never have guessed she'd be human, though." She had taken my hand in her paw again.

"I'm not sure it's more than friendship, yet."

"My nose tells me it's gone much farther than that, and the tone of his voice on the phone told the rest. You haven't known him as long as I have, he is really taken with you. He is a good kid, he just has a hard time with relationships."

Marie chipped in from the back seat, "Miss, don't let Chessec scare you off. She's a newlywed herself, and all the world is in love from her perspective. I do think Mitzep really likes you, though, and as I said on the phone, you could do a lot worse."

"You two seem to have made up your minds. I had never even seen an earth fox, let alone a Diyim'yi, before last week. I don't know the first thing about any of you. What's your home like? How did you meet Dave? Why are you both married to him? What's that like? This all seems like a bad science fiction movie."

They talked to me for the next hour, whenever one ran out of steam, the other took up the conversation, sometimes finishing a sentence. I learned a lot about the care and feeding of one Mitzep, and decided that if we were going to be together, I would make an effort to find out what my true feelings for him were.

We had apparently turned back around at some point, because Dave interrupted us to say, "We're almost back at your motel. I'll let you both out here, and you can walk."

"Thanks, Dave. See you later. Bye Big Sis, Marie." Mitzep kissed them both. We climbed out, and the van drove back to the interstate, and out of sight.

Mitzep:

Dave had told me it might take two weeks to a month to fabricate the part. I was afraid that a thorough ground search might uncover the ship first, so he promised to come up with a diversion. We discussed how and when to meet next time, and decided that he and Marie would hike in from the other side of the pass. He also gave me a handheld 2m radio transceiver, and a Walther PPK automatic pistol, which I stored in my backpack.

Jena and I walked back to the motel room in the darkness, and as we approached the parking lot, I realized we had been walking hand in hand, with me on two legs.

"I'd better drop down on all fours now, Jena"

"It's three A.M., nobody will see us."

When we got back to the room, I stood up on two feet, and walked over and hugged her around the waist. We stood there, leaning on each other, and I said; "Let's see Lassie do this!" She patted me on the head.

The telephone call light was flashing red, and I played back the message. Deputy Harrington called, saying he could pick Jena up at 11:30 A.M. to give her a ride home. Jena set the alarm clock for 9:00, and we both went to sleep, tired after a full day. I awoke at sunrise, and found my tail pinned under her body. I decided to let her sleep. I lay there for about an hour resting my head on my fore paws, watching her breathe, a few strands of her hair lifting off her mouth with each one. More serious thinking time. Ever since Chessec and I had mutually decided that we were meant to be siblings, not mates, I had been thinking hard about what kind of woman I did want. H'raawl-Hrkh had been and remained a physical attraction, but she was incapable of love, as Diyim'yi and, apparently also humans, understood it. I was sure I had fallen in love with Jena. It just took Chessec and Marie rubbing my nose in it to confirm it. Now came the hard part: Did Jena feel the same? And what would we do next?

The rest of the morning: Grocery shopping at Safeway, meeting the good Deputy in the parking lot, long drive back to the cabin gate. Once again, I was silent, a good dog. As soon as he drove out of sight, I said, "Owwwwww!!!"

"Huh?"

"I just figured I'd howl. It seemed easier than finding something to say." She grabbed my paws, putting one on each shoulder. Then she held my muzzle between her hands and kissed me on the nose.

"You don't have to prove who you are to me. Don't worry that I'll forget you're not a dog. Just keep your cool until it's safe. Now, let's carry these groceries up to the house."

The rest of the afternoon was filled with chores; putting away supplies, tending to the horse, airing out laundry. By sunset, we were able to sit on the porch and watch the show. Since there was only one chair on the porch, we sat down on a blanket together.

"I'll bet you have seen different sunsets on several worlds," she said.

"I'll bet you know how trite that sounds!"

"I'll bet you'll take that back before I beat you silly!"

Three weeks passed in similar fashion. Several times, military patrols came up to the cabin, but none continued to the mine. I waited in the barn until each one left, leaving Jena to convince them the road was impassable. Finally Dave called.

Dave:

The precision machining industry in America is almost extinct. It took me five days of phone calls before I could find a company that would mill a replacement for the broken exhaust nozzle for the attitude thruster on Mitzep's shuttle. I will say, to their credit, that once I found a willing shop, it took only two days to make the measurements and drawings, and about four hours to mill the part. And it only cost twelve thousand dollars. I bet the government would have paid ten times that amount. The next step was getting the part to Mitzep.

"There is a roadblock down on the highway, manned by soldiers, and a helicopter or plane flies over every two or three hours." Mitzep was making his latest report from a pay phone at a highway rest stop. "You'll have to come in over the pass, Dave."

"Do you think I can drive it?"

"Maybe. Better plan on walking the last ten miles. There's too much chance of detection in your jeep."

"OK. Plan on us meeting you at the mine by sunset on Wednesday."

"Who is 'us'?"

"I'm going to bring my sister's husband. Roger has good tactical skills, and can drive the jeep out if I need to leave with you."

"Fine. See you then. Good luck."

"Give our love to Jena. Bye." I broke the connection. Unplugging the phone from the tap on my neighbor's line, I closed the junction box and rode my bicycle back to the house. Marie was speaking to a prospective scholarship applicant on our own line, and Chessec was updating our web page. I waited until Marie hung up, then told them about the conversation with Mitzep.

Marie said, "It sounds like they are closing in on the shuttle. We had better get packing if we're going to be in Colorado by then."

"Wait a minute. You need to stay here. Remember, Chris is coming out tomorrow, and you still have to set up the east coast interviews for us. I'll be fine by myself."

"One of us has to go. Human smell and hearing is not good enough to get through those patrols and checkpoints," added Chessec.

I capitulated at that point, leaving it up to them who stayed and who came with me. Chessec won, I think. While they decided, I went over to the computer and sent an email to Roger, asking if he wanted to take an overnight camping trip. That time of night, he was almost assured to be logged in. He was, and responded within the hour. While I was waiting for his response, I went down to the basement and grabbed my camping gear.

Back in my more paranoid bachelor days, I packed a 'get-away' rucksack and sealed it in a drum with my assault rifle and ammo out in the woods behind the house. After marriage, I brought the stuff back inside, but kept it in good condition. After downloading most of the ordnance (this was infiltration, not an assault), I was ready. I packed a vest-like dog pannier for Chessec, mostly with dry food and water bottles. I carried both out to my jeep. Marie handed me a suitcase and reminded me that we would be in civilization for much of the trip.

Next day, we started out at dawn, driving west on I-70. Kansas showed off it's immense beauty, or at least it's immense something, and by late afternoon Chessec and I were at the Colorado border, on old highway 94.

"It doesn't look 'Colorful.' It looks like an especially dry piece of Kansas!" Chessec commented, as we drove past the sign.

"How would you know, you don't see color anyway."

"How about, 'Welcome to even more light gray Colorado,' then?" She replied. "Besides, I see some colors, just not as many as you. You're always making such a big deal about that. I just know I don't see any out there."

By sunset, we were pulling into Colorado Springs. I pointed out Falcon AFS, or whatever they call it now, and Peterson Field on the road into town. Fighting rush hour traffic, we finally turned into Roger's driveway.

The door was open, so I grabbed the suitcase and we walked into the house. Roger walked up the basement stairs as we entered the foyer. Chessec stood up on her hind legs as I closed the outside door.

"Hi, Roger! You remember Chessec." He walked over and gave her a brief hug, then reached out his hand to shake mine.

"Welcome, both of you. Kathy is gone to your folk's place this week. She took Bethany, and Aaron so I am on the loose. I figure this is the last chance she'll be able to travel before the latest addition to our family arrives." They were expecting a third child, whose name would probably begin with a 'C.' "Please, come into the living room and sit down. Tell me what's going on."

During the next thirty minutes, I explained my plan. Roger asked some questions, thought about some considerations I had missed, then went into his den to get some maps of the area. While he was out of the room, Chessec made an observation.

"Roger is pretty accepting of you consorting with aliens, and all that. Much friendlier than our last visit." I nodded.

"Roger is a good, kindhearted man. My sister and he are both fine Christian folks, but he accepts the spirit of the word more wholeheartedly than she does. I'm sure she was more upset about my having two wives, than the slight detail that you are a bit more furry than normal."

Roger returned with the maps. We decided to drive to the summit of the pass behind the Great Sand Dunes monument in the jeep, and then hike the rest of the way. He concluded with, "Then Smokey and I can hike back over and pick up the jeep…"

"Wait a minute! You don't plan to bring him, do you?"

"Why not? He's was a trained working dog, once. He's good security."

"Smokey?" Queried Chessec.

"The dog. You know, the one whose smell is everywhere in this house. He was locked up last time you were here."

"I'd better meet him first. I don't always make a great first impression on canines."

Roger thought about that and stood up. "I'll go get him. He's pretty friendly." He left again.

I scooted across the couch and put my arm around Chessec. "I'll hold him back if he gets aggressive. Smokey and I shared a room once when I was unemployed. I'm sure he'll get along with you as well as Hobo does."

She looked doubtful. "How big a dog is this?" At that point Roger opened the basement door and one hundred pounds of black and tan shepherd burst into the room. He ran straight up to me and was about to jump in my lap, when he caught sight and scent of Chessec. He stopped, almost on point like a retriever. I grabbed his collar and half sat next to him. He began to curl his lip for a growl. Roger and I both disciplined him, told him to sit, then massaged his ears. His growl became more of a whine. I stroked him slowly and calmed him.

"He's just a bit bigger than Hobo, isn't he," said Chessec, looking up at him. She slowly extended her paw to his nose. He whined some more, then decided to lick it. She avoided eye contact, her own head down, until he was comfortable. She said in a quiet voice, "Roger, this is a very, very big dog. He's not been neutered, I see." Roger blushed.

"Will he be too much of a problem to control?," I asked.

"You're his Alpha male, he's your problem. I'll just have to be careful, watch my backside, as it were." She stepped down off the couch. "OK, let him go. Let's see how this plays out."

Roger and I stopped petting him, then released our hold on him. Chessec called him over, then told him firmly to sit. He obeyed, but whined noisily. She cupped her paw under his chin, extended her claws and looked him straight in the eye, telling him to lay down. He tried to paw her shoulder, but as she pricked his skin with her own much sharper claws, he finally lay on his belly and whined. She petted his head, saying 'stay' and 'good dog'. We all began breathing again. We sat back down at the table to continue planning and final preparations.

Roger looked thoughtful, then asked, "Dave, one question: How far will you go to save your pilot?" I knew what he meant.

"Roger, Mitzep is family. I hope we can avoid using deadly force, but if it comes down to a choice, he comes first. I expect to have to disable some government vehicles, but I hope it won't come to any more than that."

"OK, I'm glad you told me. That makes my packing list easier, too. Do you need any ordnance?"

"No. I'm bringing a carbine-length rifle and mace only. Nothing overtly illegal. Do you have any flash-bangs or smoke?"

"Sure. I'll bring them, my pistol, and the long-gun. Mace sounds good. We'd better get some sleep, it's going to be a long day tomorrow."

Next day, we all piled into my jeep and headed up into the mountains. Roger and I rode in front (leg room), while Chessec and Smokey shared the back seat. The dog were full of the excitement of the trip and eagerly stuck his nose out the window. Down the middle of the jeep were the gun cases for the rifles. Roger's 'long gun' was an SSG sniper rifle in .338. He had been a police counter-sniper and later an Air Force working dog handler before marrying my sister, and we had been target shooting together on many occasions. I planned to use those skills, and place him in a distant vantage point to provide cover as we approached the mine. I would provide close-in security with my carbine. I knew Chessec carried a tranquilizer dart projector with a ten yard range. I hoped she would be the only one who had to shoot.

By noon we had reached the entrance to the Great Sand Dunes Monument. After paying our fees and receiving the traditional warning to keep the dogs on a leash, we drove on in. I noticed an army R-292 antenna staked out behind the ranger station, but nothing else out of the ordinary. We stopped briefly to fill our canteens, then took off up the 4wd road that was the back entrance to the park. By sunset, we had climbed up to the campground at the top of the ridge, where we made camp for the night. While we worked, and Smokey sniffed out ground squirrels, Chessec scouted up the ridge trail. By the time she returned, supper was ready, our tents were pitched, and we were sitting around a small fire. She pointed out what she had seen on the map.

"I went another mile up the trail, and climbed a tree that had a good view along the ridge. I saw four different campfires. One on the far side of the alpine meadow we cross three miles up the trail, and the others scattered across the main valley floor. Only one of them matches a regular forest service campsite. So someone is out there, tonight." She stopped talking to eat some fried fish. (Store bought frozen trout.) "Good food. Obviously you didn't cook this, Dave."

"I resent that. But you are right. Roger there did it, as well as the peach cobbler that you can't have any of." She tilted her head and batted her eyelashes at him.

"I'm sure he won't let me starve, you cruel thing."

While we had the use of the vehicle' battery, I fired up my scanners and checked the airwaves for traffic. An unknown base station was conducting hourly radio checks in the military VHF band, but nothing else out of the ordinary. Finally, I shut it off and joined Chessec in our tent. The air was chilled at that altitude, and I was glad to share my big sleeping bag with a warm, breathing fur coat. I slept soundly, waking only once when the coyotes greeted the newly risen moon by howling. Smokey whined, and Chessec stirred in my arms but did not wake.

Next morning, we broke camp and stored away the heavy tents and gear in the jeep. We would be sleeping in poncho liners and making cold camps for the next day or two. Roger and I unpacked and checked our. Attaching Smokey to a fifty foot lead, we started off up the trail. Both the humans were wearing light day packs, while the canines both had panniers, although Chessec's had her holster and radio hidden under the flap. We made a quick commo check, and she took off ahead of us.

By mid-morning we had climbed to ten thousand feet, and were following the ridge trail through a series of glacial bowls and high meadows. There was still a considerable amount of snow in the shadows. Chessec called on the radio:

"Dave, there is something going on in the next meadow. Doesn't look like trouble, but you had all better join me up here. I can't go on until you get here."

"What's the problem?"

"It's a sheep camp. The shepherds would probably shoot a strange dog on sight."

"OK. Anything else?"

"Not right now."

We picked up the pace, and met up with her on the edge of a large meadow, filled with sheep. On the far side was a small travel trailer, and a man was sitting on a bench near it. I walked up to Chessec's observation post on a small promitory, thinking of an old cartoon scene involving a wolf and a sheep dog.

I whispered, "Did you remember to clock in?"

"Huh?"

"Sorry, inside joke. What have you got?"

"There are two different herds, one here and one in the next valley. One man and a dog are working this herd, two men and another dog are with the other. We'll have to go straight through, since the cliffs won't let us go around."

"We might as well do it. Can I have your leash?"

"How come you never wear the leash?"

"Discuss that with Marie. I've worn it before."

We moved down to the trail and rejoined Roger. I brought him up to date, and we took off across the meadow in tight formation, both dogs on short leads. As we got close to the flock, a large white fluffy dog burst out of it's midst, and charged Smokey. The shepherd whistled sharply and the dog sat, ears down and tongue out, between us and the herd. He rode up on a small pony, dismounting next to the dog. I said hello, and he replied in heavily accented Spanish. Roger spoke a few sentences, but he seemed not to understand. Finally, he said something in an unfamiliar language and waved, so we waved back and continued through the meadow to the other side.

"Basque," Roger said. "There are about a thousand herdsmen in the state, but you almost never see them in town."

Once well out of sight, Chessec unclipped her collar and stowed it in her pannier. We all ate a cold lunch and then she resumed the lead. We were descending into the pine forest now, and the air was getting warmer. We had one more ridge to cross before reaching the mine. Suddenly the squelch on my radio hissed twice, followed by a single hiss.

"Roger, she's spotted something close. Move off parallel to the trail about two hundred yards, and see if we can get closer. Listen to your radio, she'll tell us what she's up against once it is safe to talk." He nodded and we moved out, him removing the shock-proof cover from his rifle scope. He pulled the radio ear piece out of his shirt pocket.

I walked at a cautious pace along the trail, rifle at sling arms, looking innocent, waiting for word. Finally, after ten nervous minutes, Chessec spoke.

"Patrol passing through the trail junction down here by the creek. Four military, one law enforcement. No dogs or special sensors. One radio, one rifle, the rest pistols. They're heading downstream away from us."

"Do you see any tracks besides theirs?"

"Yes. Older ones. You'll have to look for yourself. Dave, I'm going down the trail behind then to see if they turn off. I'll signal if they stop. Keep going. I'll meet you where we decided to camp at sunset."

I called Roger back to the trail. We moved out. When we reached the trail junction, I looked at the boot tracks. The patrol which had just passed were all wearing the new-style combat boots, in contrast to the old-style jungle boots we were both wearing. It looked like that patrol or a similar group had been past there on the main trail before. The side trail, the one we were using, had some tracks, but none were current. We moved out again, paying closer attention to where we stepped. After another mile, the trail climbed the next ridge.

When we reached the treeline, I called a halt. "Roger, if you wanted a campsite that was hidden from view, but had a long view itself near here, where would you put it?"

He looked around, thought for a moment, then said, "How about in that clump of firs up there. See that small ravine? I bet we could follow it right up to it."

"Fine. Lead on, but take it slow." He took off, and I we followed. He had made a good choice. We dropped our packs in a small hollow between the firs and a rock pile. By crawling under the firs, we could remain hidden while scanning the entire valley we had just traversed. While he did just that, using his scope, I called Chessec on the radio.

"Chessec this is Dave. Are you clear?"

"Yeah, Dave. I found their base camp. I'm coming back up the trail right now. Give me directions when you see me."

"Roger. Break. Mitzep, can you hear me?" I thought struck me. We were almost over the ridge now, and maybe I'd get lucky. "Repeat. Mitzep, this is Dave. Can you hear me?" Silence. Oh, well. Worth a shot. We spent the rest of the afternoon taking turns watching for patrols, but didn't see anything.

Chessec reached the treeline at sunset, and Roger guided her up to our roost. While we had a cold dried meal and some hot chocolate heated with a heat tab, she told us that she had followed the patrol down to a forest access trail, where a small camp was set up. She counted four ten-man canvas tents, one with a radio base station. There was a helicopter landing pad marked out in the adjacent clearing. She estimated that about twenty people could stay at the camp at one time, but that only the patrol plus two others were present. We decided that they probably would not notice us enroute to the mine, but that the withdrawal would be tricky. We rested until ten PM, then moved out.

The bare rocky scree above the timberline made foot placement tricky, but we had only a few hundred yards to go to the pass. Chessec, with her superior night vision led the way. We went slowly, trading care and silence for speed. By eleven-thirty, we had crossed the ridge and could see the mine below us. I called Mitzep again.

"Mitzep, come in." We had previously arranged for him to start listening no later than eleven. He answered at once.

"Mitzep here." He sounded loud and clear.

"Dave here. Will you be ready?"

"Right. We're waiting for you now. It's all quiet here."

OK, we'll be there shortly. Out."

We angled our way across the slope to a point immediately below a snow field three hundred-fifty yards above the mine. I signaled Roger into position behind a rock pile, and dropped Chessec's pannier and my pack with then, leaving only the thruster, a spare magazine, smoke grenade and flashbang in my jacket pockets. I put my radio in the pocket of my inner shirt. As Chessec and I continued down the hill, I whispered to Roger:

"Cover us, and be sure watch out for helicopters. Remember, they might have a FLIR, and most certainly will have night vision." Once the ship takes off, It's probably safer to wait here until just before sunrise, then shift back to our last rally point. If I don't meet you there by sunset, take the jeep and go on home. Good luck!"

"You take care yourself, Dave. Remember, you promised me a ride in that ship some day. Don't let them capture it, or your friends."

Chessec and I moved out down the hill. At the old shaft head, we paused and I held absolutely still while Chessec smelled and listened, her nose raised and ears turning like radar antennae.

"I think it's the two of them. I definitely smell Mitzep, and I hear a horse down in the valley. Possibly a human."

"Let's go. I hope it's Jena." I unslung my rifle and unfolded the stock. Chessec took her tranquilizer gun and charged it. She led, staying low to the ground. I followed, looking from side to side, wishing I could see into the deeper shadows. We pressed ourselves against the side of the engine shed that Mitzep had described. Chessec whistled, at a pitch that I could barely hear. I assume Mitzep answered, because she said,

"It's safe. Come on in." She ducked around the corner and entered the building. Inside, I could faintly see the shuttle. Jena was sitting in the entry hatch with an old single shot break-open shotgun across her lap. I hear a sound from behind me, and Mitzep shifted into view from behind an old boiler.

"Glad you made it. I hope this part fits." I handed the thruster nozzle to Mitzep. "It will take about twenty minutes to install it. Then I need you to lead Jena back down to her pony, that'll take ten minutes. Five more for you to run up the hill, then I figure we'll lift off in thirty five minutes. I hope."

"Well you had better start, hadn't you. Chessec and I will stand guard outside the shed. Send Jena out when you're through." We went back out into the dark. The moon was rising, but had not yet crested the ridge. A snow-covered peak in the distance was lit, so our turn would come soon. I checked in with Roger.

"Anything?"

"All quiet," Roger answered. Fifteen minutes passed. Muffled clanks and some hammering from inside. Mitzep let out a few choice words in Diyim'yi. Twenty-five minutes.

"Dammit!" Mitzep swore loudly in English. "Dave, come in here. I need some muscle on this!"

I went inside and climbed up on the saucer next to him.

"It needs to seat this much farther." He held two claws about an eighth of an inch apart.

"Wait a second." I jumped down and grabbed a piece of timber. "Hold this against it and give me that wrench." I hammered it one blow at a time, finally seating the nozzle. I looked at my watch. Forty minutes. "I'm going outside. You two say your good-bye's, and I'll wait out there."

He sealed the access port and jumped down from the saucer. He and Jena sat on the steps together. I left. A few minutes later, Jena came outside. "We need to remove the tin sheets covering the entrance. He says it will take two minutes to preflight."

As we started pulling timbers and tin off the doorway, I heard the rising hum of the auxiliary systems starting on the shuttle. Mitzep keyed his radio, yelling over the increasing whine.

"I have ninety percent! That's good enough. Take Jena down to her horse!"

We started down the hill, Chessec leading, me following, holding Jena by the hand. When we were halfway down the slope, lights appeared, vehicles traveling toward us up the canyon. It was easily a hundred yards to the nearest cover.

"Everybody down! Freeze where you are." I pulled Jena to the ground, fumbling for my radio. "Roger, what do you see down there?"

"Looks like military. Two hummers, one a weapons carrier. Can't tell what he's got on the roof. Either a MK19 or an M-60. I've got a good angle from here. Do you want me to shoot?"

"No. Not unless they do first. Let me try to get us out of here. I'm not sure how well they see us yet." With the whine of the ship's engines, it wasn't long before they angled a searchlight up the hill. We were between them and the mine, so were silhouetted. I don't know what the soldiers thought they saw, but some yahoo opened fire with an M-16.

I grabbed my radio and called Roger. "Take out the truck, then get over the ridge. We're going out by air." I yelled to Mitzep, "We've got company! Can you carry four of us?"

Roger's first shot drowned out his reply as the tungsten-cored round pierced the hood and engine block of the lead hummer. The engine screamed briefly then died. His next two shots each hit a headlight. I could not see his muzzle flash, but decided to make a diversion in case someone else did.

"Chessec, help Jena into the ship. Both of you run! Tell Mitzep I'm right behind you and we're taking off as soon as the hatch closes."

I kneeled and fired five deliberate rounds at the front humvee, then ricocheted the rest of the magazine rapid fire off the second one, fifty meters behind it. My last round in each magazine is always tracer. I changed magazines, tossed a smoke grenade down slope, and took off running. Someone finally got the top hatch open began to return fire with an M-60. I grabbed another grenade out of each pocket, pulled the pins and threw them down slope behind me to cover our withdrawal. The 'sixty gunner started walking tracer up the hill above me. Rounds began hitting the tin walls of the shed, then I heard a woman scream. Probably Jena. Another loud rifle shot from above me. The machine gun fell silent.

I was still fifty yards from the door, and another brave soul must have been manning the machine gun. I felt a sharp pain in my upper body, and the impact threw me to the ground, stunned. I grabbed my radio, "Go now, I'm not going to make it in time." Mitzep must have fired up the main engines as soon as I said that, because a blast disintegrated the old building as he lifted through the violet colored smoke of my grenades.

I crawled off laterally along the slope, hoping nobody had a thermal sight. My vision was blurred, and I was on the edge of blacking out. I finally found the still open mine shaft, and began climbing down the ladder into the darkness.