Even though Galen wasn't able to write him new "ownership papers" anymore - and Burke couldn't say that he was too sorry about that - he could still send him around town for errands, including into the human ghetto, because a grocery list for herbs and concoctions didn't need to be written on a fancy scroll.

The chimp could have come out with that information a bit sooner... would've saved Burke the effort of climbing over walls and outrunning the town guard. But maybe Galen had needed that incentive. "I know you'll go there anyway," he had remarked when he handed Burke the list for the healer. "I simply prefer not having to collect you from the watch house every day."

"Thanks anyway," Burke had muttered. Every time he settled on Galen being a stuck up, upperclass, arrogant sonofa... the ape turned around and surprised him with an act of seemingly genuine decency - only to undercut it with some dry remark that turned the act into one of self-interest again. Burke just couldn't figure him out.

"I don't have any experience with this kind of head injury," Galen had said. "But if I may still give you a piece of advice - don't try to force Alan to remember. I don't think he'll react well to pressure. You know how stubborn he is... he'll just dig his heels in."

Burke snorted softly. Galen would know all about digging one's heels in - in his own way, the ape was as stubborn as Virdon, though the colonel wasn't as prone to nursing a grudge.

An' good thing he isn't, or I'd never have heard the end of it after setting off Jonesy...

Thinking back to that last day on the ship now felt strange. Burke could still call up the layout of the Icarus, the blinking displays of the computers on the bridge, Jones' tantrum after he discovered that Burke had rigged the bike in the gym...

But those memories didn't feel real anymore. They weren't solid, like checking shoulders with the humans in the streets of Chubla felt solid, or that trembling rage simmering in his gut while he waited for the chimp to check his papers at the gate to the human ghetto.

We've already been here for too long, Al...

The thought slowed his step; Burke gazed at the low-crouching houses, the tiny windows, the humans in their coarse clothes, with a sudden awe. This is real, and the other thing isn't. Not anymore.

Maybe you made the right decision when you got rid of those memories, Al. I dunno... maybe you got it right this time, an' I shouldn't mess with it... the way I messed up with Jones.

But what kind of life would that be? Virdon wouldn't be a man anymore - not even a slave. He'd be that chimp's pet. An animal...

You ain't no animal, Al. An' I'll make sure you'll remember that.

This time, he knocked at the front door like a well-behaved servant. He clasped his hands behind his back and bobbed on his feet as quick steps approached behind the door, and put on his most charming smile when it opened. "Evening, ma'am..."

"Your friend isn't here anymore," the woman cut him short. "Master Ennis took him to his father's estate, after you frightened the daylights out of both of them."

Burke sniffed and threw a quick glance down the street to mask his dismay at the news. "Wasn't my intention," he muttered.

The woman raised a brow. "What was your intention when you climbed the back wall to my garden?"

Burke ducked his head. "There was a chimp at your front door..."

"So you figured that since he wouldn't let you in, you'd find another way."

Burke smirked. "Yeah."

The woman's lips twitched, although she managed to keep a straight face. "Well, as I said... he's not here anymore."

So maybe Virdon didn't sleep in her house anymore, but Burke bet that the woman was still tasked with bringing him his teas and exchanging his poultices... or whatever a healer did in these cases. She would be in regular contact with Virdon.

"Yeah, that's... damn bad luck," he said. "'Cause he's my friend, you know? We've been through a lot together... But actually, I'm here to buy some herbs for... for Dr. Kova." He couldn't say the word. One would think the whole 'master this and that' business would get easier with time, but for him, it got worse.

He quickly pulled Galen's list from the inside pouch of his vest, and handed it to her. The healer scanned it, nodded once or twice, and handed it back to him.

"Most of the herbs on this list I have in stock," she said, "and the rest I can get in a few days."

"No problem," Burke smiled. "I don't mind coming back here." He deepened his smile as he held her gaze. She was quite pretty - paler skin than most people here, and jet black hair. Maybe distant Asian ancestry? From what Galen had said, mankind had put aside ethnic concerns for the greater good of species survival for a time, so there probably was everything else mixed in, as well. She reminded him a bit of the healer in the fever-stricken village back in the southern swamps - or maybe it was just because they shared the same profession. The same professional serenity making them appear similar.

They had entered the apothecary room of the house while he leisurely followed that train of thought; Burke casually leaned against the door frame with folded arms, and watched as the healer filled the requested herbs into cone-shaped paper bags, closed them with a neat fold, and scribbled something in the apes' paw-script on them.

"I knew a healer, down South," he remarked. "She almost convinced my friend to marry her."

The woman didn't look up; she was folding another cornet closed. "He turned her down?"

"He's already married." Burke inspected his fingernails. "Has a son and a baby daughter back home."

The movement in his peripheral vision stilled; Burke flicked a glance in the healer's direction and saw that she was staring at him with an unreadable expression. He raised his chin a bit, fully meeting her gaze.

"'Course, he's forgotten them now," he said, keeping his voice casual. "Maybe I should send word south, tell her to take another stab at marriage. Who knows, maybe they'll make some cute cubs for Master Ennis."

The healer resumed her task without uttering a word.

"That healer learned her stuff from the old village witch," Burke broke the silence after a moment. "'s far as I could tell, neither of them could read or write. Few humans can. Where did you learn it?"

"My master taught me." The healer scooped the cornets into a basket and handed it to him. "So that I could take orders from the simian doctors, too."

Burke made no move to take the basket. "So how does this work? My... master is paying your master?"

"Yes." She gestured at the basket. "I've enclosed the bill."

"And you get a share?" He took the basket; no need to annoy her.

She looked at him with a slight frown and a smile. "Me? I get this here." She gestured at the house. "I can live by myself, work at my own schedule, accept human patients... and they pay me with food and useful things..."

But no money. Still, Burke supposed she had struck a better deal than most humans in this world. No wonder she was so mellow about the whole situation.

"Seems fair," he murmured. "When can I come by for the rest of that stuff on the list?"

"Two days, I think - I should have everything by then." She smiled at him, and Burke forced himself to return it. He needed to stay friendly with this woman - she was his ticket to meeting Virdon, eventually.

She accompanied him to the door. "Well, see ya in two days then," Burke said.

"I look forward to it." Her smile became more sincere. "I'm Laisa - I'm sorry, I'm normally not that rude..."

Burke didn't feel like making one of his usual jokes about women routinely forgetting everything including their names at the sight of him. He merely dipped his head. "Danny. Have a quiet day - I know how hectic it can get for healers..."

"Then you should know that wishing us a quiet day is bad luck," she called after him.

He flicked a grin to her over his shoulder, but didn't break his stride. He'd drop his grocery basket at the inn and then...

... no idea. Maybe have a run along that damned river. He urgently needed to let off some steam. It was still an hour or two until sundown. And running was better than finding a fight, here.

Running and fighting. It was as if his whole life had been reduced to that.

An' here I thought I'd escaped that when I got accepted to flight school. Guess I never got out of Jersey City. Not really. It just changed costume.

And now it was just him again. Only him.


The mornings were the best part of the day - silent, peaceful, just him and the silvery light of the low winter sun through the window, glinting on the blade of his carving knife, his fingers throwing small shadows on the piece of wood in his hands. Right now, it still looked like a slice from a branch; one could still feel the tree it had been a part of - the endless sky above it, the wind ruffling its leaves, the sap coursing silently through its veins. Did trees have veins? Or were these tiny canals called something else? He couldn't remember.

But that didn't matter.

Soon, this piece of wood would have forgotten that it had once been a tree. It would become a cog wheel - something new, something useful.

The door burst open all of a sudden, and Master Ennis came rushing in, the metallic smell of winter fog and woodfires clinging to his fur. "Ooh, what's this? A new machine?"

Taris looked up with a smile. Yes, mornings were best, with their blissful silence and calm, but the afternoons were good in a different way, spiked with Master Ennis' energy and enthusiasm. The young master kept Taris' thoughts from wandering down strange and somber paths, a tendency that got stronger the later the day grew.

"A part of a machine, yes," he said, and held the piece up for inspection. "I haven't gotten far with it yet, so it's not quite visible what it'll become."

"I can wait," Ennis declared, and threw his bag on the table. Something clacked, and the young ape flinched. "Oi! I hope that wasn't the ink pot..." He dug into the the bag to save his scrolls from being doused with ink, and Taris bent down to scoop up the scrolls that had tumbled to the floor during that maneuver.

He grabbed the edge of the table and blinked when he came up again. His head was still not quite right and reacted with a sharp pain and dizziness to all sudden changes of position.

Ennis took the scrolls from his hand. "You mustn't dive for the scrolls, Tir. Your head is still sore."

"I... forgot for a moment," Taris murmured. "It doesn't hurt anymore, only when I make sudden moves..."

"Well, then don't make them." Ennis flopped down on his bed and reached for the bowl of apples on his nightstand. "I want to go hiking with you soon, I don't need you to hit your head again or something."

He bit into the apple with gusto. "How does that flying thing work that you made for me yesterday? It's just a wooden... bend. How does it even fly, and how in Cesar's name does it come back when you throw it? And does it have a name? What's it good for?"

So many questions... Taris settled for answering the easiest one. He limped to the bed and sat down beside Ennis, who had taken the toy from its shelf and was now turning it over in his hands. "See how it's shaped when you look at it from the side? One edge is rounded, and a bit thicker, and the opposite edge is flat and sharp. That's why it flies - the form gives it lift."

Ennis held the toy up at eye level and squinted along it. "But how?"

"The air moves more quickly over the top of the wing than along its bottom, because it has to go a longer way in the same time. And the quicker the flow, the lower the... the pressure."

Ennis frowned at him. "What pressure?"

Taris rubbed his forehead that was beginning to ache. How to explain this? "You like to walk along the river - do you also go swimming in summer?"

"Yes, but not in the river," Ennis nodded. "The water always flows too fast. There's a small lake to the East..."

"And do you just swim at the surface, or do you also swim underwater?" Taris interrupted him.

"I also swim underwater... why? What does that have to do with this... curve-wing... thing?"

"The deeper you go, the more pressure the water puts on you," Taris said. "You can feel that pressure in your ears. I just meant to say that everything can exert pressure, not just solid things. Water can put pressure on objects that are submerged in it, and so can air. You can't feel it, but it's there. And it's what makes a wing rise." He pointed to the toy in Ennis' hands. "The pressure on top of that wing is lower than under it, and as a result, the wing soars."

Ennis stared at him, then at the toy. "How do you know these things? Who taught you that?"

The headache was getting worse. Taris squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. "I, I... I can't remember. I'm sorry, Master Ennis."

"No, don't be sorry," Ennis murmured, still contemplating the toy in his lap. "I wish I could forget all the unimportant stuff, and just remember the important things, like you do." He drew a long, slow breath and turned away to put the 'bent-wing' back on the shelf. "It's really neat."

"Is there something in particular you wish to forget?" Taris asked cautiously.

"My mom." Ennis didn't look at him; he had begun to dig around in his school bag once more.

"If you want to talk about it..." Taris offered after a moment of silence.

"It's not important anyway," Ennis muttered, and dug deeper into his bag.

"If it makes you unhappy, it is important," Taris said. "And sometimes talking about it helps."

Ennis tossed his bag to the side with a deep sigh. "My mother ran away last year. She lives in the western prefecture now, with the prefect there. His name is Aboro. The baboon-ass. Father should've kicked him out of his prefecture, but he didn't. He said living with my mother wasn't a crime."

"That... I can understand that this makes you unhappy," Taris murmured after a moment of stunned silence. "You must miss your mother a lot."

"Yes..." For a while, Ennis said nothing, just picked at some invisible thread on his blanket.

"It's just... she never comes to visit," he murmured. "Or invites me to come visit her. Last year she sent me a letter for my birthday... but this year, she didn't." He looked up. "I found you on my birthday, you know? Everyone had forgotten about it, except for Zatis. I told him you're my birthday present from the Mothers."

Taris returned the boy's tiny smile and fought the urge to ruffle his fur; to engage in that kind of familiarity towards one's master just wasn't done. "I'm glad I could brighten your day by almost drowning," he joked.

"That's not how I meant it," Ennis protested with a snort.

"I know," Taris said, smiling. "I'm grateful for your taking care of me. I would've died on that shore if you hadn't found me."

Ennis opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, then just shook his head. "I just don't understand why she doesn't want to have anything to do with me anymore," he murmured, his momentary good mood gone again.

Taris wondered what he had actually wanted to say.

"She and my father fought a lot before she left," Ennis continued. "But she and I never fought, and I thought..."

"She still loves you," Taris tried to assure him. "Maybe she's still hurt by the fights with your father, and tries to forget... everything that happened back then."

"But it wasn't my fault..." Ennis protested, and before Taris could remind himself that touching his master was bad manners, he had reached out and had ruffled the boy's hair. Fortunately, the young master seemed to be too surprised to scold him for his faux pas.

"No, it's not your fault," Taris said. "And it's not fair of your mother to ignore you like that, but parents are just people, too, you know? They make mistakes, and they aren't always their best selves. But that says nothing about you, Ennis... Master Ennis. You're a good son, a good master. Never doubt that."

The boy smiled at him, and this time, the smile did linger. "And you're a good human. What are you working on now? What's that piece of wood for?"

"It's going to be a cog wheel," Taris said, and reached for the workpiece. "But the machine it'll go into is a surprise - you need to be patient for another day, if you can manage that..."

Before his master could protest, the door opened, and Zatis stuck his head in. "Time for your lesson, young man." He nodded at Taris. "The healer is here for Taris' appointment, so he won't have time to play with you anyway."

"I'll be here when you return, Master," Taris said cheerfully to the groaning boy. "Then I'll explain to you how the crooked wing returns to the thrower."

"Or maybe you can sit through the interpretation of Scroll 58, Verses 8-13 for me," Ennis moaned, and dragged his feet to the door. "I'll drink that tea of yours in exchange."

"The tea tastes horrible," Taris said with a smile. "I think reading those Scrolls is the better deal for you." He and Zatis exchanged an amused look. After a period of wary supervision, Zatis had obviously come to the conclusion that Taris wasn't a danger for his protégé; the old orangutan had even allowed him to have a carving knife so he could make toys for Ennis.

Zatis was the boy's tutor and something like a surrogate father, tasked with giving him lessons in subjects that the public school didn't provide - things like philosophy and history, and an introductory class on how to run a prefecture... or a district. Taris had no idea if he had just forgotten the details of how the apes handled their political and administrative succession, or if nobody had ever bothered to teach him these things in his former life; but somehow he had assumed that those positions weren't hereditary. Maybe he had been wrong... or maybe Ennis was just being groomed for a political career in general. So far, he hadn't shown much enthusiasm for it.

Taris' heart picked up a bit at the human entering the room after the apes had left. Laisa had assured him that they had never met before Ennis had dragged him across her threshold, but Taris could never shake that first, involuntary shiver of recognition when she came to visit him. It was the only time he fervently wished he could remember something - remember who she reminded him of, why her face, her slender form, her light steps, electrified him with their familiarity.

He felt attracted to her. Maybe it was as simple as that. But just as one didn't hug one's master, so one didn't desire one's healer. It was... It just wasn't done.

So he stayed where he was, perched on the edge of his master's bed, and tried to keep his face bland and relaxed. "Good afternoon, L... Laisa."

But then she smiled, "Hello, Taris. How are you feeling today?", and he found himself grinning back like a fool. I'm feeling great.

"Better. My head hurts a bit... but only when I try to remember things."

"That's probably because you tense up while you try." The healer opened the canister with his healing tea and peeked inside. "Don't try so hard, Taris. With time, the memories will come back on their own. I see you've been drinking your tea like a good patient." She flicked him a quick smile, and Taris valiantly fought down the urge to sit up even straighter at her praise.

"I don't try to force them. It's only when Master Ennis wants to know something... and I try to give him an answer..."

"Master Ennis knows that you're not trying to be wilful, Taris - you're not refusing to answer him, you sincerely don't remember. There's no reason to panic and grasp around for a memory to satisfy him." She came over to him and began to gently brush her hands over the bumps on his head, and Taris closed his eyes and focused on keeping his breathing even. Her fingers were cool from the wintry air outside. Cool and soothing, her touch more like a caress than an examination.

"The swellings are gone," she said, and the cool touch vanished. Taris opened his eyes and smiled up at her.

"Does that mean I don't need to drink that tea anymore?" he asked.

She quirked an eyebrow. "Is it really as horrible as you wanted to make Master Ennis believe?"

He laughed. "No, I just wanted to sweeten his Scroll lesson for him."

She quickly brushed her hand over his hair. "In that case, I forgive you. And yes, you need to drink that tea for some time yet. It's not just for your head, but for relieving the rest of your injuries, too."

He would have to throw half of it away again, so that she'd have to come back sooner.

"Your friend visited again," she said while she refilled the tea canister; the bitter scent of goldenseal and some unknown resin filled the room. "He was pretty devastated when I told him you were no longer lodging under my roof."

She was referring to the man who had jumped over the wall of her garden - the one who had called him by a different name. Taris felt his mouth go dry. He hadn't recognized the man, had just felt a sense of danger at the tension that had pulled the stranger's body taught like a drawn bow.

Or maybe that was the wrong comparison; the man had been more like the arrow on that bow, ready to come at him in a flash, a point of focused despair.

"I don't remember him," he just said.

"Well, he seems to remember you."

"That... doesn't change anything for me." The headache was back in full force.

Laisa straightened, and regarded him thoughtfully. "Isn't it at least possible that you knew him before? You don't deny that you've forgotten almost everything - so why not him, too? Does the name Dehni sound familiar?"

"No." Taris rose and wandered to the window, suddenly unable to sit still any longer. "And I don't... I'm not..." He drew a deep breath and propped his hands on the window sill, leaning heavily on it.

"I'm a brand-new man now. Whoever I was, the water washed it all away. I'm washed clean, I'm... I'm made new." He turned around to meet her gaze. "I want to stay that way."

She regarded him warily. "What are you running away from, Taris?"

"I don't know." He smiled, though he didn't feel like smiling anymore. "And maybe that's for the best."