Kanis remained a frontier world, very sparsely populated, lacking in vast reserves of natural resources that would attract settlers and industry. Most of the natives were ‘Rangers’, keeping vast herds of langies — indigenous beasts of vast size, sharp wit, and evil temper — in the high mountain plains. Langie wool was a luxury item throughout the Union, so high in demand that trade companies argued among themselves for a share of the limited market. The wool was so profitable that the animals were seldom slaughtered, although a good langie hide was nearly worth its weight in gold. ‘Ranging’ was a harsh life for the natives, but rewarding.
Velmeran brought his pack down in the port field — such as there was. Kallenes was the only port, and even it saw little traffic except in late spring when scores of company freighters would descend upon it for their share of the thousands of bales of langie wool brought in from the highlands. Otherwise there was one ship in port at most, importing machines and luxury goods the Kanians could well afford.
The main business district was near the port, for the convenience of the members of ship’s crew and for the rangers who came into port to sell their wool. The main part of the shopping, district was the Mall, several blocks of the port’s best shops and restaurants that had been enclosed under a protective roof. It made no pretensions toward the domed cities of the inner worlds, a crude frontier flattery of the wealth at the Union’s heart. A simple wooden platform on heavy posts stretched between the roofs of the buildings. No attempt was made to enclose a warm, comfortable environment beneath. It was meant only to keep away the worst of the local weather, the harsh winds and volumes of snow that fell more than half the year.
Indeed, there had been a serious attempt to preserve the frontier appearance within the Mall, for Kanis could afford better. The shop fronts were dressed out in rough-cut wood and large windows of framed glass, while the narrow streets were paved in brick, stone, and planks of seasoned wood. Velmeran was not certain just who the natives were trying to impress with this touristlike atmosphere where there were no tourists, although his own suspicion was that they simply preferred things this way.
Velmeran first took his pack to a local jeweler, where they could sell the pieces of jewelry they received as pay for local money. Their business concluded, he dismissed his pilots to enjoy their port leave as they desired. The Mall was large enough to swallow up an entire ship’s portion of pilots so well that a glimpse of black armor became rare, and he wanted to be alone. Or so he thought, until he looked around and wondered what he was actually going to do with his port leave. If this was how he proposed to spend what might be the last days of his life, he would be better off to return to the ship, retire to his cabin, and read Shakespeare. Or Kipling, for all the good this did him.
Still pondering this problem, Velmeran began to walk slowly down the street, peering inside each shop as he passed. There were few people in the narrow streets; with winter coming, the rangers had long since returned to the highlands. Even beneath the protective canopy, the morning air was sharply frigid. After only a moment he came upon a tailor’s shop, an oddity that was more than enough to distract him. He knew what a tailor was, but he had thought that such an occupation had long since ceased to exist.
What captivated his interest even more was the fact that the tailor was a Feldennye, for that defied all reason. The Feldennye were a canine race, in appearance not unlike large wolves walking on their hind legs. Since they wore no clothes except for their own natural fur coats, it was unimaginable that one would choose such a profession. The Feldennye saw his staring and hurried to open the door.
“Is there something I can do for you?” he asked eagerly in a thick accent that indicated that he had come from a Feldenneh colony.
“Surely not, I suppose,” Velmeran replied. “I could wear nothing of yours.”
“Oh, there you are wrong!” the tailor insisted, surprising Velmeran again by taking him by the hand and pulling him into the shop. No one dared to touch a Starwolf, but Velmeran was so bemused that he went along willingly.
The interior of the shop was in keeping with the rustic appearance of the Mall. The floor was crude wooden planks and the interior walls were paneled with polished wood. The lights overhead hung from iron chains and the counter and other furnishings were constructed from real wood. But there was nothing simple about the merchant’s wares. Velmeran saw from the first that, while the tailor might undertake special orders here in his shop, he sold for the most part the very best this world had to offer. Most of the clothes were of the extreme of the local fashion, almost a native costume. The rest were less distinctive, reflecting off-world tastes.
“It happened that I was approached by a Starwolf several months ago,” the tailor explained as he stopped before a small rack in a remote corner of the room. “He asked me for clothes, shirt and pants, such as he could wear on port leave. I made him a set, all very fine, and he was most pleased. Then I made another, thinking that he or another might come back.
“I am a merchant, Starlord, and I cannot afford to have clothes on my rack that I cannot sell. And when I saw you, I thought that you might be tall enough to wear those clothes. Of the tags that you see, you may take away half.”
“That is generous,” Velmeran agreed. “But I do not know what I would do with such clothes.”
“Ah, but look at these!” the tailor declared proudly as he pulled the tunic and pants from the rack. The tunic was soft velvet, the pants of some hardier material that Velmeran did not recognize. Both had been dyed to a color that matched perfectly, a violet so deep that it graduated into black in the shadows of the folds.
“Surely you do not have clothes such as these,” the tailor insisted. “These are real clothes, not the armored suits that you hide yourselves in or the half-uniforms that I see. Surely there are times when you are not a Starwolf, just yourself. Clothes like these would be for such times.”
This furry merchant knew all the right words, Velmeran had to admit. His own thoughts were on the photograph that Mayelna had shown him, how easy it really was to make a Kelvessan into something that might just pass as human. The old fantasy, so long pushed aside for more important matters, began to stir. Just once in his life, even for only a very short time, he would like to pretend.
“Try it on, at least,” the tailor urged, his eyes seeming to glow with hope. “If it does not fit, that question at least is answered.”
Unfortunately, it fit perfectly. The tailor must have known, judging with an experienced eye that had not been confounded by armor. And he must have known as well that, once inside those clothes, his client would not be able to part with them. Velmeran emerged from the changing room, looking for a mirror.
That did not show him anything that he had not seen before; it was still Velmeran, even if the clothes were richer than he had ever known. But the costume was not yet complete. The tailor came up with a pair of low half- boots, having trouble finding a pair small enough, and a matching belt. A dress cape, deep black, was wrapped around his upper shoulders and hung down just below his rump. Since the main part of his body was rather small for his height, it was too large for him. He folded his lower arms behind his back, adjusting the folds of the cape to hide them.
“Ah, good!” the tailor crowed with delight as he beheld the vision. “You would play at being human? It is often done, and no one knows but me.”
“I had considered it,” Velmeran admitted cautiously, wondering if he really did dare to do such a thing. “I will have to do something about my ears. Do you have a hat?”
“No, not the type you would need.” The Feldennye paused a moment to consider the problem. “I think that braids would look best on you anyway.”
“Braids?”
“Yes, let me show.” Taking a brush, he parted Velmeran’s long, thick hair down the middle and deftly tied it on either side into thick, loose braids. Gold clips from under the counter tied off the ends, with the last ten centimeters left free and brushed into thick, plushy tufts. His heavy bangs, too short to be brought into the braids, remained in front. Although the braiding started low, it still brought a thick curtain of hair down over each of his ears. Velmeran rather liked the effect, lending him a rather handsome barbarian look. The Feldennye obviously knew what he was doing.
“This will do for you,” the tailor said. “Everything else you wear will be the same half off, because you are a Starwolf. Also, I have a little closet in back that I keep for Starwolves. You may put your armor inside, lock the door, and keep the key until you return. Is that fair?”
In the end he did as the tailor suggested, leaving his armor locked in the closet while he went out into the city wearing his new clothes. And he would not have been less ill at ease if he had been naked, since that was exactly how he felt. He still wore both his guns, hidden beneath his cape, but he was without the protection of his armor. He could only think how every loyal Unioner wished him dead, and a few would be willing to try their best at
