First impressions are the most telling and, after fourteen hours on a military aircraft, Sylvia was ready for the worst. However, the flight crew was most attentive and the beds aboard allowed them to sleep while crossing the Great Western Sea, to the southern continent of Ardensa. Sunrise found them over Nyumba Dola's coastal deserts before turning southwest over vast jungle lands. The plane looped over the dark cerulean ocean as the thriving seaport of Cape Kasanga was ringed by sheltering mountains. When the hatch opened, Janet, Lucas and Rale dashed down the ladder, eager to see and smell this strange land. Sylvia found Nyumba Dola represented in the amicable smile of Thabo Mkufunzi, a junior diplomat with the Ministry of External Affairs. With his long ears and soft mahogany pelt, he could have been a gaunt, wiry cousin of Sylvia.

He waltz them through customs into the blazing sun, gave them a guided tour of the Cape, then delivered then to a luxurious seaside resort with a stunning night time view. Nothing seemed beyond his powers. Visits to the shopping bazaars and markets, meals in family restaurants, tours of the local game parks and gold refineries, a jaunt through the parliament buildings in Kwanzaaville were arranged with a single call.

There was a certain amount of culture shock, despite being treated like visiting dignitaries. Everywhere, there were pictographs and tribal signs that meant volumes to the locals but nothing to them. As the cultural elite had been educated abroad, the stores and media was a strange mix of northern goods and southern attitudes. Every story or action seemed to have an unexpected ending that required an explanation from Mr. Mkufunzi. One afternoon, Sylvia had the hotel call Asali's number. A recording said the number was no longer in service. A check with the police found her apartment had been emptied and given up.

As they shopped, ate, and toured their way north from the spectacular coastal rim into the lush agricultural plateaus, they stayed more often in the homes of local people. Many villagers had learned the Common Tongue in their district schools while Sylvia's children were rapidly picking up broken Nyumbian. Despite the land's amazing wealth, people put more value in sharing their family and tribal resources than building personal fortunes. Even the poorest citizen walked with dignity and spoke from a quiet pride. Sylvia often found herself with the other mothers around a pot of tea, happily discussing life and children. On the tenth day, she found herself sleeping in a huge treehouse in a towering baobab tree, under a blazing night sky. Her belly full of game roasted over a communal fire, her children snoring peacefully around her, she had to admit it was turning out to be the trip of a lifetime.

The next morning, Mr. Mkufunzi arrived in a loose cloak and a broad hat cut for his ears. He packed their growing number of bags into his four-wheel drive and drove north across the endless Djuma Savanna. For hours, they traveled through rolling oceans of emerald grass with islands of great branching trees and shallow ponds swollen from the afternoon torrents. Lucas and Rale excitedly pointed to every wild animal they saw, trying out the names in Common Tongue and Nyumbian. Janet purred, intoxicated at the scents blowing in the open windows.

"To be expected." Mkufunzi said quietly to Sylvia beside him, "The ancient texts call it 'mal d'Nyumba', a feeling that you have come home. A lot of people get it when they first visit the savanalands."

"Sound like something out of a tourist brochure." She smiled. The lanky long-ears cocked an eyebrow.

"Really? Does the sun over Happenstance blaze like the one above us? Does time and distance seem the same now as when you stepped off the plane? Do you find yourself wanting to linger, relish every colour and smell, or speak in whispers." He leaned closer. "Do you really feel like a stranger in a strange land?"

"You're good, Mr. Mkufunzi." She chuckled.

"Maybe." He shrugged, "I've heard several explanations for it, most too scientific for my tastes. My mother's tribe has a myth that Therion was once populated by two peoples. The first was Like-us-but-not-like-us who ran on four legs and thought with their hearts. The second, who came much later, was Not-like-us-but-like-us who strode on two legs and thought with their heads. Both peoples grew jealous of each other. The first group could feel the moving grass and the heartbeats hiding within them but the world was grey and without meaning. The other understood the world but could barely sense, much less, survive in it. One day, the Goddess blended the two groups, taking the best from each. To give her new people their day, she wipe away most of the first people and all of the second. The myth goes on to say that the first lands she gave to the new tribe was Nyumba Dola. That's why Nyumba Dola means 'Home Land'. The reason why you feel familiar here is because our first mothers walked here."

"Nice story."

"There are several versions, some quite poetic. Like all our tales, I suspect there is a grain of truth in it."

At noon, Mkufunzi stopped in the middle of trackless grasslands and carefully unpacked their belongings. Rather than setting out lunch or build a camp, he simply waved good-bye and drove off. Before they knew it, the four Slipsunders were standing in trackless wilderness, watching a fading cloud of dust.

"Hate to be a killjoy, Moma, but I think we've been abandoned." Lucas said.

"I think he's right." Janet said, gazing around, "Unless you're seeing something we're not."

"Don't start panicking, kids. I'm sure there is a explanation. May not be rational but there is one somewhere."

"Maybe they have it." Rale said, pointing north. The others looked in the direction of his arm. For an instant, they could only see brown and green foliage waving in the hot breeze. On a second look, they realized that hundreds of people were coming out of the tall fronds in a broad line that did not trample the foliage. At the front were children the same age as Rale. Teenagers and young hunters with glinting spears made up the flanks. The center group consisted of elders and tribal councilors in colourful tunics and wraps, adorned with jewelry, armbands and headdresses. Quietly, the crowd approached until the Slipsunders were within a tight ring of smiles and whispered conversation.

"Jambo, Bibi Slipsunder! Welcome everyone to our homeland!" said a massive lion dressed in an open knee-length robe of animal patterns and carrying an ornately carved staff. Sylvia recognized him for who he was. The resemblance around the eyes and broad nose was unmistakable. His Common Tongue accent was refined elegance, as if he had matriculated at Truenorth's finest university. "I'm Leander Mbaya, chief of the Konoepesi people."

"Pleased to meet you, Chief Mbaya. I was wondering when we going to meet."

"Our apologies for the delay but savanaland living is rougher than that urban life. We thought you should see us at our best before bringing you out here."

"Mbaya?" Janet said, "Are you related to Shaneika Mbaya?"

"I was her sire." He said impassively.

"Was?" Lucas said.

"She's dead to us. That's why you're here." he said, his voice resonant, "Come everyone, the village is just over that rise and you'll want to freshen up before tonight's ceremony." With lowered ears, Janet and Lucas exchanged glances. They were attending a funeral. It hit Lucas the hardest as he was almost waked himself. He nodded, realizing this was a rite of passage that would become more common as those he loved grew older.

The crowd murmured approvingly then surged forward to touch and greet their guests. Their numerous bags were gathered and everyone headed off in a boisterous charivari. From the heights, the village was a vast ring of round huts encircling a public area shaded by cool, fluttering tents. As they approached, those who had stayed behind hailed them from a distance. It was obvious that a major feast was being prepared. Each of their guests, even Rale, was shown to their own hut. Rather than mud and thatch, each dwelling had smooth decorated walls, passive air-conditioning, and plug-ins to the village LAN network. The colourful rugs and low furniture made it look like a Modern Housekeeping layout. Sylvia stood in the middle of the cozy apartment and laughed at her notion of what 'primitive' was.

The evening had a passive choreography, as if everyone instinctively knew his or her part in a complex ritual. Mats were laid in the enclosure or 'boma', bowls and platters of food set out, and a bullock was carefully roasted over a firepit. As the air filled with succulent flavours, villagers dressed in colourful wraps slowly found their place in the circle. From the surrounding field and forests came a trickle of strangers. Several were tall long-ears like Mkufunzi and black-faced canids resembling the Mabenga brothers. Some were small, stripped, hyperactive felines who contrasted with their tall, black-spotted cousins slinking along like emaciated models. There was every kind of imaginable horn from majestic corkscrews to short daggers.

Seated at the place of honour, the Slipsunders were entertained by villagers their own age but of the opposite sex. While Rale, Janet, and Lucas made new friends, Sylvia chatted with the village Chief and councilors. She found that the position rotated so that each person, a university professor, a barrister, an orthopedic surgeon, and a hydraulic engineer could spend their days in Jacaranda, the District Capital. After everyone seemed to be waiting patently for an hour, Sylvia decided to broach the subject.

"Chief Mbaya, I'm puzzled as to what is going on. You said we're here because Asali is dead but I don't see any body or ashes. Are your funerals strictly ceremonial?"

"Bibi Slipsunder, before I answer, let me ask you a question. Do you like my daughter? Be honest."

"Asali certainly has a winning personality..."

"But?"

"She used my children for a military purposes. One almost got killed. I don't trust her any further than I could throw her."

"Spoken as a true mother. Every sire wishes to have a huntress for a daughter. Asali is Konoepesi's best - our tribal name means 'swift-paw'. It be my misfortune that she hunts people, not game. " he rumbled, "Ah. It begins." Everyone fell silent but Sylvia could not see what had changed. She glanced over at Janet who stared out of the boma, her nose twitching.

A tall reddish-gold figure was walking down from the heights. It was naked except for a bow slung across her chest and a quiver of arrows. A gutted impala was draped over her shoulders in a feat of incredible strength. Sylvia was impressed, considering the last time she last saw the archer was in a Fairport hospital bed. When Asali got closer, the three harpoon wounds could be seen puckered under her blood-soaked pelt. No one noticed or acknowledged her presence as she staggered into the boma. It was as if she were wind spirit or a mere dust swirl on the plains. She walked before her father, dropping the impala on the ground with a resounding thud. He glanced down, as if seeing it for the first time.

"Mhuni! Jambazi!" he sneered, "Udhilifushuhudia." The rest of the villagers came to life, shouting and hurling curses. Some stood, giving shrill recitations with sweeping gestures while the crowd nodded in agreement. Asali stood impassively, her face a mask of misery. Two males broke from the assembly and violently struck her. She did nothing to protect herself, taking the blows across her tear-stained muzzle. Janet started to her feet but froze when Chief Mbaya pinned her with a silent snarl. From the crown, two females strode up, both obviously Asali's younger sisters. One spat in her face while the other knocked her into the dust with a violent cuff and a string of obscenities.

Asali struggled to her feet and pulled one of the arrows from her quiver. She ran the razor point across her chest over the heart, opening a line of blood. Pressing her palm against the would, she went over to her sisters and placed her hand against their breasts. She went in turn to every accuser, leaving a bloody handprint on their chests. As she did so, the assembly began chanting "Shaneika". Working her way around the circle, she finally arrived before Sylvia. The two females stared at each other across a gulf that Sylvia could only dimly understand.

"Samahani, Sylvia." Shaneika Mbaya asked, "I beg your forgiveness.". She reached out, gently pressing a sanguineous hand against the islander's nut-brown pelt. Sylvia gritted her teeth, staring at the lioness with stony eyes but she could not resist breaking into a broad smile. When she reached out and embraced the tall feline, the entire crowd broke into cheers of "Karibu, binti!" and "Shaneikalaki!". Asali's sisters swept her up by the arms and carried her into the huts while the food was passed out to the ringing harmonies of a communal song. Before long, the singing was replaced by the noisy sounds of eating.

"Be the food to your liking?" Chief Mbaya leaned over and asked Sylvia.

"Its different but delicious."

"The roast goat dish is called myama choma while the fried potatoes, corn, and beans is keineji."

"I recognize the rice pilau but what are these?" she asked of the wurst in her bowl.

"Mutura. Nyumbian sausages. Asali brought them from Cape Kasanga."

"Really tasty but not familiar. Do I want to know...?"

"What's in them?" He shrugged with a grin, "I've no idea."

"A question, Chief..."

"Please, call me Leander."

"Alright, has Asali returned to life?"

"Yes, Bibi Sylvia! My binti is forgiven!" He laughed aloud, "Now, eat up. You'll need your strength for the dancing tonight!"

He was true to his word. As the sky darkened to azure and stars covered the heavens, the lamps were lit and the mats cleared away. Group after group got up to dance until it dissolved into a joyous freeforall. Sylvia lay sated, watching Rale weave amongst the cavorting figures. Lucas had borrowed a headdress and spear and was shuffling in a warriors' chorus line while Janet was the odd-person in a jitterbug of skinny long-ears.

From the shadows, Aisha, Asali's sister, came silently and gestured for Sylvia to follow. She lead her into the savanaland, redolent with the smell of flowers and the freshening coolness. At a cleft of trees, she pointed Sylvia towards a lamp-lit tent half-hidden in the towering grasses beside a creek. When Sylvia lifted the flap, she found a newly washed Asali slumbering lightly on a mat, her chest neatly bandaged. An empty bowl of food sat beside a winking satellite uplink while her quiver rested atop of a crisp uniform.

"Would have thought you'd be in the thick of the dancing."

"I wish." Asali replied, opening her brown eyes, "The purification ceremony demands I return with the morning sun. Listening to everyone enjoying themselves at my expense is the final trial. Not even you should be here."

"You never played by the rules in your life."

"No, I haven't." she smirked, offering a thick sleeping pad to sit on, "I've always gotten ahead by being more cunning than my opponents. Unfortunately, that includes just about anyone I know."

"Do you have any friends?"

"There's a lot of people that owe me favours, money, lives." She shrugged, "But you didn't come 12,000 kilometers to ask how I spend my evenings."

"No, I came to satisfy my curiosity. If I was the head of an intelligence agency chasing traitors who had used the local citizenry to steal military hardware, I'd want to question them. Especially, when one of the locals almost got killed. So far, no one's even emailed me." Sylvia said cynically, "So, are you really a traitor?"

"No, yes, maybe." She sighed, slowly sitting up. "Technically, I am and must remain so for several more months. That's why I'm hiding in my village. Nobody can come within a thousand kilometer of here without my knowing. No attack would never reach me. The only way either side can find me is by satellite. Only Roger Greentree has the de-scrambling codes for that up-link. He's busy sending out agents on my orders so the other side will think we're desperately trying to get that board back.."

"On the other hand, you brought me here."

"You've earned the truth. You can also keep a secret."

"So tell me what happened last summer?"

"Do you do crossword puzzles?"

"Haven't got the time. Goddess knows plenty of our guests do."

"Exactly. Takes the average person 45 minutes to do the crossword puzzle posted daily on the Truenorth Expositor Worldnet site. Every day, over 12 million people download or print it out. That's 9 million hours or over a thousand work-years is wasted each day in placing words on paper! What an incredible squandering of energy and thought! So is that circuit board that everyone was so desperate to get."

"What do you mean? Doesn't it work?"

"I was asked to plan an operation at would cripple our opposition for decades to come. So I spent a million dollars designing an electronic puzzle with thousands of logic loops controlled by a state-of-the-art AI unit. It contains every dead-end decryption technology from the last fifty years plus dozens of unsolvable processing puzzles. Then I designed phony Worldnet sites for every security operation not under BlackOp coverage to make that unit seem like it actually worked. Our engineers and encoders almost went insane creating that board. Goddess help the geniuses on the other side who will waste the next decade trying to unravel its tricks." She said, with a cold smile, "But that was only half the operation. I had to make them need that board. Need it so badly that they would not only believe the lie of an all-powerful decryption unit but that they would waste their best people trying to get it."

"So you put it on the Firetail and let them steal it."

"Too obvious. I wanted them to be drooling for it. So I stole the unit from those who wanted it stolen in the first place."

"What do you mean?"

"In the intelligence game, nothing is more valuable than a found spy. If they are weak-willed, you use blackmail or thumbscrews to make them double-agents. If they are cunning, you feed them lies. If they are cunning and highly-placed, you recruit them to work for your side."

"You mean Captain Bushrunner really was a spy?"

"Along with a dozen others known to Admiral Freer of Truenorth intelligence. I 'recruited' Bushrunner into my phony spy ring, giving him more access than he could imagine. Then I placed the prize of the century on his ship. The problem for the other side was that whoever stole the unit would blow their cover. This is where it got tricky. One of the spies we knew about was Geoffrey Greentree. The idea that a Nyumbian would turn against his own people marked him as expendable. His cousin, Roger, is a captain under my command and is totally loyal. When he learned his cousin had turned, he agreed to be my decoy."

"Let me guess. You knew Geoffrey was a traitor but didn't go near him so everyone would think he was still working for your side. On the other hand, you 'recruited' his brother, using him as a proof that you had turned yourself."

"Exactly. We spend months passing once-sensitive information through Roger to prove both of our covers. Meanwhile, we made sure Geoffrey slaved in the darkness and never got near his supposedly bent sibling." She said, "I needed to get the unit off the Firetail with no loss of life but in such a way that it seemed legit. So, Roger was hidden aboard by Bushrunner until the ship was on regular duty. At the right moment, he jumped into the wild blue with the unit under his arm."

"Loosing it in the middle of Fairport Strait?"

"On purpose. I needed to keep the number of people involved small so everyone could be manipulated. I also made sure Geoffrey was in the neighbourhood. Long as he was there, the other side couldn't send anyone else in. He knew from seeing the Mabenga brothers' boat where the unit was and that that only way he could get it was to wait until we revealed it's exact location."

"Having my loose-lipped son aboard made sure he knew that in spades."

"Yes, but that wasn't enough. To make the other side desperate, I had Roger hint that Asali was going into business for herself. That I'd keep the unit and sell it to the highest bidder. Knowing that every industrial conglomerate and well-heel terrorist would be offering me billions for it... well, grabbing Lucas wasn't supposed to happen. In that, I failed."

"You also saved him. If it hadn't been for Sebastian..."

"No, Sylvia. I risked your young. I'd become as obsessed as my prey." She said, hunching her shoulders. Staring at the mat, she spoke in a soft, low voice. "You see that uniform? Because of my success, I've been promoted to lieutenant-colonel." Sylvia went to congratulate her but Asali quieted her with a gesture.

"That means nothing to my village. When I was twelve springs, my brother, Bheki, and I caught rubella. It happened during the Unrest and three days passed before they could get us to a hospital. By then, we were both in comas. Bheki died, never waking. My mother never got over that. I survived, making a complete recovery. Complete except for the fact I can never have children.

I know what you're going to say. Being female is more than plumbing. I should be happy with what I've achieved. Maybe but I'll never be what you are, Bibi Sylvia. I'll never be called mother. That means something in this village. It means I could be a general and still be incomplete."

"Motherhood's not what its cracked up to be."

"Nothing ever is." She shrugged, "You asked if I had friends. I'm hoping you'll not only forgive me but that you'll be one." Sylvia's ears went flat. In carefree Happenstance, this conversation would not have a confessional tone. Surrounded by a plentitude of children, sterility and adoption were minor inconveniences in the Islands. She had had two surrogate children and thought nothing of it. An offer of friendship was another matter. It was a serious pledge resulting a union of clans. Sylvia was uneasy at what the big lioness' offer involved.

"Does this require swapping blood?" she asked, involuntarily touching the dried handprint on her pelt. Asali leaned back and laughed, her fangs shining in the lamplight.

"No." she said, her voice purring. Sylvia sucked her buckteeth. The huntress scent was suddenly heavy in the air. Her hackles tingled and her blood sang in her ears from some nameless excitement.

"Aw, hell." She said, extending a hand, "Friends." Asali grabbed her fingers, smoothly pulling her close and pressed her lips against islander's muzzle. Sylvia didn't protest when she felt the steel in those embracing arms.

"Thank you." Asali grinned, "We be shoga to each other. You'll see."

The remaining days were a pleasant but confusing blur. Asali settled back into her village's rhythms but always seem to have a larger-then-life aura about her. Sylvia's children adopted the local tunics and wraps, including having their pelts clipped and tinted. Janet was taken on hunting forays, often by Asali, and returned with a lithe step and a brightness in her eyes. Lucas hung around with the local craftspeople, absorbing the trade secrets of their various arts. Sylvia knew she would regret leaving. She had enjoyed the openness and being constantly catered to but, after five days, it was time to go. Time to be home where everyone was not so damn tall.

On the final day, dozens of parcels were given to them by people they were only beginning to recognize. The Chief held a ceremony making Sylvia an honourary Konoepesi.

"You now be known to us as 'Lulumizi'." he said loudly, "It mean 'mother of pearl' in your tongue. A jewel from a distant ocean that is most rare and valuable this far inland." Asali was strangely quiet throughout but always smiling. She arranged for a small plane to land outside of the village to take the trio to Cape Kasanga Airport. Before they squeezed into it, she came up to Sylvia.

"Let me give you this." She said, folding the islander's fingers around a badge of a lion before a stylized sun, "This be my major's insignia. If you have trouble, send it to me. I'll come with help."

"I don't know if..."

"This be insurance. Someone try shit with you, I'll have three stratocruisers off their dock in five hours."

"THREE stratocruisers? Didn't know lieutenant-colonels had that kind of power."

"You watch. They fuck with you, Asali will burn their island away." She said, eyes hooded, then hugged her. As the plane took off, the villagers lined the grass runway, waving and singing. Sylvia looked out the window until the village and its people had dwindled into the Djuma Savanna's rolling green.

Three hours later, they were on a military transport flying into the setting sun over an endless blue ocean, their booty piled high around them. Lucas and Janet slumbered to the engine's drone. Their mother methodically went through her accounts and lists of names. The lion medal was pinned to the lining of her carry-on case where it burned brightly with the fading sunlight. Checking their documentation, she discovered that folded sheet slipped into her passport. She read the precise handwriting in silence, her eyes going wide at the end. Bolting from her seat, Sylvia clawed her way to the back of the transport and locked herself in the washroom.

Janet plucked the page from the documents spilled on the floor and read it.

"Its from Asali. I guess everyone did get their just reward."

"What do you mean?" asked Lucas.

"Remember the mutura served during the ceremony?"

"The sausages? Yeah."

"That was Geoffrey Greentree."