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Smells-of-Science sat comfortably on the shoulders of Air-Lightning-Destroys-Maker-Wasps. It was always nice to be united with his favorite human. It was in her service that he had gotten his adult name at last, Smells-of-Science, rather than his kit-name Short-Tooth. It wasn’t even that short a tooth, and it was only one. Smells’ littermates were the most annoying.
He hadn’t seen most of them in countless moons, though. Oh, there were plenty of weasels around Lightning-Destroys’ territory—it was pleasant here. The ground rumbled a little, comfortably reminiscent of the homeland - as opposed to the still floors that kits these days thought “right.” Ha! Kits. They knew nothing.
Fine, he had been barely more than a kit when he first accompanied Lightning-Destroys. But that was countless moons ago. He was a weasel grown now, a veteran of many battles and adventures. He even had his eye on a beautiful female who liked to nest in the kitchen. Her name was Sharper-Teeth-Piercing-Skin and she was terrifying and wonderful. Just two days ago, she had missed biting him on purpose. It was practically an invitation to mate!
Today, however, he was helping Lightning-Destroys break and investigate a laboratory deep in her giant stone cage. At least, he was accompanying her—her mates, Saves-Kits-From-Fire and Should-Not-Be-Here, were helping more with the taking things apart and talking excitedly and writing things down and building them again. Normally they would be engaging in beginning human mating practices as well, but in this laboratory, they were all oddly sober. Which should have made Mouse-Turns-Unexpectedly-Against-Hunter happy, but even he smelled nervous, even though he acted as grumpy as ever as he wrote things down for Lightning-Destroys.
Smells-of-Science couldn’t blame him. This laboratory smelled of wasps. It was an old scent, and not quite right, but it was clearly bad.
Still writing things was not interesting. They were all doing it again—and verging, Smells thought, into the energetic mating ritual of displaying how quickly they could speak, all at once and louder than each other, and how well they could build tools. Mating rituals he approved of, but it still wasn’t fun for him.
He left his spot of Lightning-Destroys’ shoulders and jumped into Silent-Swift-Mouse-Human’s arms. She was fine, perhaps even his second-favorite human. They had spent much time together while travelling with Air-Lightning-Destroys-Maker-Wasps. Swift-Mouse was almost as good at hiding as a mischievous kit. Indeed, she was, by agreement of the clan, named for it—as if a mouse were, somehow, swift and silent, but as a human.
“Hey, Fuzzball.”
Smells did not understand very much human speech, but he recognized the greeting, and the human name she called him. Not nearly as dignified as his proper name, no doubt, but humans were very bad at reproducing the squeaks and growls of Weasel. It was accompanied by a scratch on the head, at any rate, which was entirely acceptable. He squirmed and rolled on his side to indicate that she could continue, if she pleased, and made an encouraging coughing noise to drive the point home. Humans could be a little dense.
Swift-Mouse was quite smart, though. And they had become good friends in their travels. She rubbed him obligingly while she kept her watch for any predators or enemies. Smells thought it unlikely they would be attacked this deep in Lightning-Destroys’ home, but he could respect good adherence to protocol. At least, he knew he ought to. So long as she kept scratching.
…Unless something more interesting started happening! Lightning-Destroys was still writing, but Saves-Kits was doing something to a new machine, and Should-Not-Be-Here was poking it with metal tools from the other side. That was particularly interesting—Should-Not-Be-Here, as his name referenced, was famous in the history of all the clans for the excitement he could cause in a laboratory. Of course he had been a human kit at the time of the adventure, and now he did not have the Sznnng to help, but the ancestors’ Time of Freedom lived on in lore.
Smells paused briefly to nose at Lightning-Destroys as he dashed to investigate her mates’ new toy. Many moons ago, she would grow horribly ill if they were too long apart, literally dying of heartbreak. Now she had her own mates and Smells nearly had Sharper-Teeth, but he liked to make sure Lightning-Destroys knew she was still his favorite human.
She lifted her head, stroked him all the way down his back, and let her hop back on her shoulder to ride over to Saves-Kits and Should-Not-Be-Here, which was just excellent. Most weasels now lived like this, in the cageless liberty of the Time of Freedom, but that only meant whatever might happen next could be unimaginably fun!
Except it wasn’t. It horribly, horribly wasn’t.
Smells-of-Science was innocently climbing on the machine, sniffing it for danger—once more, there was the faint reminder of wasps. His hackles raised. The humans were doing their own sniffing, with tools because the poor things had grossly insufficient senses in almost every other regard. They never even bit anything to see what it was made of, and if was food.
Saves-Kits made a loud barking noise and tried to tug a wire out of Smells’ mouth, and Smells darted away, biting it tight, and perhaps at the same time Lightning-Destroys or Should-Not-Be-Here poked something else—and there was a flash and a bang and a feeling like being turned upside-down but every which way at once. Smells-of-Science lost his balance completely.
At least, he blinked his eyes open again on the ground. At least, he was fairly sure it was the ground. It didn’t…feel the same. The stones were suddenly tiny. Everything was small, and dim, and wrong-colored. Wrong-smelling—the machine was making smoke, but he could barely smell it. He could barely smell anything.
Noises of panic keening out of his throat, Smells pushed himself up on his—
What in the name of the Maker-Scientists were his forelegs doing. Legs didn’t bend sideways like that. His shoulders were wrong. Everything was huge and wrong and covered in cloth and milking huge-mother, where were his mid-legs.
His head hit the ground with a thwack again as he fell back, panicked.
“Tarvek?”
Lightning-Destroys knelt over him, worry clear in her posture and voice. She had been for a while, Smells realized dimly, only he hadn’t noticed because she barely smelled of anything and he was panicking.
Should-Not-Be-Here was there, too, picking up Smells’ head and running his hand through the (too long) hair. Not petting—checking for injury.
“How many fingers?” he asked, holding up three in front of Smells’ nose.
Well he wasn’t that blind and senseless. “Three.”
“Nothing looks broken.” Should-Not-Be-Here and Lightning-Destroys pulled him up, or at least, partly—his legs—only two! so long!—were still sticking out on the ground. Smells leaned on Lightning-Destroys’ shoulder, so much lower and smaller than it should be. He could barely fit his gigantified head. If he sniffed deeply, at least, she still smelled the same, metal bits and lightning, from the air and her dangerous river, and contact traces of her hunter-kin’s musk, mixed with her own human scent and some of the soap she used in her hair. She petted his head properly, fingers running gently through too-long hair, and it was so relieving that he almost chirped.
“Tarvek? You don’t seem okay.”
He didn’t, however, understand why she was saying the human name for Saves-Kits. At least he understood the rest of her words, somehow—he must have picked up for human speech than he’d been giving himself credit for!
Should-Not-Be-Here kept asking questions. “Is your head alright? Mind doing anything crazier than normal?”
Yes, screaming. Despite the comforting preening from Lightning-Destroys, and Should-Not-Be-Here’s hand on his shoulder, which was actually quite nice. Smells thought he ought to answer—though it was harder to find the words when he tried to think about it. His throat refused to make the sounds it should.
Wait. That was actual screaming. His screaming. Nothing coherent, but strident alarm calls. Smells sat up and looked around, sniffing like that could achieve anything.
“That’s me.”
The words came easily if he didn’t think about them, just let the new body do what it wanted. And Smells-of-Science certainly wasn’t thinking as he gaped at the weasel struggling in Mouse-Turns’ arms. “That’s me.” He gripped Lightning-Destroys’ arm tightly, for balance and alert. “Air-Lightning-Destroys-Maker-Wasps! I am not me! My body! That is me—” he pointed at his proper body—“but this is…”
He looked down at himself, at all the richly colored cloth, and sniffed his own shoulder. More metal traces, and ink and parchment and many, many more hair oils. “Of course! Saves-Kits!”
Smells looked around the laboratory. Yes, Saves-Kits was the only one missing. But the others were all staring at him. With worry? Probably? He wasn’t good at reading human faces, and he couldn’t smell them properly.
“Saves-Kits-from-Fire?” he repeated cautiously. He looked at Lightning-Destroys and Should-Not-Be-Here. “Your mate? I am? Though I am not,” he added hastily. “I don’t want to mate with you. That’s not—I mean, no offense, Lightning-Destroys, I know you get heartsick. But I—”
Swift-Mouse suddenly snickered. “Well, he isn’t any better at sweet talk. Wonder if—”
She stopped, staring at the weasel in Mouse-Turns’ arms. He had finally fallen quiet, and figured out how to brace his mid-legs against the human’s hands to stand up properly.
“Oh my god. Ohmygod, Tarvek.” She doubled over in silent laughter.
Not-actually-Smells-of-Science, probably-Saves-Kits-from-Fire, launched himself from Mouse-Turns’ bewildered arm. He landed, chittering angrily, at Smells’ feet.
Should-Not-Be-Here started to grin as well, though his eyes still looked worried. “He’s actually a weasel?” The grin split wider. “Agatha, do you have any more of those devices for recording images?”
“Gil!” Lightning-Destroys hit him in the arm—the same way, Smells rather thought, that Sharper-Teeth had only nearly bit him yesterday. “We need to fix this.”
Saves-Kits was still growling on the floor, slow but incomprehensibly. He sounded like he was trying to make human sounds.
“Go faster.” Smells leaned down to advise him. This body could bend almost like a weasel, at least. “Don’t think about it, just talk.” He thought about it a moment, getting the hang of this throat now, and repeated best he could in Weasel, “Just speak. None waiting, planning.”
Mouse-Turns was the only one not snickering now. Lightning-Destroys and Should-Not-Be-Here leaned against each other, and against Smells, which was nice—Saves-Kits’ proper body was very at ease between them. Swift-Mouse was still nearly incoherent with laughter, sitting on the floor as well now as she giggled, and giggled more every time she looked at them.
Saves-Kits scurried up Should-Not-Be-Here’s back to sit on his bobbing head, taking no particular care not to prick him with claws. “Move me back!”