The other memory came back. It was here. The body was ill-shaped, the pain incredible. Absolutely incredible. The cat roared and lashed out, but the man only screamed and spasmed. The cat needed to tear, to feel the warm gush of blood that would stop the pain, but the body changed and changed back, and the agony of breaking bones drove the cat to madness.

He heard his mate.

She was screaming, calling to the other memory. He understood it somewhat, partly through the other. Despite the pain, the cat paused. It understood. Though he could always access the other and get the gist of things, he understood the words themselves now. The sharing with the other was direct.

“Don’t fight?” What kind of thing was that to say? He was in pain, great waves of it. His body pulled and tore and reformed again and again; of course he had to fight. He had to fight to...

She means we don’t fight each other.

The cat rolled and screamed as the arm/leg/hand/claw ground under his weight. He heard the other memory. Not a memory now, not a vague sense that he had to follow, but actual thoughts.

Please, the other said quietly. The cat could feel hands on him though no one was near. It was the other, he was holding... soothing... Please. Accept me.

The cat screamed, the man screamed with him. One voice, one heart, and the change began. This time when the bones cracked and ground and shattered and reformed, they didn’t crack and shatter again. When the face moved and molded, it settled into a face and not a moving nightmare of cartilage.

The cat stepped clear of the ripped gown and looked at the woman who was watching him. He knew her. The other knew her and so he knew her. The cat blinked and turned to his mate. He’d known her in the other jungle... the Amazon... and he’d walked with her here in this new place, but it was like seeing her for the first time. He saw through the filter of the other and understood the deepness of the feelings for her, the passion and need he had for her.

He took an involuntary step back. The other was strong, maybe stronger than he was, and he thought that he would die, be swallowed by the other so he would no longer exist. The other was strong enough to subsume him, to bury him forever and destroy the cat.

I need you.

He licked his lips.

Don’t fight me. Don’t fear me.

Yet the other feared the cat. Feared what the cat would do, what he could do. He fought becoming, spent years of his life avoiding the change, keeping him put away, buried until he changed.

I had no right.

Waking up in strange places, surrounded by strangers, unknowing, unaware of who gathered around him, why they all had fear in their smell, and were always running and fighting.

You enjoy that part.

The cat sat on his haunches. That was true. The running, the fighting, the hunting. That was the best part. But to accept the other now? After all these years?

The woman was saying something, but neither he nor the other cared much. The mate was calling his name but the other... if the other had been there in flesh he would be down on one knee, hand out, inviting the cat’s friendship.

He leaped to the table and stood there, looking around at the cage he was in. The other briefly filled him in on what this place was and why it was here. Why they—he—both of him—were here.

He turned and looked at the woman.

“That seemed a great deal more painful than the others. I wonder, is it due to the genus? Is it harder to shift into a tiger than a lion? Or is it that I have only extracted lion pheromones and not tiger? Too many variables.” She shook her head sadly.

“Subject is considerably larger than most tigers, the weight is...” She leaned back to look behind the counter in the middle of the room. “...728 pounds. Adult male white tigers generally do not exceed 570 or so. Subject is also considerably taller/larger than a typical male white tiger.”

She turned to the mate and spoke to her. The cat settled in. Now that he understood what the words meant, he discovered that he was bored. The fascination of being able to understand the noises people had been squawking was severely diminished by the realization that none of it actually was worth hearing.

She’s analyzing us. Trying to figure out how this all works.

Stupid waste of time, really. It worked. It was. The other and the cat, as it had always been. Of course, now it was a little different. Now they were in the same place, together, sharing the body. Now they could think to each other. But that, too, just was.

In order to determine how we change and why, the other said, she may kill us and cut us apart.

The cat growled and licked his lips. She could certainly try. He would be glad to chew on her bones.

The other said nothing and the cat watched with lidded eyes and marked the places to attack the woman, and where to strike the man. It looked up and around the cell, searching for places that would yield, that might open to a well-placed claw.

“Unusual behavior.” The woman spoke into a recorder or something. “So far, all test subjects have shown signs of distress, anger, a dire need to escape. At this point, the subject should be throwing itself at the glass, clawing at the walls or doing something to attempt escape. This subject appears to be accepting of the exam room.” The woman turned to the mate. “Have you domesticated him, my dear?” she asked with a laugh. “Tell me, did you neuter him, too?”

The cat required a moment to understand what was said and roared when the other was done explaining. The woman turned and raised an eyebrow. “Is it possible that you’re able to understand me, even after the change?” She studied him for a moment. “Incredible. I actually believe that you can understand me, Mr. Mann.” She smiled and turned to the mate again. “Has he always been able to understand English when changed? None of the lions seemed to indicate that they were able to share consciousness; they were simply feral beasts.” She walked over to the mate’s cell. “Seriously, Doctor. How can you not want to explore this? How can you look at that and not want to know how it’s done, how it happens? What mechanics are involved? What sort of DNA fragments, what kind of life? What is the evolutionary need that would cause this?” She looked back at the cat and her eyes shone with madness. “This is the closest evidence I have ever seen that would make me believe in an intelligent creator; something like this evolving naturally is... so highly improbable. But, then, why would even God create something so...” She trailed off, as if she had given up finding the right word.

The cat lay on the table and set his head on his paws.

“The man weighed 268. Very impressive considering he had almost no body fat, but he’s a big guy, lots of muscles.” She winked at the mate. “I peeked.” The woman giggled. “Now he’s over 700; where does that extra mass come from? Where does it go? He’s actually creating and destroying mass. That’s not possible, but...” She waved at the cat.

It was dull. Dull was what humans did. It was time to return to the other, to let the other out and for the cat to sleep. It released the body to the other.

Nothing happened.

I don’t think we can change. Not until she allows it. There’s a gas... a smoke that can’t be seen, but you can smell it.

There was a smell. It was thick, heavy. It was a sex smell, a marking smell, a smell of available and territory.

That smell is keeping us in this form.

But the cat was bored. The woman never stopped talking. It sighed and closed its eyes, willing to wait as long as it needed.

“Mr. Mann? Mr. Mann? Are you able to understand me?” The cat opened one eye. “I think you can. Mr. Mann, please sit upright on the table and raise your front paws. Begging, that is, like a dog begs for scraps. That should prove you can understand me.”

The cat closed his eyes.

“Franco,” she said, “please go in and fracture Dr. Truman’s right hand.”

The cat’s head came up sharply. Franco was watching the doctor out of the corner of his eye. “Excuse me, Doctor?” he said slowly.

“Batu always did the dirty work, but since he had the audacity to get himself killed...” She shrugged.

“But...” Franco was clearly unhappy with this order.

“No buts,” Doctor Johns said harshly. “If Batu had killed her like he was supposed to, we wouldn’t be here right now.” She turned back to the mate. “Don’t worry, dear. Your boyfriend can save you; all he needs do is sit up and beg.”

The cat shifted to its haunches again. Franco hadn’t moved.

“Franco.” The woman’s eyes were still mad, but the hate directed at Franco was palpable. “You have your orders. You’re assigned to me. I am your superior in this. Do you need me to fetch the lieutenant?”

Franco shook a little. The cat couldn’t smell anything through the glass, but he could recognize rage when he saw it and Franco was like an unexploded bomb. But that wasn’t even the right way to put it. When the other allowed the cat to see bombs and explosions, the cat corrected him. Franco had already exploded, he was just using his shell to hold the explosion in.

The cat rose and sat up, relying on the other to show it how to “beg.”

“Remarkable,” the woman said, her voice reverent. Filled with awe. “Truly remarkable. Too many factors to study. Too much to learn. Why can you understand me when no one else could?” She tapped a finger against her lips and sighed. “Thank you, Mr. Mann. You may resume your feigned indifference. Franco, break her hand.”

The cat roared, lunging to his feet, his hackles raised.

“I am sorry, Mr. Mann, but I do have other subjects, other tests. I really don’t have time for this. Franco—now.”