"I noticed no reduction in field strength," Corina said. "You are too--it is difficult to put properly. Defensive, perhaps, or suspicious. If this is to work, you must trust me." She thought for a minute, then took the dagger from her belt and held it out to the Ranger, hiding a wince of anticipation at his touch. "Perhaps it will be easier if I am not armed." Medart took the soul-blade, too surprised not to. Unlike Dawson, he knew the blade's significance, and could appreciate Corina's action. She had to be really determined about this working, he thought. Thark's betrayal must have hurt even more than he'd gathered earlier. "Let's give it another try, then. But it isn't easy turning off something you never knew was on." "True." Corina was surprised to find his touch on her blade didn't bring discomfort. That was highly unusual, but she was becoming accustomed to unusual things around this human. "Again, try to relax. I will continue to check your progress." "Right." For the second time, Medart closed his eyes and began the deep-breathing routine. In and hold . . . body relaxed . . . out and hold . . . cat-clean scent . . . in and hold . . . cat-and-mouse . . . oh, hell! "What is it, Ranger?" There had been a flash, an instant of touch too fast for her to grasp and expand, then nothing. "This isn't going to work, and I think I know what the problem is. Every time I try to relax, I see those four Marines stunned on the deck and the other one with your knife at his throat." "So your undermind considers me dangerous, is trying to protect you from that. Yes, that is reasonable." Corina thought for a moment. "I seemed to get the impression of memory-smell, though I cannot be sure. And perhaps of a small feline. When MacLeod discovered Irschcha, he thought of us at first as 'overgrown pussycats', and other humans seemed to agree. Perhaps if you thought of me as some sort of domestic pet?" Medart considered that idea, then chuckled. "I used to raise Siamese cats, and you Irschchans do remind me of them. It's worth a try." Kimi and Saren, his first pair. Not Saren, who'd been on the blocky side for a Siamese; young Losinj was more like Kimi, slender and incredibly graceful. She'd climb up on his lap, butt his chin with her head to demand that he scratch behind her ears . . . Corina, observing carefully, felt his shield start to weaken. That continued until she was able to catch a mental picture of herself, with parts of her fur more deeply colored, curled up on the Ranger's lap and purring with contentment while he gently scratched behind her ears.