Shifti - User contributions [en]

Stripes of Justice

2017-04-30T04:54:00Z

Kris: New Story

Terry's time at Bakagaijin High School had been going well despite the occasional disaster. The week after his dad got stationed in Japan and brought him along for the senior year, he'd struggled to fit in, but when a giant squid rose from the sea and everyone had to cower in the basement shelter, he'd made some friends.

What first turned things around for him, after moving so far away from his old friends in America, was being introduced to the Element Masters card game. Everybody played it, even the teachers. The Student Council used their elite card skills to stay in power and arrange free subway travel for all Bakagaijin students throughout the city, so long as students promised to hand over any ultra-rare cards they found while traveling. It was said that anyone who collected a full set of ultra-rares could unlock the lost vault of the game's genius creator, a collector of Sumerian artifacts rumored to have magical powers.

Terry didn't much care about winning the game, though, so much as getting to spend time after class with his fellow students. There was Mako, the girl who had a complete prosthetic body that gave her superhuman fighting skills and no boyfriend. Ray was usually depressed even though the government kept pulling him out of class to pilot a giant robot. ("I don't even ''like'' robots.") There was also a long-eared rabbit-girl claiming to be a princess from another star system, a guy with four cute yet vicious pets that taught the school bullies or some criminals a lesson every week or so, and a billionaire lawyer/ninja who'd been turned into a teenager again by a curse a few years ago. The only one who was just a student, it seemed, was Terry.

One Friday, someone challenged the teacher to an Element Masters game that won them a reprieve on Monday's science test. Terry sat around after school eating hamburgers with Ray and Mako and Himura. Terry said, "Himura, can you teach me to fight?"

Himura was well into his fifth burger. He'd spent gym class demonstrating his Whirlwind Strike Style, and still wore his martial-arts ''gi'' with its seven black belts. "No. Fighting comes from the heart."

"Oh, come off it," Ray said. "Everybody tells me it's all about emotion and fighting spirit, but whenever I have to go fight angels the scientists keep arguing about whether being happy or scared makes my robot more powerful. All you have to do is punch or shoot energy beams until you win. I just ignore the scientists when they start going on about biblical prophecies and stuff."

Terry said, "But there's got to be something you can teach me. How about you, Ray? Can you teach me the punching part, so I can be a martial artist someday?" It wouldn't be as cool without a robot, but who knew? Maybe he'd randomly find one like that girl in the cross-town school, and end up going to Mars like her.

Ray slumped in his seat. "If I'm allowed. But you really wouldn't want the kind of lessons I get; they're just depressing."

"Maybe I should get a cyber-body like you, Mako. How do you sign up for that?"

Mako wasn't even pretending to eat; she had a power cord plugged into the wall. She held up two fingers. "Two ways: tragic, or wacky. In my case I had a broken arm from thinking I could jump off the roof and fly. Since my dad is the security boss for Nakatakimurasana Corp, the company doctors went a little overboard and replaced my everything. They wanted to send me off to uncover a global conspiracy with my cyber-powers, but then they found out it was just a couple of the managers stealing money for a fake charity. They didn't even go to jail or anything."

"That's rough," said Terry.

She shrugged. "The other option was to get this body by almost dying in a car crash that killed my parents or something, so I like wacky better."

Himura tossed aside another burger wrapper and chugged a big mug of root beer. "Oh yeah! Did you hear about that kid who got flattened by a meteor last week? He got better and now he shoots energy blasts from his hands."

"Cool." Terry didn't sound enthusiastic about that, though. That guy really was just a kid. If Terry was already almost out of high school and didn't have anything cool going for him yet, would he ever? He could end up as just another salary-man corporate guy, and not the kind who jumped into cyberspace to fight hackers. "What about the field trip next month? Did the principal decide yet if we're going to the magical fox shrine in Kyoto?"

Mako grinned. "Nah, we're touring the Museum of Ancient Samurai Relics. Rumor has it that Amaterasu's mirror is going to be on display for once. Why, were you hoping to meet a fox spirit?"

Himura said, "Those are no fun. This one time, before I got into martial arts, a two-tailed fox offered to swap places with me and send me to his world of talking animals for a year."

Terry stared at him. "And you said no!?"

"Well, yeah. Do I look like a furry?"

"I wish that'd happen to me."

"You'd abandon your family just go on a magical adventure?"

Terry threw up his hands. "It'd only be a for a year! And it always works out so that your family is fine with it. I mean, ''nobody'' at this school has up and vanished without some good explanation."

"What about Ienaga?" said Himura.

"He turned into a suit of living armor."

"And Satori?"

"She turned into a ''spaceship''. Why am I the only normal one!?"

Terry realized he'd stood and rapped his fists on the table while shouting; everyone was staring at him. He sat back down, blushing.

Mako put one plastic hand on his. "That's what this is about? You want to get caught up in some mad science thing?"

"Or magic. I don't care."

"How about training really hard at Element Masters?"

Terry was skeptical. "Don't you need the power to make whatever card you need show up right when you need it?"

"That's called 'cheating'."

Himura said, "Unless you have a level six Unstoppable Frog card, since that lets you --"

Terry's eyes glazed over at the explanation. He didn't think he'd ever master the game. Still, there was a chance he could find one of those ultra-rares that created holographic monsters, and try to keep it a secret from the Student Council, and then they'd hunt him down and he'd end up somehow engaged to a girl who was also a sword, or something weird like that. It'd be cool. "You know what? Let's try it. Can we go card-hunting, and play a few games along the way?"

----

They boarded the subway, flashing their student IDs to pay only a token "land" card that you got several of in every Element Masters pack. To go card-hunting meant looking for places where the trash cans near the card-selling newsstands weren't closely watched, because half the garbage in there was from the game. Along the way to the nearest station like that, Terry and friends grabbed the big table in the center of their subway car, so they could play while zooming across the city. The speed made the trip and the game itself seem to go faster. Terry tried to play by instinct, laying out lands and dragons and elemental bursts wherever they'd fit on the board. He got whipped.

Terry groaned. "Is there actually strategy to this game?"

They left the train car to reach a newsstand that was part of Glowing Blue Pearl Station. Around them the walls were glass, showing them the bay. Mako turned invisible and kept watch while Terry and Himura raided the trash bins for over a dozen card packs, and then they retreated to a cafe table.

"All right!" said Terry, rifling through their harvest. As usual, a lot of customers bought cards, checked for ultra-rares, then threw away the rest without checking them thoroughly. As often happened, somebody had overlooked a rare mixed in with the commons. Terry could now add a Rampaging Naked Giant to his deck along with some ordinary cards he didn't have before.

He rebuilt his main deck (since like most students he carried his in a holster everywhere he went) on the ride to Ultimate Tower Station, which was a mostly vertical trip. The train's gravity generators were a little unreliable, so everyone kept to their seats. The students got out carefully and raided the trash, two hundred stories up. They didn't find anything except some discarded power crystals from a wrecked spaceship; nobody even collected those anymore. What a boring side trip.

He got back to the school dorm without incident, and spent hours practicing Element Masters. "Don't worry," said Ray the pilot. "You'll get heroically good at it eventually."

Terry wasn't so sure even with his upgraded deck.

----

The next month, he muttered curses all the way back from the museum trip. He'd been so close to the Mirror of Amaterasu when it picked the teacher right next to him as its chosen bearer! "Why not me?" he said to Mako.

Mako shook her head, motors whirring faintly. "Have you ever thought that maybe your destiny is to ''avoid'' all the stuff we go through? If a meteor ever crushes Japan, you'll somehow end up right under one of the craters on it and you'll survive."

"A lot of good that'll do if I'm the only one!" Terry said, sulking atop the "hump seat" on their bus.

"But then you'll find some secret government bunker that lets you rebuild civilization. Look, anything can happen. Have you had any strange dreams lately, maybe?"

Terry groaned and slumped lower in his seat. "Yeah, a dream about being behind the counter making sandwiches at a sub shop."

"Then if the card game thing isn't working, maybe what you need is something more personal. Maybe you can take a day off and just wander the city. Say you're hunting for battle monsters and the school will let you go, no questions asked."

----

Terry sat in the principal's office, red-faced. He'd blushed with guilt when he tried lying about having a dream that he was fated to catch a legendary monster.

The principal sighed and folded his hands, staring at Terry over his intimidating shiny glasses. "All right, you can go. Not that I believe you, but the Student Council has firm rules about allowing time off for quests. Just don't make a habit of it if there's no evidence."

Terry nodded and slinked away, hoping he'd have some evidence of being important or special before long.

----

He wandered off the school grounds without a real plan. He tried the downtown shopping district first, and was a little breathless as he rounded each corner hoping to find one of those mysterious curio shops run by a wizened old man from a far-off land like Kentucky. Some robots were brawling in the electronics market but none of them asked for his help, or anything like that.

How about the botanical gardens? Terry rode out there and tried challenging the ticket salesman to an Element Masters game to get in for free, but he lost. Grudgingly Terry paid double for admission.

It was a calming trip, anyway. There was a huge set of glass domes and multi-story greenhouses roomy enough to support the occasional kung fu brawl, and productive enough that the farming section fed a good part of the underground district of Tokyo. There was a nice wolfsbane display and some fragrant garlic growing in the anti-monster section. Still, nothing really unique.

He wandered through the indoor gardens, then out to the park area where some college varsity teams were having a tennis tournament. It looked pretty serious. The Nippon Industrial Institute Unicorns were fighting a heavily cyborged team sponsored by an evil mad scientist. The Unicorns' captain was caught up in some kind of love triangle with the cyborgs' fur-bikini-clad cavewoman coach/mechanic. There were nearly as many harsh looks and one-liners getting launched as actual serves and volleys.

Terry was about to turn aside and leave, since after a while the players were standing there shouting and powering up their battle auras. Just then, a stark white helicopter landed right next to the tennis courts, scattering papers in its wind. A dozen men jumped out, wearing scary theater masks with white sweaters and tennis shorts, and brandished rackets.

Terry backed away from the commotion in spite of his vague hope that they'd start flinging magic around or something. The cyborg players and the college guys alike confronted them, saying, "Shoo! What's the big idea? Who dares challenge us?"

The masked men charged at them, swinging ferociously. A brawl broke out while the few onlookers stared or ran away. One of the watchers tried instead to steal the helicopter, but a tennis player whacked him so hard he flew into the sky. "You got ''served!''"

Terry just shook his head. In another minute the masked men had claimed the area. Their leader, who had the preppiest sweater of all, shouted, "Listen up! We are the new masters of tennis across the land: the invincible gang of Noh Love! First the tennis courts, then the law courts. Does anyone else dare stand in our way?"

Terry wasn't entirely sure how you could take over the legal system through tennis; something like that had only ever happened with bowling's Final Strike Tournament, and only for a month or so. Still... He was decent at tennis. Maybe now, he could at least be involved in something important, even if only in a minor role, and not get smashed into the sky so long as he played fairly.

He stepped forward, taking a deep breath, and said, "I challenge you! Against me, I'll teach you to Love-All!"

The leader was masked and he still managed to look unimpressed. "You know that only means being tied 0-0, right?"

"Whatever!" Around Terry, the crowd parted. It was awesome. He hadn't even noticed there ''was'' a crowd at his sides. "Somebody lend me a racket."

The evil tennis gang sent forth a huge guy called Astynax to face Terry across the court. Bits of greenish clay crunched under their feet as all else went quiet. Terry waggled a borrowed racket in his hands and gave the foe his best intimidating stare.

Astynax's serve actually caught fire on the way to Terry's side. Terry swung wildly but was more concerned about not getting hit with it.

"How about I serve?" said Terry.

"Alternating games only!" The rules were sacred on that point. Astynax's next serve made a little crater.

That game ended quickly, but the Noh Love gang declared best out of three. Terry's cheeks burned with humiliation. He launched the ball this time with his best slicing serve. There were no special effects, but it hit the dirt and bounced with a wicked spin. Astynax lumbered over to it but misjudged the angle. All right!

Terry shifted position and fired off a fast serve that slashed right past the big guy, then another perfect spin. He could actually win this one. Being three points up or at Forty-Love was dangerous, though, since it made the other guy look like the underdog despite being two feet taller and his racket apparently being made from a shimmering meteor. Terry served cautiously this time. The foe bellowed through his mask and leaped into the air to counter it. Terry charged the net and volleyed -- and won. He could actually save the day!

Unfortunately, the tiebreaker game put Astynax back on offense. Terry couldn't just stand there, so he worked up what courage he could and ran to meet the serve. He managed to nick the ball the first time, bounce it back the second time enough to stave off defeat for a few seconds, then the third time get into a cool rapid-fire volley sequence where he could swear dramatic music had kicked in. For him!

But then Astynax did a super serve that involved spinning around three times and shouting half a dozen words of power in the tongue of dragons, and it burned Terry's racket to ashes.

"How can that be legal?" said Terry, dropping what remained before it could do more than singe his hands.

The masked leader strode onto the court and a Latin choir began chanting faintly somewhere. "All things are legal under the reign of Noh Love." He lifted his arms to the suddenly stormy heavens. "From this day forth, the only laws are our whims! We shall begin with a demonstration: the death of all who dare face us in court. Seize this upstart!"

Terry stood surrounded by the evil tennis gang. With no powers to call on, no secret techniques to deploy, he did the most sensible thing: dive between the nearest players and run away.

He dashed away from the courts, kicking up bits of clay as he ran. They were trying to cut him off from the subway station. He'd have to lose them in the greenhouses. He charged at the nearest doors leading into them, where a helpful and stoic butler opened a door so he wouldn't break the glass.

The greenhouse was big enough that Terry had a chance to run or hide. He racked his brain for the best route to the second-closest subway station. If he was lucky the loony gang members would set off an alarm or one of the -- wait a minute; why hadn't the butler done anything to help?

Well, that was obvious: unlike Terry, the man knew better than to get directly involved with anything weird.

Terry heard sneakers clinking along glass floors on the upper level. A big carnivorous plant roared and attacked somebody in the distance, which was a good sign, but not enough to stop the whole crew. Terry fled through rows of alien flowers and past the robots guarding the Peaches of Immortality.

An owl hooted as it leaped from a tree and chased him. "You there! Take this!" It clutched something in its talons and dropped it deftly on the edge of a fountain, right in Terry's path. Terry skidded to a stop and froze, though the gangsters were no more than a minute behind.

The owl had put a wand there. An elaborate shiny rod wreathed in stylized green vines and tipped with a strawberry design.

"Well?" said the owl, peering at him.

Terry looked back over one shoulder and saw masks approaching from across a little maze of corn. He could just run and be done with this nonsense, back to his friends' sympathy.

Instead he snagged the wand and waved it as dramatically as he could, saying, "I'll take what I can get!"

A whirlwind spun him into the air and everything around him got drowned out by sparkles and a cool violin theme. Some kind of magic, finally! He could be a druid or wizard gardener or tree-golem, and finally fit in! The masked men reached him but paused at a respectful distance, staring up. No doubt they were intimidated by the wind and the scent of... musk?

Terry stopped twirling for a moment, and felt something long and fuzzy stretch out from his spine. Then his torso pulled longer, too, and he flailed in the air with his hands. No, wait, the limbs in front of him weren't his hands or feet, but a set of white-furred paws in between! It was about then that his clothes seemed to disintegrate into a mass of colorful ribbons and reform as a long green thing that didn't even come down to the paws. He grabbed at the fabric and at the same time spotted the white fur and claws on his actual hands, and the cute pleated pattern on the new outfit.

A ribbon wound itself through his hair and another along the mass of fur behind him, tickling him and making the big thing flick into view. A tail with black fur and white stripes. His nose seemed to be sticking too far out in front of his eyes. He tried to focus on it, and glanced down. The top of his new vine-decorated blouse pulled tight as his chest swelled out to fill it.

Terry yelped and flailed in midair. The wind set him down on four fuzzy paws with a whole second torso behind him.

"A centaur... skunk?" said the nearest gangster, stepping forward like he expected a vicious volley.

The leader yanked him back, saying, "You fool, that's a magical girl! If we attack now she'll crush us like an easy lob. Fall back!"

Terry stumbled on his new paws, feeling shocked. He was still holding the wand. He told himself not to worry about exactly what had happened; the gangsters were getting away. He jabbed the wand in their direction and staggered forward, saying in a too-high voice, "Strawberry... Smite!"

Curls of red and green energy swirled around him and lanced toward the fleeing tennis guys, becoming a hail of thousands of strawberries that pelted them and knocked them to the now-slippery glass floor.

"We'll have to work on your attacks," said the owl, perching on a nearby statue. "Do something entangling."

"How?" said Terry.

"Same way."

Terry advanced on the gang, walking on four feet without thinking too hard about it, and lifted the wand skyward. "Vines, seize my enemies! Entangling Strike!"

Obligingly, phantom vines of light erupted from the floor and grabbed the gangsters. It worked for several seconds before the glass floor shattered, cracked by magic roots.

Terry shrieked as he crashed along with the whole crowd into the first floor's giant indoor rice paddy. He stood up and felt heavy, weighed down by a whole lot of soaked monochrome fur. The vines had vanished but the whole tennis crew moaned and struggled to stand.

It was about then that the cops showed up. Not just the regular ones, but the Special Police, a registered B-Rank Vigilante who looked like a samurai pro wrestler, and an agent from the Section 8 Law Division of Underdressed Cyborgs. Terry put his hands up, accidentally raised his new forepaws too, and splashed facefirst back into water that tasted like rice and frogs.

The Special Police cop (they had snazzier uniforms than the poor regular kind) took the lead by pulling Terry out of the muck. "Ma'am, did you capture these criminals? There's no record of you."

A helicopter whirred in the distance. "Somebody's getting away!" Terry shouted, seeing a flash of its white blades rising past the greenhouse. The other police were busy handcuffing people.

The cop said, "Tanaka, get them!" The vigilante ran off and out of sight. Presumably he could jump onto the helicopter and take it down. "Have we got witnesses?"

The butler said, "Yes, sir. Origin story."

"Ah, one of those," said the cop. To Terry he added, "If you're a new magical girl and not just some random idiot, that'd help explain why you're the only one not shredded with broken glass. This must be your animal companion. Has it got a name?"

Terry looked around and spotted the owl. "You! You did this to me!" He wasn't sure whether to be furious or grateful.

The owl flew down to perch on Terry's shoulder. "Nice to meet you. The name is Kayda, and no, I didn't do this."

"No?" His new tail lashed back and forth, stirring swampy water. "Do you know how hard I wished for a giant robot, a spellbook, a mystical guitar? ''Anything?'' Now you're going to tell me 'the power was in me all along'?"

The owl shrugged his wings. "Well, no, it was mostly the Wand of Mephit. Partly you, though. These things almost never happen to someone who doesn't ''try''."

The cop said, "Are you just going to stand there hooting and making chirpy skunk noises at each other?"

Terry blushed. "Uh, Officer, he says his name is Kayda. Am I under arrest? This is... I'm kind of in shock right now."

"Understandable. We'll have to take you to the station for processing and some initial testing of your powers, but then you're free to go."

The owl shifted on its talons and turned its head back to stare along Terry's new lower back. "I must say this isn't quite what I expected the wand to do."

Terry stamped the pond, splashing everywhere. "Why me? Am I stuck like this? Why a skunk?!"

The owl rubbed around his eyes with one wingtip as though cleaning a pair of spectacles. "I'll save a full discussion of magical theory for later, but I was empowered as the guardian of a... cast-off artifact from the divine forge. I believe the Wand was intended as a joke or a way of testing unusual powers. I was offered the gift of intelligence for accepting a role of working with its owner, and I accepted rather than spend my life eating raw mice. As for changing back, of course you can. You need only to learn the appropriate transformation phrases. Assuming, of course, that you don't immediately reject your bond to the Wand."

Terry held the berry-themed magic wand in both hands, shivering through his fur. "I could throw this thing away, still?"

"If you act quickly, yes. Before it becomes nearly impossible to steal or lose."

The Special Police man tapped one foot while a regular cop ran up with a pile of towels. "Can we save whatever drama you're going through for later, miss? The Martian Lives Matter people are looting downtown again."

Terry looked down at his ridiculous green blouse/skirt thing, his extended body, and the magic wand responsible for both. He sighed.

----

He'd gathered Mako and Himura, and Ray showed up after he got done killing some kind of apocalypse seraphim rising from the sea. They all grabbed a booth at their favorite restaurant, where Terry paid for a round of burgers and frothy root beer. He sat there with no fur, two legs, while his owl companion was busy falling in love with Mako.

Mako looked over from feeding french fries to the owl. "Congratulations, Terry! I saw it on the news. You've got a scary masked nemesis, even."

"Yeah, some of them got away. Of course." Terry was starved; his appetite was apparently enough for his larger form.

Ray said, "I was too busy to hear the details; what kind of powers did you get?"

Blushing over his food, Terry muttered, "Magical girl."

Ray snorted. "Better than nothing."

Terry said, "Yeah. So. I finally belong."

"Don't say that," said Mako. "You were always our friend. Isn't that so, everyone?"

Himura joined in with the reassurance, but he said, "You're right, though, Terry. You were always going to be jealous."

Terry hadn't done much to earn this fate, but he'd done ''something''. He put down his food and stood. "I admit it. I don't ''want'' to learn the lesson that it's okay to be ordinary. Even if it's ridiculous, I'd rather be out there with you guys, doing cool stuff."

Mako smiled. "I like that attitude. Will you show us the whole transformation sequence and your powers?"

Terry stepped away from the table. "Sure. Stand back." He gestured toward the wand, making it float into his hand, and waved it with such enthusiasm that he spun around and sparkled even before the magic fully activated. "Power of Mephit, I call upon you! Stripes of Justice!" The whirlwind raised him up and he began changing. He'd only started training with his companion and his new powers, but he'd already decided: they were totally worth it.

[[category:story]][[category:Kris]][[category:Skunk]][[category:Taur]][[category:Transgender]]

On the Edge

2017-04-30T04:44:20Z

Kris: New Story

Cyril didn't too much mind the frontier. He mostly kept to himself in his cabin, heading into the village square on Sundays to pray, sell, talk and train. He kept his striped tail groomed, fished in the creek, and pretended it was the old country, only quieter.

On a Monday in February, he shivered as he hacked at hard garden soil. The forest land was good, and free for the taking, but why did the weather have to be so unreliable? Even with his black-and-white fur, and with the village a good ways away, he needed to wear pants and a shirt all season.

That chilly morning, Cyril leaned on his shovel and stared into the trees, which is what saved him. He saw figures sneaking by. Not mephits like himself -- natives. Four of them, whose weird grey-brown bodies blended in with the woods. It was always an unnatural sight, like the centaurs of myth. Cyril froze. The natives had bows and quivers slung across their long second backs, and their loping four-legged walk was taking them towards his village!

Cyril dropped the shovel. He hurried into his cabin to grab his musket and powder, and then he ran. For half a mile his boots pounded hard ground, till he got within sight of the smith's shop. He could smell Auren at work with hot iron and charcoal. "Raiders!" Cyril called into the shop.

Auren looked terrified, but he fumbled for the musket that was gathering dust in a corner. "How far?"

"Right behind me," Cyril huffed. "A few minutes. They were sneaking."

The smith's own striped tail flicked high in alarm. His fur was singed with sparks from the forge. "Wait here and catch your breath. I'll sound the alarm."

Cyril gratefully flopped onto a chair for a moment while Auren darted outside. In a minute he heard the chapel bell ringing, but the gunshots started just moments later. Cyril stood and went outside.

The moment he did, the air cracked and a native yelped, taking a bullet to the chest. The creature was a female, L-shaped like the others of her kind. The impact knocked her onto the grass with six limbs clutching the air. Cyril instinctively ran in her direction. Not a civilized person, just a native, but this was the first time he'd actually seen the guns used on someone. Not like the training dummies. There was blood on her brown fur and he felt like he had to get her to safety.

While Cyril ran, Auren called out, "What are you doing?" Auren and several others had smoking guns, and other shots were going off nearby. The natives had their bows out, and an arrow clipped so close to Cyril that he felt wind from it. Caught in the crossfire, Cyril threw himself to the dirt near the fallen native.

She stared at him, eyes dulled with pain. Cyril had never looked at one of these creatures this closely before. Her tail had sideways rings instead of proper skunk-stripes, and a black mask of fur highlighted those green eyes. Feathers and beads and deer-hide were her only clothes, and the hide shirt had a gaping bloodstain. The natives were just savages... but not animals. He guessed she had a name and a home, and that she wouldn't be returning. His fists clenched. What madness had possessed the natives to let her travel with a war party?

Gunshots, arrow-fire and shouts pierced the air around Cyril, but he couldn't even stand without being hit. He was useless! And in a moment he was distracted anyway, since he'd noticed something else about her. The native's lower belly was rounded and heavy. She lay on her side, gasping and bleeding, and didn't resist when Cyril moved to press a hand against her. Life moved beneath her skin. Cyril looked back up to her face, and murmured a prayer. "God... I wish there was something I could do." He'd run out here in a moment of compassion for someone he should have dismissed as an implacable enemy.

A sharp pain knocked Cyril to the dirt and burned into his tail. A furious native charged him with another arrow already drawn. Cyril saw the big six-limbed beast coming for him but was too shocked to do more than crawl to one side. The arrow was ready now. He saw the stone tip aimed accusingly at his face.

The woman shouted, and the arrow flew. But at the last moment the archer had changed aim, missing Cyril. The archer skidded to a stop beside the dying woman and tore off her shirt, trying to stop the bullet-wound, but it was obvious there was nothing to be done. She gave the same shout, delirious, raising one trembling hand. The native took her hand and spoke to her urgently. She said the same thing a third time. The archer turned to Cyril with a shocked look on his face. Cyril looked back and forth between them; the noise of battle had seemed to vanish.

The native man yelled something, and all the other tribesmen broke off their attack. They hurried to grab the woman and sling her across their long backs. Cyril was on his feet now despite the arrow sticking horribly out of his tail, reaching out towards her. His head ached and his tail was bleeding. The natives were running away! Cyril's own people cheered. He barely heard them. People, killing each other over nothing! And these native "animals" cared about each other, had families even. He felt sick and weak, an intruder in the frontier land. Cyril's legs gave out and he collapsed to the forest floor.

----

Cyril woke up dizzy, aching all over. Auren and his wife Sara were there, peering down at him. "Are you with us?" Sara was saying.

Cyril's throat was too dry for him to speak, so he nodded weakly.

"Thank God!" said Auren. "We were able to get the arrow out; it looks like your tail will recover. It wasn't the worst damage the savages did. And when you didn't wake up for hours..."

"Hush," Sara said, dabbing at Cyril's face with a damp cloth. She brought him water. "Suffice to say we paid for being off guard."

Auren sat nearby, taking off the blacksmith apron he wore. He seemed to have forgotten he'd kept it on all through the attack. So Cyril hadn't been out for long. Cyril saw the relief in his friend's face and wondered how bad the wound really was. Just an arrow -- not as bad as seeing that woman's whole chest-fur stained red... He shuddered and coughed. "She was..." he tried to say. The feel of her stretched belly had been so strange -- but doomed. Why that waste of innocent life?

"What were you thinking?" Auren said. "You ran towards them."

"I got pinned by the crossfire. Auren... they're people, aren't they?"

The smith and his wife stared at him. Sara said, "What made you think differently? Of course they are, heathen or no, six limbs or four. Which is precisely why they're such a danger."

"They killed Ven," Auren blurted, throwing his apron aside. "Just like the others last winter."

Cyril winced. His tail tried to hide and lanced him with pain instead. He'd hardly known Ven, a harmless farmer, and he wasn't at all the first to die from natives' raiding and the pox. For eight years the colony had stood here in this new world, four of them with Cyril there, and hardship had moved in as a permanent settler. He felt numb about the news of Ven, maybe as a way not to think too hard about how many more raids and reprisals there'd be. It seemed that civilized folk would never live here without having to fight the natives for every claw-length of ground.

"It couldn't have just been a raiding party," he said.

"That hardly matters." Sara crouched and changed the bandages on Cyril's aching tail. He tried to keep it still. She said, "Why not move closer to the shore? It'll be safer than that outpost of yours."

"It's home," Cyril said. He'd built the cabin in a fit of stubborn pride so he could say he was not just in the kingdom's farthest colony, but truly on the edge of civilization. "Besides, they didn't kill me when they had the chance."

----

He went back home with a splint on his tail, and tended to his garden. There had to be something better to grow in this soil than corn and wheat and carrots, but it was hard to ask the natives anything in their chittering tongue and not get arrowed in response. Pulling weeds helped calm him. The woods were quiet.

A week later, Cyril woke up dazed and spent the whole morning retching. The slightest smell of food set him off again. It wasn't for hours that he felt better, but when he did, it was as though nothing was wrong. And again the next day he felt awful, but it passed before he could make himself see Sara for more help. After that, there wasn't more than the occasional queasy spell, and his appetite came back in force.

After next Sunday's chapel service, Cyril felt taller. The ground looked farther away and he kept wobbling, unsteady on his feet. His stomach churned too. He staggered home and crawled into bed for an afternoon nap.

He woke up feeling incredibly relaxed. He stretched way out, with his feet kicking the bed and his feet touching the door.

Cyril glanced backward, and panicked. There was something else in the house with him! No, worse, attached to him! When he tried to scramble away he found he was four-footed, with an extra torso brushing the floor. His tail was way behind him, just like...

He sprayed in panic. The musk made his eyes water, even with his natural resistance. He looked like one of the natives! His tail was still broad and striped, and his fur black but for his white stripes and other markings, reaching way down between his front legs along the new torso. Four legs though! And between his forelegs there was nothing but white fur. He flipped over and studied his underside, afraid. Whew - everything was still there, just dragged all the way back to near his hindlegs. What had happened?

And, how could he get help without being mistaken for a native? Even with his fur pattern still right, he had to find someone before they reacted too quickly to seeing a four-legger. He put on his vest and hat, realized he couldn't wear pants, and staggered outside, blushing. It took him a few minutes to stumble around his garden, figuring out how to walk. Auren's house was closest. Cyril paced in that direction and kept his striped tail waving as obviously as possible. "Auren! Sara! Help!"

Auren appeared at the smithy's door, musket in hand, jaw hanging open. "Cyril?!"

Cyril let out the breath he'd been holding. "Yes, it's me! Don't shoot."

"What's going on?" said Sara from somewhere inside. "Dear God, what...?"

Auren stared at him, with Sara peeking over his shoulder. Sara was the first to recover. "Best get yourself inside."

He did, and stood with tail curled between his legs. "I don't know what happened."

Auren walked around him, amazed. "The 'what' is obvious. Why, is another story. It could be a disease from those beast-men out there."

"A curse," said Sara.

Cyril fought back tears. "I'm faithful enough, aren't I? And I lived through the plague, same as you." He'd come to the new world well after the first terrible winter, but had arrived just in time for the year of pox.

Auren grimaced, fidgeting with tongs from the forge. "Either way, the beasts did something to you. What do we do about it?"

"I can't go back to the village," said Cyril. "They'll shoot me."

Sara said, "Then we call the pastor. If a curse it is, he'll break it; otherwise he'll pray for you at least."

Her husband added, "And let everyone know to be a little more careful in picking targets."

Cyril shuddered, looking back over his stretched-out body. It felt alien, monstrous. It made him glad to be far out where he wouldn't have to face everyone's stares.

----

Max, the village priest, stared at Cyril and listened intently to everything that had happened. He said, "Can you recite the Litany?" Witches and possessed people couldn't get it right.

Cyril's head was full of questions and fears. He tried to focus, and started out with the words that'd been drilled into him since childhood. "Our Maker, who dwells..."

Everyone listened, leaning close to see if he'd get it right. Cyril quailed and took refuge in the words pouring out of him. After a while he forgot what was next. "I don't know! What's the rest?! All I can think of is, Amen!"

The priest let out a breath. "The Amen was the end of it. You said it exactly right."

Cyril's vision blurred and he wiped his eyes. "Then...?"

"I don't sense anything evil about you. If anything you seem healthy, full of life. How do you feel?"

Cyril's stomach rumbled, way back by his hindlegs. "Hungry." And relieved! Whatever was wrong, it wasn't the devil's work.

Max actually laughed, and patted Cyril on the upper shoulder. "That's easier to deal with than possession. With that long body I'd expect a big appetite. We'll all share a bit of the spare crops; it'll be another good growing year if we can keep from being shot."

"I'll work for the food," said Cyril.

"That you will. Spoken like a good man."

Hearing that made Cyril's ears perk up and his tail untuck itself from between his hindlegs. He looked to Auren and Sara. "And you don't hate me either?"

"No," said Sara. "It's still you we're seeing. Now, do you think with that strong back of yours you can haul some wood?"

----

Cyril threw himself into the extra work. For the first few days his friends escorted him all over the village, meeting people's stares with a friendly tail-wave and an offer to help with whatever they were doing. It was the most he'd been involved in town affairs since his first days in the new world.

His mood was unstable, though. Sometimes he'd find himself weeping for no reason, or pointlessly lusty, or flaring up in anger so that he had to turn away and chop firewood before he could do anything he'd regret. And he ate whenever he could, scrounging cheese and fish and vegetables, whatever people could spare. All that extra muscle in his new limbs made him faster, tougher, and hungrier. It took weeks to notice how comfortable he felt despite all the mood swings and the weirdness of walking on four paws. April's light warmed the world, and the dreams started. Wonderful ones, forgotten the moment he awoke but full of blooming flowers and a feeling of being loved.

He woke up one morning in his cabin, curled in his pile of blankets. There'd been a woman, holding him and rubbing gently along his underside... Cyril forgot the details as he woke, but it'd been nice. He lay on his backs. His mid-paws stretched and hugged back on himself, brushing over his lower belly.

He felt pudgy today. Still half-asleep, he poked at the fur around where he figured his stomach was. The skin felt stretched a little, not flabby, so maybe he'd just had too big a meal. He was still hungry though, and his belly rumbled. It kept doing that occasionally for the next few days - just doing little flips and gurgles. It didn't hurt though. In the afternoons he sprawled on the ground, resting paws on his stomach, and that seemed to make things settle down. He didn't know why, but if anything it felt nice.

Cyril started to worry about the flab. Into May he kept working hard, cutting trees and trotting around town as a courier and scout, but the pudge was just getting worse. Between that and the indigestion, he decided to visit Sara one evening.

"Oh, hello," she said, opening the door. "Auren is off chatting about iron and guns."

"I was hoping to see you," said Cyril, taking off the cap he wore to make himself more obviously not a native. "Do you have any medicine for an upset stomach?"

Sara said, "Feeling all right? Let me see. Here, lay on your side."

Cyril settled onto a rug and eased himself onto his right flank. Even as he did that, he felt his stomach start up again, stronger than even this morning. It was like someone was poking at him.

Sara knelt beside him and felt along his belly. "Well, with all you've been eating..." She trailed off, tail curling curiously.

"What?" said Cyril. "My stomach has been odd lately."

She said, "No, this here is your stomach." She moved her paw farther up his underside, where his skin felt flat and normal. Then she slid fingers away, avoiding his sheath, down to the odd swelling to poke and rub at it. Just then, it felt like something squirmed within his belly and poked at his skin from inside.

Both of them startled. Sara looked ready to spray him. "That was...!" Her hand trembled as she moved to feel his belly again. It was still doing that rumbling. "Cyril, I'd say it's impossible, but one miracle's already happened to you. It feels like..."

"Like what? What's wrong with me?"

She stared at his belly, then back at his face. "As though you're carrying a child."

Cyril laughed, feeling his stomach twitch. No, not his stomach... And she wasn't laughing along. His midpaws drifted to the swelling. They felt the way his skin stretched tight over the odd, warm weight inside him. A slowly growing weight, starting to move...

Sara said, "That day we were attacked, what happened to you?"

Cyril thought back to the native and the soft feel of her own belly. "I wished, I prayed there was something I could do for that woman. But she was dying."

"Maybe your wish was granted. To take over for her as a mother."

Cyril stared back at Sara, whose expression was hard to read. He took her hand to reassure himself. That squirming inside him started again. This wasn't natural. It couldn't be happening to him! He pressed midpaws against himself as though he could make the belly go away.

"If... if I'm right," said Sara, "you're only a few months along, and showing this much already. You're going to get bigger, and won't be able to hide it."

"Then what can I do?" Everyone would stare at him even more. And he'd grow... oh, God, was there a kit really growing there?

"It's a miracle. It has to be. You should make peace with this, with whatever's happening to your body." She stood and paced, nervously going to her drawers of herbs. "I don't know that you have much of a choice now."

----

Cyril tried to get through the day, but was a wreck. He kept breaking into tears or laughing at how this couldn't be happening. All the while he kept thinking it was his own prayer at work, if Sara was right. Maybe in the morning everything would be back to normal, two legs and trim belly, and he wouldn't have to think about raising a little skunk-kit.

After a long time he fell into a restless sleep. He sweated in his blanket-pile. The woman was there again in his dream, just like the native but without her round, pregnant middle. She was thin and beautiful. Her masked face smiled down at him while he lay on his backs, and her paws stroked through his fur.

Cyril reached up to cuddle her, and she settled atop him, nose to nose. When she spoke it was in the natives' odd language, and he didn't know what she'd said. But there was a question in her eyes. The woman's middle paws rested on the sides of his pudgy belly. She needed to know... something.

He realized from her look, her questioning tone, that he really did have a choice. She could take back the miracle, she was saying. It wasn't fair to do this to him or any man without him knowing. The kits (more than one?) would die with her, otherwise, but it wasn't his obligation to save a native's life.

Cyril stared into her eyes, horrified at the thought. "Let them die, when they could live?"

She spoke and this time he understood. "And be born... to you? You don't have to do this."

He sobbed quietly, cursing himself for letting his feelings get to him. Everything about his body felt strange, not his own. He hadn't asked for this, not really!

He cradled his belly, paws brushing against hers. "Neither did they," he murmured. Little innocent ones, resting inside him. "They just need a mother. Can I really be that for them?"

"You can," the native seemed to say. "If you're willing, you'll get everything you need. It's not all bad. Though not every man would have the courage."

It wasn't bravery, really, but compassion for the little ones. They should get a chance to live, and however this had happened to Cyril, he'd be heartless to deny them that. "I'll do it," he said. "I'll take care of them."

The woman leaned down and kissed him, holding tight for a long time. She was holding back tears of her own.

And then he was awake, with sun streaming through the window and paws resting on what he now knew to be a growing womb.

----

It was though his body had needed permission to let the kits grow. Over the summer he swelled in earnest. It snuck up on him slowly enough. One day he could still pretend the belly was just fat, and a few days later he'd crossed a line of feeling definitely, undeniably pregnant. The sensation was like nothing Cyril had experienced before, of course. The squirming, kicking and churning in his belly went on for hours sometimes. He got into the habit of rolling onto his long back and lying there, resting midpaws against himself and... singing. Just tunes from the old country in his laughable singing voice. The kits would quiet down when he sang a little and rocked side to side. He imagined how they'd pester and tease him once they were born. Always, he'd lay there longer than he had to, with a smile on his face.

He had another of the dreams. The woman was there, petting his tail. Around her he felt relief from the growing weight in him, and from the stares. "The preacher told everyone," he said to his imagined visitor. "Max called this a miracle, and I guess it is."

She was doing something with her paws, rubbing around his hindlegs. It was a very nice feeling, but... "Hey," he said, blushing. "What're you doing?"

The woman smiled and said, "Getting you ready."

Cyril went wide-eyed as he felt his skin shifting, reshaping under her touch. Before he could object, she'd moved on to nuzzling at his chest. It felt wonderful as her nose brushed over his fur, making his chest grow more sensitive. "And you'll need these..." she said.

Cyril brushed her hair as she teased at his chest. Every breath seemed to make it swell a little, starting to curve and weigh on him. Of course he should've expected this part, but these changes went beyond the belly and the squirmy kits hidden there. He started to cry. "I'm a woman?"

The native spirit looked up at him. "No, no, you'll keep everything. But you need more than extra legs to be a proper mother."

Cyril put one hand to his chest and looked back at himself, trying to see what else she'd done to him. He could guess. When he flipped onto his back he found he was still male, technically, but that he also had all he needed for giving birth when the time came. "Oh, God."

"Yours or my people's?" she asked.

"I don't know."

She kissed Cyril's cheek. "I've been watching over you. Let my people see you, when it's time." She hugged him close, letting him smell the strange scent of this land's natives again. It mingled with his own musk to make him feel peaceful, and proud.

----

He woke up relaxed by whatever he'd been dreaming. Slowly Cyril heaved himself upright from the bed onto all fours. Something felt different today. He walked outside to feel the breeze and found he was waddling with wide hind hips. At the same time he scratched his fuzzy white chest and felt the soft, heavy breasts hanging there.

For a while he stared, heart pounding and tail twitching. The tail brushed down between his legs and made him even more unnerved. He took a couple of deep breaths and steadied himself. He cupped his chest and gulped. "Okay... I'll need these." The rest of his shifting body was all right, considering, and male enough. If also female. His kits squirmed comfortably as he tried walking with his wider hips. After a few steps of jiggling and swaying he started to laugh at himself. "What a mess I am!" Hungry, too.

He grabbed a shirt and pulled it on, shivering at how the linen rubbed over his chest and stretched tightly. For good measure he donned his militia vest so he wasn't so obviously poking out in front. People had been staring at him enough already! Rather than go into town to do more errands, Cyril figured he could put that off and make himself useful by hunting. With his musket slung over his shoulder and powder-horn at his upper waist, he walked out to the woods beyond his hut.

As usual Cyril sniffed the wind. Game was still common out here beyond town, even with the native hunters. The walk did him good. He was waddling a bit and the musket's carrying strap slid between his new breasts, but that was all right. Soon he caught the scent of a deer. Ah, some fresh meat would be good for the kits! Cyril slinked into the woods and started along the trail, watching for signs of the deer's passage. After half an hour of walking, though, he found himself panting. At every step he was jiggling, waddling, feeling over-tired from the exertion. He had to go on, though! How could he let this, this blessing of his ruin his hunting and the rest of his work?

He walked on but soon had to lean against a tree, in danger of fainting. His kits kicked him and his cheeks burned with shame at being so out of shape. Just last week he'd been helping to haul wood around the village. Now, he was just an eating machine, unable to help anybody. His tail dragged along the ground as he trudged back home, hips swaying with each step. At home a snack of some leftover jerky helped cheer him up, but he was still stupidly crying over nothing, over being fat and ugly and useless. He needed to see a friendly face.

----

Auren was at work again. "You look miserable," he said, taking off his leather gloves to usher Cyril in and pat him on the shoulder.

"I know," said Cyril. He sniffled as he settled onto the floor, overheated by the forge nearby. "I can't deal with this."

The smith leaned against the wall. "There isn't much choice. What's there is there." He finally seemed to notice the breasts hidden under Cyril's vest, and tried not to stare.

"But how can I take care of myself when I'm like this? I can't hunt!"

Auren crouched beside him, eye to eye. "You still have your garden, right? And you're becoming a mother. It's normal to be a little helpless, and rely on others."

Cyril wiped his eyes and saw his friend smiling, trying to cheer him up. Auren had always been there. Now with that look of caring and concern on his face, and those muscled arms, Cyril found himself wishing... what?

Auren hugged him around the upper waist, and it was warm and wonderful. But then the smith stepped back with a startled expression, stammering an apology.

Cyril's mind reeled. "I... I should go!" There was a new warmth under his tail and he very much didn't want to think about it.

Auren could only nod. Cyril waddled back to his home and doused himself with cold water. He was still shivering when Sara knocked, asking, "May I come in?"

Cyril answered the hut's door, looking guilty. Auren's wife stood there with a basket of bread and fruit.

She said, "Auren told me what happened. I don't blame either of you, if that helps." There was some mischief in her eyes, though, when she added, "A mother-to-be often needs attention from her man."

Cyril stared at the floor, ashamed. "He didn't mean to show me any affection like that! I wasn't thinking clearly, and, and... Why do I need to go through this?" He looked up into her eyes, sniffling.

Sara set the basket down and gave him a hug, too. "You're blessed. Blessings don't always mean an easy life."

Blessings? "There was something the mother of those kits said... The original mother. Whatever it was in her language, convinced the other natives not to attack me, or to keep fighting. She said it three times." He settled down onto his long lower body, laying sideways. He meant only to look at his heavy belly for a moment, but his forepaws drifted down to caress it. He'd become tight and full, and even now one of his kits bumped against his taut fuzzy skin as if to greet him.

"Are you listening?" said Sara.

Cyril looked up from focusing all his attention on the kits. "Oh! I'm sorry. What is it?"

She shook her head ruefully. "You're certainly starting to act the part. I was saying, three kits if her words are any guide. I don't think it will be long now before they're ready. Will you be?"

"I'll have to be, for them."

"Do you have any idea what will happen to you afterward? Will you change back?"

"I don't know," he said. He'd need to feed the kits... ah, that would be wonderful! He smiled serenely.

Sara hesitated before suggesting, "You should have someone to help you take care of them. If you stay like this, you should marry. Possibly a husband."

Both of them blushed. It was hard to object that he was male when he could feel his kits squirming inside.

----

There came a day when the wind began to blow cold through his fur. He was outside, chopping wood, enjoying the strength of his muscles even while talking to the kits about the old country and about village life. "Sara should be by this afternoon to check on you, and then we can spend the evening relaxing."

The tree he was working on gave a sudden snap, sooner than expected. Cyril leaped to one side and made sure he was clear of the falling trunk. He stood there with one forepaw raised, ears alert, then laughed at himself. He'd really gotten used to the extra feet and to how he could move with them. Even with the challenge of the extra weight. "You okay in there?" he asked, laying down on his side to check himself over for the tenth time today. Just then, there was a twinge of pain low in his underbelly.

Cyril yelped. He staggered upright and turned in a circle, trying to make sure he was all right. Oh, Maker, he had to hurry! He rested the axe back on his improvised belt, then trotted toward Sara's place.

She didn't answer for a minute. Cyril paced, trotting in circles. Then when she finally opened the door he said, "I think it might be time!"

Sara laughed. "Another nervous mother! Cyril, if I didn't know you were a man..." She smiled and ruffled his tail with warm fingers. "Come in and I'll have a look."

Cyril blushed as Sara began to check his changed body over. He got his answer not from her but from another sudden convulsion, this one stronger.

Sara's ears flicked back in surprise. "This soon? I'd expect you to be in labor for hours, but at this rate we need to get you comfortable right away."

Cyril's claws dug into the rug. "Are the kits all right?"

"They're fine so far as I can tell, and energetic! I've never worked with a four-footed mother like you. Now let's get some bedding; maybe if you rear up on your hindlegs this will be easier."

A memory came to him. "Their mother, the native I mean, wanted me to be seen by her tribe."

"You can show off after you're done."

Minutes later, while Cyril was trying to get ready, Auren opened the door in a panic. "They're back! A whole mess of them, armed!"

Cyril yelped, caught by another contraction. Auren gaped at him, saying, "Now? This has to happen now?"

Cyril panted, blushing deeply. "I don't have much say in the matter."

Auren grabbed his musket and powder-horn. He told Sara, "The men are gathering to fight off the natives. Be ready to run to the church." In the distance, someone whooped.

"I'll go," said Cyril. "I need to." He struggled to stand.

Both Sara and her husband pushed him down. "You're busy," said Sara.

"There's just it! They need to see this. They need to see me."

"Are you crazy?" said Auren.

Cyril pushed his way past Auren and staggered outside, willing the kits to behave for just a little longer. "The natives are here for a reason."

He wobbled along not toward safety at the church, but toward the village's edge. A squad of militia had already gathered by the time Cyril and a protesting Auren reached them. A band of a dozen natives loomed in the distance amid the trees, stamping too many feet.

Cyril walked between the groups, started to tell them not to fight, then yelped and collapsed onto his side as the kits decided time was up.

Both sides swarmed toward him, stopped as they saw one another coming on, then warily approached more slowly. Spears and guns and bows lowered. Then the natives' leader called back over his shoulders and brought forward a woman with a blanket and a bag. A healer, a midwife.

Cyril's world shrank to his own body and the growing strength of his contractions. He was being watched over by the native healer and by Sara, and it didn't matter who else was there for the spectacle of the transformed colonist.

In a little while he lay flat on his backs, panting, and stared for the first time at a trio of kits. The midwives had just cleaned them off. His vision was blurry with tears. He felt them against his fur before he even got a good look at them. There was a six-limbed stripe-tail like himself, a two-legged ringtail, and another four-footer with a spotted pattern. They were the three most wonderful creatures in the world, and it didn't matter where he was or what the people around him were saying.

When the natives' chief got through to him, Cyril hugged his kits close, letting one of them drink for the first time. Though he was in a dreamy haze as the labor pains wore off, he paid a little attention as the native explained by gesture and a few broken words that there should be peace, now.

Of course there should.

----

It wasn't easy forging that peace, but the miracle of Cyril's motherhood seemed to everyone like a message from on high. He was the one to start spending more time among the natives, learning their language, and to raise the kits in a mix of cultures. In time he entered into a relationship that the holy men of two religions managed to justify and bless after much confusion, giving Cyril a very accepting wife from among the newest colonists, and an open-minded husband from the natives. He continued to live in the middle, as the town grew outward toward the tribal land and began to be less of an intrusion, more of a partnership.

Cyril spent the rest of his life raising a family. He was a father several times over and a mother, to his surprising eagerness, again and again. With all of his kits blessed with good health like himself, living and going on to marry among both cultures, the descendants of the blessed Cyril became too many to count. Our combined peoples spread across a continent and made a mighty city of this place, this colony that had been visited by miracle.

Sometimes it wasn't even clear that a family carried his gifts until they showed up unexpectedly, skipping generations. Ours is one such family. Or so I know, now, watching your extra paws start to grow. There might well be some other changes ahead, but we'll help you deal with those if they happen. Our line is used to compassion, family, and the unexpected. It's a fine tradition for you to join.

[[category:story]][[category:Kris]][[category:Skunk]][[category:Taur]][[category:Transgender]]

User:Kris

2017-04-30T04:25:07Z

Kris:

If you like my stories, check out my novels:

[http://www.amazon.com/Striking-Root-Kris-Schnee/dp/1481008137/ "Striking the Root"]: A young squirrelfolk wizard tries to serve his living god by delivering a simple message.

[https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B01KM98TJW/ "Thousand Tales" series]: In the 2030s, humans "upload" to live in a virtual world where they can change species, escape age and disease, play around to get cool magic powers, and try to save the world they came from.

[https://www.amazon.com/dp/B071V9B4JX/ "Learning To Fly", released 2017/5/5]: In the latest "Thousand Tales" book, a pilot becomes a magic-wielding pegasus just in time to help redraw the world.

My Stories:
{{my stories}}
[[The Agency]]

[[A Walk in the Park]]

[[So You're Becoming a Taur]]

[[The Whale]]

[[ZOM100: Zombie Mitigation Lab]]

[[Taking the Plunge]]

[[The Petlyakov-15 Amusement Engine]]

{{author page}}

[http://kschnee.deviantart.com More On DeviantArt]

User:Kris

2017-04-30T04:20:47Z

Kris:

If you like my stories, check out my novels:
"Striking the Root": [http://www.amazon.com/Striking-Root-Kris-Schnee/dp/1481008137/ Paperback and E-Book] A young squirrelfolk wizard tries to serve his living god by delivering a simple message.
"Thousand Tales" series: [https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B01KM98TJW/] In the 2030s, humans "upload" to live in a virtual world where they can change species, escape age and disease, play around to get cool magic powers, and try to save the world they came from.
"Learning To Fly": [https://www.amazon.com/dp/B071V9B4JX/ Released 2017/5/5] In the latest "Thousand Tales" book, a pilot becomes a magic-wielding pegasus just in time to help redraw the world.

{{my stories}}
[[The Agency]]

[[A Walk in the Park]]

[[So You're Becoming a Taur]]

[[The Whale]]

[[ZOM100: Zombie Mitigation Lab]]

[[Taking the Plunge]]

[[The Petlyakov-15 Amusement Engine]]

{{author page}}

[http://kschnee.deviantart.com More On DeviantArt]

User:Kris

2014-01-06T16:41:53Z

Kris:

If you like my stories, check out my fantasy novel "Striking the Root" on Amazon: [http://www.amazon.com/Striking-Root-Kris-Schnee/dp/1481008137/ Paperback and E-Book]

{{my stories}}
[[The Agency]]

[[A Walk in the Park]]

[[So You're Becoming a Taur]]

[[The Whale]]

[[ZOM100: Zombie Mitigation Lab]]

[[Taking the Plunge]]

[[The Petlyakov-15 Amusement Engine]]

{{author page}}

[http://kschnee.deviantart.com More On DeviantArt]

User:Kris

2014-01-06T16:41:38Z

Kris: More Stories

If you like my stories, check out my fantasy novel "Striking the Root" on Amazon: [http://www.amazon.com/Striking-Root-Kris-Schnee/dp/1481008137/ Paperback and E-Book]

{{my stories}}
[[The Agency]]

[[A Walk in the Park]]

[[So You're Becoming a Taur]]

[[The Whale]]

[[ZOM100: Zombie Mitigation Lab]]

[[Taking the Plunge]]

[[he Petlyakov-15 Amusement Engine]]

{{author page}}

[http://kschnee.deviantart.com More On DeviantArt]

The Petlyakov-15 Amusement Engine

2014-01-05T02:44:23Z

Kris: Is Category Tags

The Petlyakov-15 Amusement Engine caught Devin's eye at a yard sale. The box was a bleak-looking steel cube in olive drab, apparently built to withstand small-arms fire, yet it had controller ports and a cartridge slot. He called the saleslady over from her busy work of rearranging battered stuffed animals. "Is this some kind of custom case on a Nintendo?"

She shrugged. "It was my cousin's, but then he moved out all of the sudden. Wasted all his time playing video games."

The box wasn't labeled beyond "PE-15" and some unreadable Cyrillic text. Pretty impressive design for a custom case. The ports actually looked like they'd take several kinds of controllers and anything from a NES cartridge to a Genesis one, maybe even a Turbographix-16 card.

She saw him fussing over the thing and said, "I haven't got any of the games for it, but half the time he just played the thing without any. Has some built in, I guess."

Even better! "How much do you want for it?"

#

Once he'd dusted the thing off and plugged in the wires it came with, Devin bothered to look the thing up online. A quick Google search showed nothing for the PE-15 except a vague reference to "Eastern Bloc video games and other garbage knockoffs". He couldn't complain about the fact that it actually turned on with standard Canadian household current, though. That was more than he could say for a Chinese fake-Nintendo model he'd once found. The machine turned on and played a sort of dirge even without any game cartridge plugged in. Just a bunch of Cyrillic text for a menu though, in black on red. Not very user-friendly, but what else could he expect? He moved the little hammer cursor to a random game and hit Start on an imitation SNES gamepad from a modern company.

It seemed incomplete. There was a red spaceship flying around and shooting things, but most of the sprites were just empty squares like placeholders for someone less lazy to fill in later. Disappointed, Devin reset to the title screen and tried something else. The second game was even worse: a little square moving around in a maze that had no exit. Ugh. And all of the other menu options just buzzed at him. He sighed, but there was still hope for the thing as a console emulator.

The next day he dug up a copy of "The Legend of Zelda" and blew dust out of it. The PE-15 came on and showed him... "The Legend of Svetlana"? He blinked at the little English text beneath the bigger Cyrillic logo. The only save file was called IVAN too, and the boomerang was replaced with a throwing hammer. For old times' sake he played through the last dungeon -- IVAN had gotten partway through it and found the red ring -- and rescued the princess. Instead of the usual ending text, the system glitched and dumped him back to the built-in games menu. And this time, some of the black-text games had turned grey.

Curious now, Devin fired up the first built-in game. The graphics had been filled in with bits stolen from "Zelda". Er, "Svetlana". The one with the tiny maze had expanded too, to look something like a Zelda dungeon area with missing parts.

Devin had work to attend to, but over the next few days the mystery nagged at him. "Anybody ever hear of this thing?" Nobody on his usual Internet chatroom had heard of the machine. That was saying something, considering the high geek level there. "There's nothing obvious on the game history sites either," he said.

One friend said, "It unlocked features when you beat a game? You should get a couple of short or easy ones to try. Contra, Gradius, Kirby's Dream Land if you can use a Game Boy cartridge or get the Kirby Super Star edition..."

"You're a nerd."

"Guilty."

So Devin became a more avid gamer. He shopped at a used game store and grabbed various classics from the 8- and 16-bit era, to see what the PE-15 would do to them. "Super Mario Bros."? Bowser had a top hat and Mario kept rescuing soldiers, who (according to Internet translation) said in Russian, "Thank you Mario! But our factories are still in enemy hands!" The title on "Rush'n Attack" didn't translate. "Contra" was when things started getting weird.

The usual cheat code worked. (Ask any 1980s gamer.) But the simplistic, vaguely Cold War-themed action game didn't normally have a character selection screen. Instead of playing as a generic Rambo-like guy, Devin had a choice of dozens of sprites, including some from every game he'd played on the machine and variants on each. Devin grinned and picked a tiny helicopter to take into this infantry-focused game.

As usual there was no real story, but the ending screen had text. Devin had set up a video camera to record his adventures, so the gameplay went up on YouTube alongside his unlikely collection of military hardware videos and pony cartoons. The ending text was something about "train for final level".

The next day, someone commented on the video: one "XHuman", who just said, "STOP PLAYING."

Devin shivered. There was weird, which he appreciated, but then there was creepy. He looked up XHuman's profile and found some kind of starfield animation as the only recent upload. Years before that he'd favorited some of the game things as Devin, like four minutes' footage of all the switch-flipping necessary to get a Black Hawk helicopter in the air. They'd put up one PE-15 video too, labeled "Penultimate". It showed a game Devin hadn't seen, in the style of the built-in ones but much more complex. Inventory screens and tactical maps flashed past as the player expertly directed a thinly veiled nuclear and army assault on "North Mearcia", dressed up with Super Fireball Dragons and Cossacks.

XHuman's character was an amazingly detailed and well-animated blue dragon that flitted around the map on some kind of orbital path. He got as far as capturing the White Palace before getting a Soviet fanfare and a block of text mouthed by a portrait of the dragon. It was in English, sort of. "Congraturation!! You have completed a great game and prooved the justice of our culture." This was word-for-word ripped from the NES "Ghostbusters" game. Then: "Now begins real-type mode!"

Devin laughed. There wasn't a better way to get him to keep playing the console than to dangle such a strange thing in front of him. Before long he'd started posting live video of his too-long gaming sessions, so his friends could watch the Slavicized, garbled gameplay he got from plugging in standard games. "Tetris" just gave him a warning screen saying something about "Attention Sapping Project". (It'd been rumored that the game was a Russian conspiracy to destroy Americans' productivity.) There was an airline management sim where Aeroflot planes were superior, a very short "Kid Icarus" version (can't do much with it if angels and Greek folklore are ''verboten'' superstition), and an unusually serious remix of "River City Ransom" emphasizing the rampant crime and gang violence of Western cities. That one was easier than it'd normally be with one player, since Devin got to build his own character. The bits of data from other games combined to let him design a horse with angel wings, with a powerful kick attack. So the next few hours of gameplay consisted of Devin playing as a pegasus beating the hell out of cartoon gang members and shopping at malls with the money he stomped out of them. Truly, River City was facing serious trouble.

XHuman didn't comment again, but Devin was getting a following for his videos of the altered games. The built-in games had evolved into something beginning to resemble the wargame from the "Penultimate" video, split up into various sub-games like a "Missile Command" knock-off. Devin especially liked the flight sim, which was obviously cobbled together from "Top Gun" and other games but remade into something more complex and interesting. Especially after he found copies of "Legendary Wings" and "PilotWings" and "StarFox". The flying abilities of all his characters got that much more detailed, once he'd played those games on the console. From that point on the PE-15 even sported crude 3D graphics. His friends' theory was that the console had somehow analyzed the function of the Super FX chip and other hardware built into the cartridges; he already knew this piece of hardware had a crazy level of customization and adaptation. The changes to "DuckTales" alone to make it into "Greedy Capitalist Duck Story" were a work of art.

"Is it connecting to the Internet?" one of his friends asked him. "Maybe it's hooked up to one of those Soviet 'numbers stations'. It'd help explain the new content... well, kind of."

"I have no idea."

"Try opening it up, then! Look for a radio antenna."

Devin looked skeptically at the console. "I don't know... Maybe it's rigged to blow up or something if it's opened."

"X-ray it? You can get a view of what's on the circuitboards."

Devin typed, "Sure. Can I borrow your X-ray circuit analyzer?"

"Uh."

The best way available to figure out how this thing worked was just to keep playing! Devin put a lot of hours into it over the next month. The games built into the thing kept getting better as he tried them and plugged in other games for it to read, or whatever it was doing. He'd settled on a standard character too: a neat white pegasus loosely resembling one of the robots from "Megaman X". It was fun to see how the graphics style on him changed depending on the game, from a tiny squareish thing to a big detailed sprite. Well, "her" technically; he'd picked the mare variant. The games had started making him choose one and offering stat bonuses for that or the stallion. He really needed the mare's agility boost for those stupid one-hit-kill games. That and the graphics were... a little better-looking.

The dialog on the handful of role-playing games he tried was different too. The translation was as bad as you'd expect from Japanese text filtered through some kind of Russian software to convert it to English, but it was still impressive how even the most inane fantasy villagers ended up reacting to the changed character. "Hello DEBRA! Welcome to SAPPHIRE TOWN!"

Devin blinked. He'd never actually entered Deb -- er, DEBRA as a character name, just his usual one. Apparently the PE-15 even adjusted for that. He kept playing for a while before running into a suddenly, massively more complex battle system than the game was supposed to have. No longer did he have to just select "Attack" over and over. Instead there was a whole set of options involving feints, airborne assault, stealth, and tactical Pokemon strikes. Devin grinned as he battled through the usual cookie-cutter enemies with newfound enthusiasm.

That evening, even later than he usually liked to stay up, he found that one more game had been unlocked on the main menu. It was the next to last entry on the list, titled only "????". The fact that it had changed color made him shiver. Maybe it was the fancy wargame video he'd seen before. Then there was the way everything on the console had been leading up to this new challenge, and the differences between this version and XHuman's. He looked at the console and said, "What is this thing, anyway? A recruitment device? An AI?" It answered only with the steady glow of its red power light.

Devin backed away from it and shut it down for the night, deciding not to mess with it until tomorrow. Unnoticed, the red light winked on again while he slept.

He kept putting off his encounter with the game. A meal, some errands. The PE-15 was still waiting for him. Finally he picked up the controller and saw what the penultimate game had in store.

It was different than anything he'd seen before. The music was original, as close to a majestic flying theme as one can get with 16-bit sound hardware. The game began with no introduction, no instructions, just his chosen character soaring over a fantasy world on her white-feathered wings. Devin found the controls responsive and intuitive. After all, the Petlyakov-15 Amusement Engine had been adapting to him. The flight was peaceful and relaxing, until the fireballs started flying.

Devin banked and dived past them. He called up a little scanning mini-game he'd played earlier and made contact with the ground control wizards, who identified anti-pegasus weaponry installations all along the east coast of "treacherous United Empire". Devin grinned and circled around through Canada... er, "Moose Kingdom". He still had to do mortal battle in midair with the menacing sky moose squadrons, but this game's designer didn't give Moose Kingdom enough credit for military preparedness. Now, what exactly was he supposed to be doing?

He beat his wings against the arctic air, shivering in sympathy with his character struggling to fly through the boreal wind. Intuitively he activated the various mini-games he'd mastered to hack into local radar, check his magic loadout, and search for targets. Hmm... There was a sorcerer with a hidden fortress under a mountain in the middle of the evil empire, and apparently he was supposed to take over. Simple but for the horde of storm giants with shoulder-fired lightning blasters. That and the fact that his target had a mountain over it.

Half an hour of flying and battling later, Devin's hands were cramped on the controller. He'd hardly looked away from the screen and his eyes ached. Time to pause this thing and... there was no pause feature to this one. Gah! He snorted in annoyance and flicked his hair out of his eyes, making a note to get a haircut. The Russians were more dedicated to their gaming than he'd have liked. He could sit through the rest of this mission and finish the job to see the ending.

No, actually. Devin thought again about everything he'd done with this console. It had adapted to him, merging data from different games and possibly even hardware designs. It had been watching, judging, nudging him into designing a detailed custom character with abilities he'd also helped customize. It had kept asking him, "Do you want to buy upgraded speed, or attack power?" and the like, and shifting later games as though it remembered his choices. He flicked his camera view over to one side and admired how he'd been persuaded to define the character's appearance too, giving her a sort of Greek look with a white backless toga and a backpack stuffed with missiles... er, scrolls. In space-themed games he'd gotten to play as her too, just with a shorter skirt and a space bubble helmet and raygun. The thing that struck him now, though, was that unlike previous games, there was no explicit goal. No timer or urgency. So, who cared that there was no pause feature?

Devin veered away from the enemy empire and let himself soar over peaceful oceans. His trackers showed him intercontinental ballistic fireball krakens lurking in the depths, but they didn't go after so small a target as one pegasus. He found a glide path around the arctic circle, reconsidered his plan to hover for so long, and landed on an icy island. He let go of the controller at last, so he could take a break. His back muscles ached from so much flying.

Devin stood and grabbed a carrot from the fridge to chew on. His bare feet clicked on the kitchen tile. He kept glancing back at the game, but nothing was attacking just yet. He called up the game's maps... well, really just thought about them without grabbing the controller again. With no overt winning condition, it might be fun to see just how far he could push the PE-15's rules. He grabbed a glass of water and drank it thoughtfully, managing to bang it against his face due to not paying attention. The game let him land instead of treating him like a fighter plane. Would it let him do stuff on the ground?

He sat again, brushed his tail out of the way, and picked up the controller. The extra-wide buttons made it easier for his fingers to not mash them all at once. Were there this many buttons before, though? He was glad for the 3D camera dials and motion sensors despite not having noticed them earlier. He lifted off with a few wingbeats and explored the Moose Kingdom to see how much detail had gone into it. Now that he was flying this low, the game was struggling to keep up. The framerate fell and endless forests popped up in lieu of accurate map detail. Well, to be fair, endless forests were a pretty good approximation of the region he was flying over, somewhere equivalent to Alberta.

He circled lazily in the sky, occasionally swatting a killer cloud when it drifted too close. He stood up from in front of the console and looked to the window. Cloudy day out there in reality, but decently warm considering the latitude and season. Which was like saying "a relatively comfortable volcano", but hey, his coat was thick enough to handle it. He could put on a jacket too. The thought made him laugh and glance back at his wings. Okay, maybe a regular coat wasn't such a good idea, but maybe he could wear a vest backwards or something. Better yet, a scarf; it'd look cute over his toga. He checked his inventory, found a scarf, and equipped it before realizing what he was doing.

Something circled in the sky over his home. Not a bird, plane or superman, but what looked like a silvery humanoid machine. Devin raced back to the game console, turned his pegasus' eyes downward, and saw a fantasy version of some very familiar-looking terrain. He grinned and activated his sonic boom move.

His window rattled a few seconds later. Devin glanced back and forth between window and game screen. If the purpose of the PE-15 was to train up Cold War recruits in some way, he was doing a pretty bad job of it so far. But then again, it had adapted to him and his own chosen goals and games. XHuman's last video had showed a field of stars. Could it be that it wasn't just some screen saver or NASA footage? XHuman's "Penultimate" game experience had kept him on something resembling an orbital flight path, like a satellite. Devin wasn't so limited; the game let him wander far away from whatever it was trying to do with him. In his case it was sort of pushing him to nuke NORAD... but considering its willingness to let him be what he wanted and do what he wanted, it wasn't pushing very hard. How could he win a video game with that much flexibility? Devin tingled with possibility, a sensation of being not quite complete or ready. The next move was up to him.

It was a nice day outside. "I need a break from games." Unseen by anyone except the PE-15, Devin ran hoof-like fingers through her mane and stretched her wings luxuriously. "The only winning move..." She wrapped a scarf around her neck and tucked one end into her low-cut toga for extra warmth before stepping outside. Her hooves sank a bit into the snow and cold air tickled her white coat and feathers.

Debra stepped into the air with a graceful beat of her wings, and flew off to find her own fun. "The only winning move, is to go outside and play."

The Petlyakov-15 Amusement Engine sat there in Debra's home, humming quietly to itself. There was some very interesting psychological information to report. Far away, ham radio enthusiasts reported a cryptic broadcast on a Russian-language radio signal, but completely missed the data stream hidden behind the eerie list of numbers. Another computer, far more powerful, was already at work on calculating how the new pegasus might be useful to the cause...
[[Category:2013 Xmas Xchange]][[category:story]][[category:Kris]][[category:Anthropomorphic]][[category:Equine]][[category:Mythical]][[category:Transgender]]

The Petlyakov-15 Amusement Engine

2014-01-05T02:40:15Z

Kris: Is Installation of Amusement Engine For Working Class Entertainment

FreeRIDErs (setting)

2013-10-06T08:11:19Z

Kris: Added "Taking the Plunge" to list

{{Universe|FreeRIDErs}}{{DEFAULTSORT:FreeRIDErs (Setting Overview & Story Timeline)}}

{{byline|author=Jon Buck
|user=JonBuck}}

{{byline|author=Robotech_Master
|user=Robotech_Master}}

=={{separator|f|Setting Overview}}==
[[Image:CatGirls.jpg|thumb|300px|Kaylee and Uncia in battle dress, by Marty Salsman (http://martysalsman.deviantart.com)]]In the 25th century, scientists and technicians on the distant colony world of Zharus make a startling breakthrough in energy storage and artificial intelligence, with the aid of "qubitium," a naturally-occurring metamaterial with remarkable quantum properties. The creation of true AI springs from quantum simulations of neural networks based on animals' genetic material that expand to take on true sapience.

Matching these "Reticulated Intelligence" (RI) neural networks with nanotech-composite "Drive Extender" (DE) transforming robotic bodies produces the RIDE: a metallic animal that can transform itself into a vehicle such as a hover-motorcycle (or hover-car or even plane for larger animals) or into an environmentally sealed suit of anthropomorphic-animal body armor to survive the extreme environments of Zharus's deserts, undersea, or even outer space. (Because combining with such a suit goes beyond merely putting it on and involves elements of physical and neural linkage, the act of merging with a RIDE in armor mode is called "Fusing.") Thanks to "hardlight" technology, RIDEs can even be covered with solid holographic fur that feels real to the touch, and even to the RIDE itself.

However, due to their animal basis, Fusing with a RIDE can have consequences for the pilot. In order for them to be neurologically compatible, the pilot has to have similar physical features to the RIDE itself—and the RIDE's nanotech innards are designed to grant those changes. This means that Fusing with RIDEs based on ordinary land mammals will grant the rider their ears and tail (and sometimes more extreme additions such as nose, eyes, or fur).

RIDEs based on further different animals, such as reptiles, birds, or undersea mammals, can produce much extreme changes in their riders that restrict their ability to change back or combine with a different RIDE. And likewise, if the pilot is the wrong gender, the RIDE's nanites will adjust that, too. In most cases of gender or other extreme change, the changed human is unable to change back for at least three years.

These RIDEs are used in taming the huge continent of Gondwana, a harsh and often lawless frontier that, unlike the more sedate and longer-settled continent of Laurasia, has many rich resources there for the taking, and a number of city-states occupying the ring of fertile land around the great central desert. In the desert, RIDEs are necessary to live. In the cities, they are urban transportation and playthings of the wealthy and middle-class alike. But even as they are considered mere "equipment" by many, those who know and love them know they are more than that—they are ''people'' too. Will the world come to realize and acknowledge this?

[[Image:Uncia-Harlan-Stein.jpg|thumb|150px|Uncia in battle dress, by Diana Harlan Stein (http://naiadstudios.com)]]In recent years, rumors of a new form of change have been circulating—a combining of rider and RIDE that goes far beyond Fusing. Called "Integration," this combines man and machine into a single gestalt being who can no longer separate—and who are rumored to possess powers far beyond those of mere mortals or RIDEs. It is as yet unclear whether these "Integrates" are to be welcomed or feared—and, indeed, many would place them in the same category as Bigfoot, the Yeti, or the Loch Ness Monster. But these Integrates may be growing tired of keeping to themselves.

And the latest potential threat may very well be the old home world of Earth itself. For fifty years, it has scoffed at the idea that a distant, backward world like Zharus could be the home of so many major technological breakthroughs. But Earth's mind may be changing on that score—and it has long been known for its willingness to reach out and take what it wants.

Welcome to the world of Zharus—and to its denizens. Colonists. Bandits. Miners. Mechanics. ''FreeRIDErs.''

=={{separator|f|Suggested Reading Order}}==

===Robotech_Master's Take===
As this is a shared universe, there could be plenty of jumping-on points. The very best way to read it would probably be by publication order. There's a list available [[FreeRIDErs (publication order)|here]].

Otherwise, I suggest reading "Deserted", "Merging Traffic", "Rochelle & Rufia: R&R", then "FreeRIDErs", then the first few chapters of "Integration" (and my "Foxed" tales), as those were all written earliest and have most of the earliest setting building in them. Then you can read Jetfire's and the other authors' stories in chronological order, and continue reading "Integration" after that. (Probably should leave "Second-Hand Lioness" until after Integration #21, otherwise some events in the main story could be spoiled.)

I'd suggest to have all of Jetfire's chronologically-earlier stuff read before you get to Integration #14, since that's where some of his characters merge into the storyline. That being said, you could probably just as easily read everything in straight chronological order without missing ''too'' much. Or just pick one writer at random and read his or her works through in order, then pick another one. Once you've read enough, it all starts to make sense together.

Either way, you should read at least some of the stories before you try to dig into the setting background material below the story list on this page. It was mainly written for our own reference and amusement while we built the setting overall, and can be kind of confusing if you come to it without a grounding from the stories in how the world works.

=={{separator|f|Stories in Chronological Order}}==

Authors may add links to their stories as they happen in chronological order in story time. ("AL" stands for "After Landing," representing the number of years after the colony ships landed in 2350 AD.) For a complete listing of all FreeRIDErs stories, since this list may be updated sporadically, see [[:Category:FreeRIDErs|the FreeRIDErs Category]].

'''108 AL'''
*[[User:Jetfire/Aloha|Aloha]] ''([[User:Jetfire|Jetfire]])''

'''122 AL'''
*[[User:Jetfire/Broken_Crown|Broken Crown]] ''([[User:Jetfire|Jetfire]])''

'''129 AL'''
*[[User:Jetfire/Splashdown|Splashdown]] ''([[User:Jetfire|Jetfire]])''

'''131 AL'''
*[[User:Jetfire/Astra-naught|Astra-naught]] ''([[User:Jetfire|Jetfire]])''

'''134 AL'''
*[[User:Jetfire/The_Lady_of_the_Tiger|The Lady of the Tiger]] ''([[User:Jetfire|Jetfire]])''

'''133 AL to 138 AL'''
*[[User:Jetfire/Cave_of_Wonders|Cave of Wonders]] ''([[User:Jetfire|Jetfire]])''

'''138 AL to 152 AL'''
*[[User:Jetfire/Sum of Their Parts|Sum of Their Parts]] ''([[User:Jetfire|Jetfire]])''

'''140 to 141 AL'''
*[[User:JonBuck/Fly With Me|Fly With Me]] ''([[User:JonBuck|JonBuck]]'')

'''143 AL'''
*[[User:Hawl/Bob's Origin|Bob's Origin]] ''([[User:Hawl|Hawl]]'')

'''148 AL'''
*[[User:Hawl/As A Woman I RIDE|As A Woman I RIDE]] ''([[User:Hawl|Hawl]])''
*[[User:Hawl/At Ace, We RIDE|At ACE, We RIDE]] ''([[User:Hawl|Hawl]])''
*[[User:Hawl/To Dream, We RIDE|To Dream, We RIDE]] ''([[User:Hawl|Hawl]]''
*[[User:Hawl/We live to RIDE, We RIDE to Live|We live to RIDE, We RIDE to Live]]''([[User:Hawl|Hawl]]''
'''152 to 153 AL'''
*[[User:Jetfire/Walkabout|Walkabout]] ''([[User:Jetfire|Jetfire]])''
*[[User:Jetfire/All_Spark_Bulletin|All Spark Bulletin]] ''([[User:Jetfire|Jetfire]])''

'''155 to 156 AL'''
*[[User:JonBuck/Marshals|Marshals]] ''([[User:JonBuck|JonBuck]]'' with ''[[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]])''

'''156 AL'''
*[[User:Robotech_Master/jeanette-lioness|Jeanette & Tamarind: The Second-Hand Lioness]] ''([[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]])'' (begins before "Deserted" and covers all the way through Integration #21)
*[[User:Robotech_Master/Deserted|Deserted]] ''([[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]])''
*[[User:Robotech_Master/Merging_Traffic|Merging Traffic]] ''([[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]])''
*[[User:Robotech Master/Rochelle Rufia|Rochelle & Rufia: R&R]] ''([[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]])''
*[[User:JonBuck/FreeRIDErs|FreeRIDErs]] ''([[User:JonBuck|JonBuck]])''
*[[Turnover]] '' ([[User:Fibio|Fibio]])''
*Integration
**[[User:Robotech_Master/All Nighter|Part 1: All Nighter]] ''([[User:JonBuck|JonBuck]]'' and ''[[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]])''
**[[User:Robotech_Master/Integrates|Part 2: Integrates]] ''([[User:JonBuck|JonBuck]]'' and ''[[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]])''
**[[User:Robotech Master/RIDEgirls Day Out|Part 3: RIDEgirls' Day Out]] ''([[User:JonBuck|JonBuck]]'' and ''[[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]])''
**[[User:Robotech Master/Dating Games|Part 4: Dating Games]] ''([[User:JonBuck|JonBuck]]'' and ''[[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]])''
**[[User:Robotech Master/N00bs|Part 5: N00bs]] ''([[User:JonBuck|JonBuck]]'' and ''[[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]])''
**[[User:Robotech Master/All Aboard|Part 6: All Aboard!]] ''([[User:JonBuck|JonBuck]]'' and ''[[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]])''
**[[User:Robotech Master/A Meating of the Board|Part 7: A Meating of the Board]] ''([[User:JonBuck|JonBuck]]'' and ''[[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]])''
**[[User:Robotech Master/Meat the Press|Part 8: Meat, the Press]] ''([[User:JonBuck|JonBuck]]'' and ''[[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]])''
**[[User:Robotech Master/Stockholm Vacation|Part 9: Stockholm Vacation]] ''([[User:JonBuck|JonBuck]]'' and ''[[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]])''
**[[User:Robotech Master/Spaceflight of Fancy|Part 10: Spaceflight of Fancy]] ''([[User:JonBuck|JonBuck]]'' and ''[[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]])''
**[[User:Robotech Master/Citizen Katie|Part 11: Citizen Katie]] ''([[User:JonBuck|JonBuck]]'' and ''[[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]])''
**[[User:Robotech Master/The Crew|Part 12: The Crew]] ''([[User:JonBuck|JonBuck]]'' and ''[[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]])''
**[[User:Robotech Master/Kaylee Anny|Part 13: Kaylee & Anny]] ''([[User:JonBuck|JonBuck]]'' and ''[[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]])''
**[[User:Robotech Master/Assault Batteries|Part 14: Assault and Batteries]] ''([[User:JonBuck|JonBuck]]'', ''[[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]]'', and ''[[User:Jetfire|Jetfire]])''
**[[User:Robotech Master/Task of Amontillado|Part 15: The Task of Amontillado]] ''([[User:JonBuck|JonBuck]]'', ''[[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]]'', and ''[[User:Jetfire|Jetfire]])''
**[[User:Robotech Master/Integrate Raids|Part 16: The Integrate Raids]] ''([[User:JonBuck|JonBuck]]'' and ''[[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]])''
**[[User:Robotech Master/Family Matters|Part 17: Family Matters]] ''([[User:JonBuck|JonBuck]]'' and ''[[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]])''
**[[User:Robotech Master/Many Meetings|Part 18: Many Meetings]] ''([[User:JonBuck|JonBuck]]'' and ''[[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]])''
**[[User:Robotech Master/Meetings Completing|Part 19: Meetings Completing]] ''([[User:JonBuck|JonBuck]]'', ''[[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]]'', and ''[[User:Jetfire|Jetfire]])''
**[[User:Robotech Master/Prodigals|Part 20: Prodigals]] ''([[User:JonBuck|JonBuck]]'' and ''[[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]])''
**[[User:Robotech Master/Enemy Lines|Part 21: Enemy Lines]] ''([[User:JonBuck|JonBuck]]'' and ''[[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]])''
**[[User:Robotech Master/Alpha Strike|Part 22: Alpha Strike]] ''([[User:JonBuck|JonBuck]]'' and ''[[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]])''
**[[User:Robotech Master/Universe of Battle|Part 23: Universe of Battle]] ''([[User:JonBuck|JonBuck]]'' and ''[[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]])''
**[[User:Robotech Master/What Happened Mouse|Part 24: What Happened to the Mouse?]] ''([[User:JonBuck|JonBuck]]'' and ''[[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]])''
**[[User:Robotech Master/The Big Date|Part 25 (Epilogue): The Big Date]] ''([[User:JonBuck|JonBuck]]'' and ''[[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]])''
*[[User:Robotech_Master/Slightly Foxed|Barely Fused, Slightly Foxed]] ''([[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]])'' (takes place between Part 5 and Part 6 of Integration)
*[[User:Robotech_Master/More Foxed|Longer Fused, More Foxed]] ''([[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]])'' (takes place between Part 5 and Part 14 of Integration)
*[[Taking the Plunge]] ''([[User:Kris|Kris]])'' (takes place after Part 8 of Integration)
*[[Inspecteur Hollins and The Cat's Paw]] ''([[User:Fibio|Fibio]])'' (takes place during parts 9-11 of Integration)
*[[Inspecteur Hollins and The Viral Thief]] ''([[User:Fibio|Fibio]])'' (takes place sometime after part 12 of Integration)
*[[Inspecteur Hollins and The Multimillion Vault]] ''([[User:Fibio|Fibio]])'' (takes place after part 12 of Integration)
*[[User:Robotech_Master/Kandace Jenni Friendship|Kandace and Jenni: A Beautiful Friendship]] ''([[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]])'' (takes place during/after the end of Part 15 of Integration)
* [[User:Robotech_Master/Rochelle Rufia Redux|Rochelle & Rufia Redux: Foxing About]] ''([[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]]'' and ''[[User:Jetfire|Jetfire]])'' (takes place after the end of Part 17 of Integration)
*[[Inspecteur Hollins and The Integral Assassin]] ''([[User:Fibio|Fibio]])'' (takes place during part 23 of Integration)

'''157 AL'''
* [[User:Robotech Master/A Wolf at the Door|Wolves in the Fold, Part One: A Wolf at the Door]] ''[[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]])'' (with ''([[User:JonBuck|JonBuck]]'')
* [[User:Robotech Master/Impossible Things|Impossible Things]] ''([[User:JonBuck|JonBuck]]'' and ''[[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]])''
* [[User:Robotech Master/Aloha Stonegates|Aloha, Stonegates!]] ''([[User:JonBuck|JonBuck]]'', ''[[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]]'', and ''[[User:Jetfire|Jetfire]])''
* [[User:Robotech Master/Skunked|Skunked!]] ''([[User:JonBuck|JonBuck]]'' and ''[[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]])''
* [[User:Robotech Master/Paws Up|Paws Up!]] ''([[User:JonBuck|JonBuck]]'' and ''[[User:Robotech_Master|Robotech_Master]])''

'''158 AL'''
*[[User:Jetfire/Spies_Among_Us|Spies Among Us]] ''([[User:Jetfire|Jetfire]])''

=={{separator|f|Background Material}}==

Due to the huge amount of material, we have moved this to its own page:

[[FreeRIDErs (background material)]]

[[Category:FreeRIDErs]]

Taking the Plunge

2013-09-27T15:50:46Z

Kris: /* 5 */

== 1 ==

The last word recorded on a typical "black box" device was, "Shit." Marcus said it when his sub's dive controls fizzled and sparked. Red lights flickered around him and the sub bobbed to the surface, right into the path of the waves he'd been trying to avoid. He held up his arms as though they'd protect him from the wall of water just outside the glowing "hardlight" canopy. The sea slammed him. He was rattled enough to lose control of steering, which threw him into another wave that picked him up and slammed him down into darkness.

Suddenly it was quiet. Marcus saw the cockpit flickering madly by dim gold light against the displays. Dim? The canopy that held the ocean out was failing! He checked the depth controls and saw he was still descending. That'd be fine for riding out the waves, except for what was about to happen. Marcus tried to switch over to backup power, with no luck. "Piece of junk!" he said, stomping the cockpit's steel floor and inwardly kicking himself. Should have upgraded sooner; shouldn't have trusted today's storm report. Stupid! Sixteen meters underwater. The glowing yellow canopy, made of nothing, dissolved and let the dark sea come in.

Three quick breaths. Hold. Marcus flicked a switch to kill power to everything, to rise by default, but the sub was tumbling and he couldn't tell. Fine. Cold water slammed his chest and tried to take back his last air. Marcus clawed at the sea, fighting his way up through it to find out whether he'd ever get another breath. The next few seconds were just math; math and cussedness anyway. Breathing rate and air, versus training and being too pissed off at himself to die just yet. Brighter water was thataway. His bubbles went the same direction, so -- up! Everything happened slowly. The water warmed, grew lighter. He let a trickle of air leak from his aching lungs to trick them into lasting a little longer. Then his arms stopped working. Marcus was flailing at water that wouldn't move aside. He sputtered and spat out nasty salt with air he couldn't hold any longer. "Not fair!" He'd been so close! The sun hammered needles into his eyes and baked his skin.

Oh, right. Made it. Marcus started to calm down and tread water, on the surface of Zharus. The waves smacked him over and over with saltwater to the face and he'd probably roast if he weren't mostly submerged -- but hey, it was an improvement.

Something hit him in the legs from below and body-slammed him out of the water. Marcus landed on his back, struggled to breathe, and shrieked. His right leg felt on fire. What fresh hell was this? He saw his cracked yellow school-bus of a submarine, bobbing cheerfully nearby. He glared at it. "About time you showed up!"

The cockpit had flooded and all the hardware was dead, but the garbage-heap still floated. Marcus cursed and hissed his way up to a perch atop the thing so that he didn't have to move his leg much. Finally he could think for a moment. The farm had been only fifty klicks away before the titanic wave that got him. The storm seemed to be fading as quickly as it had come. He'd have to trust that the farm's barriers would save his employees; he hadn't skimped there. He stared into the flooded cockpit to see if -- aha! He wriggled painfully through what had been the forward porthole and grabbed a box, then dragged himself back out. The comm-flare gun looked intact. So, one thing hadn't failed on him, at least.

He turned it on, loaded a relay shot, keyed it to his implants, then fired it and coughed out a distress call. The tiny firecracker went half a klick up and started falling on a parachute. Marcus waited. Oh, of course there would just happen to be no one listening, no working relay buoys today. Just what he needed. He fumbled to load another shot with his aching, sea-wrinkled fingers. But someone out there in the luckless sea took pity on him at last: "Got your call, mister. Hang on."

Yeah. Hang on. He busied himself trying to calculate the effective comm radius given the airborne buoy and Zharus' curvature while he watched the little relay splash back down. It was just a matter of clinging to his busted machine while the waves slackened, and being useless and humiliated for another half hour while --

The sea rippled. Marcus imagined something had come along to eat him. The head that popped out of the water had a friendly grin, though. Something like a giant otter made of metal and shiny green hardlight. "You okay, mister?" it said in a tinny female voice. One of those "RIDEs".

"Peachy."

"I can tow this..." The otter appraised his sub. "fine vehicle back if you want."

"I think my leg's broken." Marcus's rescuer winced and helped him onto a sturdier spot atop the ruined hull, then put up some kind of emergency hardlight bubble so that he wouldn't bake in the sun. She even had painkillers. Marcus said, "Thanks. Guess I owe you the salvage value at the very least. Say..." He pointed at the otter. "Aren't you afraid of wearing that thing?"

The otter's grin faded. Maybe it was the human rider, or the RIDE itself noticing the faux pas. Marcus quickly added, "Sorry. It's been a bad day. What's your RIDE's name?"

"We go by Fenny when we're together."

"Hi. I know you RIDEs are smart, and I don't approve of how some places use you as slaves, but -- I'm talking to you the pilot, now -- what about the terror attacks last week? You're not worried about getting a virus and being permanently welded into your partner, there, one way or another?"

The otter-bot spoke, sounding a bit more musical and synthetic than the pilot's voice but spoken from the same muzzle. "How many people have gotten 'bodyjacked' or 'Integrated'? A couple dozen in the attacks in Uplift from what I hear. How many people have died at sea? Probably a lot more. Who's the one taking risks with shoddy hardware?"

Marcus glared. "I'm not some rich dilettante. I got this sub from the scrapyard just so I could do my job. Had to fix the hydroplanes just to make her dive-capable again." He took care of his hardware, as well as he could afford! Suddenly he remembered. "Oh, hell. My farm! I've got people there who might be in danger now. I have to -- augh!" He clutched his leg as pain stabbed through it again.

Fenny helped him send up another relay flare. This time he got through to Alvin and the other workers and confirmed they were fine over there. Marcus let out a breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding, and calmed down despite the broken leg.

It was hard for Marcus to read the wearer's mood through that synthetic animal head and the shiny metal body. Marcus said, "I don't mean any disrespect. And thanks again. You there, the RIDE: you've got a will to live, don't you? My sub didn't."

The otter nodded. "And that's why we'll get through whatever crisis is going on with the viruses and Integrates. This time you humans have your hardware fighting alongside you."

Marcus lay there under the translucent shelter bubble, thinking. "I need a new vehicle, and I'd been thinking of hiring another employee. Maybe I'll do both at once."

== 2 ==

The city-state of Aloha was clothing-optional. Marcus had picked the area for its weather. As an Earth native he still wasn't used to Zharus standards on a lot of things, but having to stare at people's bits seemed like a lesser problem than the 50-Celsius air around the domes of Uplift and Nextus, or the crazy gender politics of Sturmhaven or Cape Nord. Besides, he didn't have to actually live in the city when there was so much ocean surface to colonize.

He walked into Baron Aloha's Jumping Bargains one morning, wearing only shorts, sandals, and a look of dread. The dealer had the ears and tail of a rabbit and a plaid jacket whose pattern seemed not to move when he did. "''Wilkum! Bienvenue! Welcome!'' What can I do you for, neighborino?"

Marcus caught only a whiff of the relentless, pungent Earth pop culture vibe. The natives went on about centuries-old nonsense, forgotten on Earth itself, with a fanatic's enthusiasm. He prided himself on not recognizing most of it; there were ''new'' books and movies here! "RIDEs," he said. "I heard there's a sale?"

"Ayup! Fair number of 'em on consignment or auction this week. Right this way!" The man took Marcus' arm and led him from the main showroom of electronics into a room with a sand-covered floor and the faint sound of steel drum music. He started to drone on about incredible bargains, but Marcus didn't listen.

The pedestals held wonders. Every RIDE was some sleek, unique machine with animal-like features, from a stainless steel rat to a desert fox glowing with the decorative veins locals called "Tron lines", to a treaded vehicle with just the suggestion of a bear's face. The news had been right about there being a supply glut. The salesbunny wouldn't admit it was due to owners panicking about a robot revolt. Thousands of klicks away. With reports already in about whole city-states allying for a beatdown against the guilty parties.

The salesman poked him. "Take your time, sir. But do you fancy yourself more of a fox? Otter, maybe? Any color you want so long as it's black -- just kidding; we can change that."

"Can I talk to them?" That seemed more important than appearance.

"Sure!" He waved his hand and said, "Presto. They're all unlocked to answer your questions now."

Oh. Fetters. Marcus had heard of them: software restrictions on the RIDEs' minds and bodies. An afterthought by wartime engineers who hadn't fully understood what, or ''who'', they were inventing. He approached the nearest bot, a sleek white seagull with metallic wings scratched from heavy wear. The antigrav lifters were concealed with obvious skill in stylized feathers, on a body the size of a large skimmer motorcycle. "Hello? I'm Marcus."

The gull, as still as a statue, spoke to him in a leaden voice. "Hello. This is Sigurd."

It offered nothing more. Marcus walked around the mechanical bird's little island, feeling sand tickle his toes. "Are you looking for a new owner?"

"That's up to you, sir."

The salesman gave Marcus a theatric leaning-in comment. "This one's previous owner didn't ever fuse. Bought 'im without understanding that the bird units change you more than most. You'd probably look good with a beak, though. Want to get a 3D mockup of what it'll do to you?"

"I'll hold off on that." Marcus shivered. That was the other fact about owning one of these things -- these people. There was a commitment, a mark left on you, if you ever used them as more than a hovercraft sort of thing. His rescuer probably had a real otter tail. He walked past the hulking bear-tank RIDE toward what seemed to be a heavily armed squirrel. Laser tubes studded its gleaming tail, and a micromissile pod perched on its shoulder. "Hello, there. I haven't seen such a militant herbivore before."

"I'm harmless, really!" it said. She; the voice was high and chirpy. "Military surplus SQL Light Recon Armor, and half of this stuff is communications relay gear. None of it's original issue since I was decommissioned. I didn't ''want'' to fight. If you don't want to shoot at anybody that's fine with me. But if you do then I can do that too! Anything you want." She didn't move, but Marcus pictured the glowing silver tail twitching in agitation.

"You keep them paralyzed?" he asked the bunny.

The salesman's ear-linings blushed. "It's just a low-power mode. The hardlight on some of them drains their batteries faster than we'd like already." And he wouldn't want the merchandise walking off, of course.

"I'm not sure about this. Are their motors working right? It'd be helpful to see them move a bit."

The shopkeeper shrugged and said, "Shazam." The showroom stirred, becoming a zoo. The eyes of these animal-vehicles flared to life in a dozen colors and their limbs stirred as if from sleep. The gull flapped once and looked away. The squirrel sat up and leaned toward Marcus, paws up as if in prayer.

Marcus shuddered and turned to one side, digging his hands into his threadbare shorts. He'd gotten a cat once from a rescue shelter along the Paris coast. Suddenly he was ten years old again and smelling musk and disinfectant, staring at fuzzy faces behind bars. Haunted or vacant expressions. He'd asked Mom what happened to the ones no one wanted, and she'd told the truth.

He found himself back in the showroom, leaning against a beach mural and breathing hard. He'd come here for a piece of glorified sea-farm equipment that was also an unusually bright pet. Now it felt like he ''had'' to get one of them and not just leave them all here. Marcus turned around and saw over a dozen RIDEs, every single one of them unwanted, unloved, abandoned, thinking beings.

"What sort of price range might you have in mind?" said the salesman, closing in on him.

All of it, he wanted to say. Of course the man had read his face. "Something low-end," he said.

"How about this one?" One corner held what Marcus first took for scrap. It was actually a griffin, battered almost in half. No feet, only skeletal wings, missing parts on the torso. Just bare metal. The salesman said, "This one you can have for practically a handful of beads. Good project to level up your mechanic skills."

Marcus looked skeptical. "Is there even an RI core in there?" He wasn't eager to leave Aloha without his own transport, and had better things to do than start a new repair project when the whole west corner of the farm needed work.

"Yes, but that one needs a little body work before you can fire it up." The salesman grinned and tugged him along toward something more expensive, obviously as planned. "Speaking of beaks, how do you feel about hawks?" The one over here had gleaming blue hardlight with gold highlights and a cannon.

"Who are you?" said Marcus.

The bird's beak clicked slightly out of tune with its words. "RTH(m)-ACA-039 Nextus Air Cavalry Armor, sir. Called Storm. Actually eagle, not hawk."

"What happened to you?"

"Besides three battles and five kills, you mean? Not much. Thankless owner, spooked by the bodyjacking news. You're either too ignorant or too well-informed to buy into that."

The squirrel hissed in agitation. "Not in front of the customer!"

The salesman said, "Sorry. Must've left the controls on that one a little loose if it can respond verbally to another. Anyway, this one's a hawk all right. Some of 'em get neural templates from a species that doesn't quite match the body. Saw a RIDE through here once that insisted it was a Texas longhorn and talked like John Wayne, but its brain was based on a generic Holstein bull. Something about it being more easily tamed."

The raptor glared silently at the salesbunny and licked its beak. Marcus watched it and said, "So, you think it's nonsense?"

The robot hawk pointed metal talons at him, straining forward as far as its software restraints would allow. "Glad you asked, so that I can answer. No. I kind of like what that 'AlphaWolf' guy is doing to you humans. You want to buy me? If you treat me like a skimmer you show off to your friends and then park me alone in a garage, I'm damn well going to do anything in my power to --"

"Stormy!" said the squirrel. "What the hell?"

"You want to lie to him, girl? Or do you really not want your freedom?"

Marcus said, "Are they always like this?"

The rabbit-man's ears drooped. "Just since the, ah, recent events. They've got people and RIDEs on edge. But there's nothing to it, really. 'A robot must never harm a human' and all that. Built right into the RI cores, practically."

"Pssssh." Marcus turned and saw a blueish-grey RIDE in skimmer form, with sleek side fins above the single seat and handlebars. It had vented water vapor from an exhaust pipe. Marcus said, "How about you? What do you think of this business with the bodyjackers and Integrates?"

Its voice sounded doubled or tripled, like chords of music. "I'm not planning on trying to enslave anyone, if that's what you're asking. Why would you want my opinion? Whoever you pick, you're going to keep us locked up tight." It didn't move while talking, maybe because it wasn't in animal form. Eerie. A dolphin, maybe?

"No." Marcus hesitated to say more. He decided silently instead. Whichever one he bought, he wasn't going to treat them as his property. If they wanted out completely he'd bill them for the purchase price, but beyond that he'd set his RIDE as free as the law allowed. If the stories of viruses were true, then even a fettered RIDE could become a deathtrap. He looked around the zoo of RIDEs, each with their own wishes and attitudes, and remembered what his rescuer had said yesterday. Why trust digital wards and abjurations to protect him from a thinking being that had reason to hate him, when he could have a partner who'd protect him willingly?

He turned to the salesman and said, "I want to make a deal today. How about a few test drives?"

== 3 ==

First on Marcus' list was Sigurd. "Anyone call you Sig-gull?" he said, leading the metal bird out of the showroom. It -- he, rather -- was bound to him and to the shop's orders, so that he had this one for an hour and it probably didn't have ''him''.

"Once per 2.3 weeks for my whole life."

Marcus admired the metal bird physically despite the scratches and dents. "Let's see your skimmer form, and go for a trip."

The bird clicked to himself as he reconfigured. His body flattened and unfurled into a tasteful seat and control panel, and his lifters let him step up into the air and hover just above the ground with a confident hum. Hardlight emitters flared to life and gave him glowing feathers that filled out his now-rigid wings and tail, still with the characteristic v-shape.

Marcus climbed aboard, whistling. The controls were mercifully simple for such a fancy flying machine. "I guess you do most of the steering?"

"Up to you. Where are you going? Tell me and you can sleep all the way, if you want." The bird spoke from all around him.

Marcus held the handlebars. "Where's the fun in that?" A faint hardlight screen came on around him as an environmental shield, yet was so translucent he thought something was wrong with it. When he started moving, though, he got the idea: it was clear to improve the view! Even riding a meter off the ground like this felt different, what with the sense of grace to the RIDE's movements. "Okay, up!"

Sigurd rocketed into the morning sky, nearly vertically. Marcus yelped and clawed at the handlebars. He'd fall off! Yet no wind whipped past him through the shield, and the RIDE's safety belts held, and... and he was starting to grin. "Faster!"

Sigurd wheeled in the sky and leveled off, expertly dipping one wing to catch an air current that flowed past on the holographic sky-map. "Didn't expect that reaction, human! But that's as fast as I go, and my batteries can't keep that up for long."

"Ha." For all the adrenaline in his veins right now, he was still clutching the handlebars for dear life. "I'm more used to boats and submarines."

The bird cruised, humming to himself. "Want to see what I can do?"

Marcus nodded and held tight. "I own a farm, a little one by Zharus standards, out northwest about a hundred klicks."

"Lead the way."

It was easy. Marcus still hadn't gotten used to the planet's scale or to how high a speed the locals called normal. Sigurd rode the sky easily, veering to either side at the slightest suggestion and spiraling past springtime clouds. The motion felt slow and quiet, but the spedometer said he'd reach the farm with time to spare. "A lot more responsive than a sub. I'm used to chugging along just below the surface."

"You don't even have a skimmer?"

"Nope. Not even the sub now. From the scrapyard it came and to scrap it did return. Almost took me along."

Sigurd hummed again. "You want to see a dive?"

"The salesman said you could do some underwater work."

"I'm a ''water'' bird." They were suddenly plunging, frightening Marcus again. They were going to crash into the ocean! Too dark! Too deep! But the RIDE knew what he was doing, Marcus told himself, and he forced himself not to override the controls. They crashed, and he saw the sea stream all around him in a bubble that took them down, down to shadowed depths and back to the light again.

"Haven't gotten to do that in a while," said Sigurd. "Better than your yellow submarine?"

"Nice!" Marcus watched the sea rain off of the canopy as they rose again. He hadn't realized it, but he'd been verging on panic at the thought of diving again. "One more time," he said, to cure himself.

"You mentioned responsiveness," said Sigurd after another plunge. "That's been part of aircraft since the first days. You know what the great Wrights did to build their first ''Flyer'', besides getting a good engine? They gave up stability. Accepted that their machine would flex and wobble instead of being rigid like a kite."

"Sounds dangerous."

"It was. But it was the Wright answer. In time, one branch of AI focused on avionics controls, so that a pilot could trust his machine to adjust the wings faster than a human could. Did you know, some of the great Age of Sail ships had dozens of men who did nothing but scurry up and down poles to fiddle with sails?"

Marcus silently admired the view of his home from the sky. It came up on the horizon faster than seemed possible, until they were wheeling around its vast seascape of nets, buoys and cages. A few buildings floated at the waterline to form small artificial islands. It was everything he'd built in a decade, something far better than his regulated, cramped life on Earth.

"You're 'Count' Marcus Dulac?"

Marcus laughed, and started to turn them around toward the city-state of Aloha for the return trip. The breakwater structures looked pretty solid from up here, but he'd have to do a full inspection soon in person. "I made the mistake of publicly comparing the farm to the size of a 'county' on Earth. So now I'm lord of the fishes and clams and seaweed, next to neighbors who could be earls or something." He thought of the self-styled "baron" back at the dealership.

The bird affected some odd spooky accent. "One shipwreck, ah-ah-ah! Two shipwrecks, ah-ah-ah!"

"What's that from?"

"Old kids' show. Not a fan of the Steader Cultural Archive, I take it? Consider it a blessing. We have this nonsense stuck in our heads."

"It's annoying to be programmed with all that old stuff?" Already the farm was out of sight again. Wow. The speed alone was a good reason to upgrade from puttering around in a sub.

"Yes, but it means you're never alone. You always have context, background." Sigurd hesitated. "For my kind, that's important. We've got no history before that damn war we were made for, unless we actively look for it. Plus, we can laugh at the old junk more easily. It's ''your'' species' embarrassing baby photos, not ours."

"Heh. You're more talkative in the sky, you know."

"If nothing else, I got to stretch my wings today." Aloha drew close with its blinding beaches and a hint of the great Dry Ocean farther inland. "Thanks."

Marcus looked down with regret at the city streets; it was time to leave Sigurd behind. He helped steer them to the ground, in the same sense that a kid "helped" his mother cook. The hardlight canopy shimmered and vanished. Marcus stretched and reluctantly stepped off of the miraculous skimmer-craft.

"Hmm." Sigurd reconfigured and flipped around in the air to become a giant bird again. "If you're still considering going avian, and you don't want me, then ask Storm the eagle about Daedelus."

"The... Greek guy?"

The bird bowed with one wing. "Yes. I had a good time, potential customer. Hour's up; I need to return."

== 4 ==

Riding a squirrel was somewhat weirder. "Corona, I've been meaning to ask about the weapons." She was in skimmer mode too, taking him up from the city but only just above the gleaming rooftops. She'd unfolded into a boxy vehicle with a silver hardlight screen suggesting wooden planks.

"They're nothing, really! Mostly not original military hardware. I don't even need 'em; if you don't like 'em you can just detach --"

Marcus leaned back against the hardlight seat formed by her curled tail. It was surprisingly comfortable, textured like fur. "Relax. I didn't know RIDEs could act stressed out."

Corona started to chatter about how she really wasn't, then twitched parts of her controls like whiskers. They wobbled a bit in midair. "Okay. I can do this. It's just that we were all pretty much made to 'splode stuff but now we're supposed to get used to civilian life with people who aren't constantly on the lookout for ambushes. Aaaaand... Gotta look good for the customer. Did I say that out loud?"

Marcus thought that getting away from the dealership might help. She seemed to be limited in altitude, but skimming along at high speed just above the waves was nearly as exciting. "How would you like to live on an ocean farm?" He held up one hand. "And don't start saying 'anything you want'."

"Is that what you do? Um. Accessing. Ooooh, I see your records. And that's one of your warning buoys out there."

Marcus leaned over the right side and saw that indeed she'd picked out the still-distant tiny blip of one of his outlying sensor stations. Probably by radio. "So it is. Yes, my place produces seafood and some minerals. We've got some of the new biotech kelp that filters metal out of the ocean, so it's kind of a mine too. Even the food fabbers need raw material besides sand."

Corona said, "Have you got any trees? There aren't many in Aloha besides palm trees, so I haven't seen much that looks like Nature Range."

"What's that?"

Corona skidded to a stop in midair, kicking up waves. "You don't know about it? Of course. It's a RIDE thing. A game we play. Shared world, feral animal forms only. You wouldn't like it."

"Sounds kind of fun."

"But you're a natural predator. If you're prey like me, you have to flee and try not to die, and half the time you get bitten to death or hauled off into the sky by scary, scary birds! Well, less than half for me. I usually don't die."

Marcus felt the blood drain from his hands and face. "You play at getting eaten?"

The skimmer shuddered under him as though shaking her head. "Oh, no-no-no, I've gone and spooked you! It's not like that. Haven't you played video games? You don't ''enjoy'' the dying part, but there's no vivid sensation of it either and it's really about the running and hiding and outwitting your opponents, see? Or wincing at the replay when you do something dumb."

"I've played some violent games, yeah." He thought about his limited knowledge of RIDE fusion. "If I buy you, we're going to end up combining at some point, right?"

"Temporarily! I mean, if you want. It's much more convenient for both of us. I get thumbs, and you get cool power armor with environmental seals and flight! I can even go underwater like that, so it won't hurt your business."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "And I'll grow breasts?"

"Er... yes. Side effect of cross-riding. Have to adapt the human body to an innately female and animal RIDE brain, so you'll get a tail and neat ears too. But it's okay! The nanites fix up your hormones and everything so it feels natural. Lots of people do it. And with me you don't get weird stuff like a beak and feathers. Everybody loves fluffy tails, right?"

He was amused at himself for dreading this part of the conversation. He'd had friends cross over one way or the other, usually in the female direction since RIDEs like Corona here were usually cheaper for historical reasons. Another thing that Zharus' natives did so casually! "I'd be all right with trying that. I've been male long enough to know what that's like. What about the mental aspects of all this changing, though? Wouldn't I get war memories and the rest of your past?"

The skimmer hovered noncommittally, bouncing over the waves. "There isn't much to tell, in my case. If you're worried about your passwords and weird... tastes, we RIDEs mostly don't care and we've seen it all before. There are things I want to show you, that I want to show ''somebody'' anyway, that I can't do without fusing and just letting you see. You get to be partly someone else, and be better than just human! I mean, not that being human isn't great."

He looked all around at the empty sea. They were in the middle of nowhere, on a planet so huge that much of it was still barely charted after more than a century and a half. Easy to pretend there was no one else in the world, a nice feeling. With a RIDE, though, he'd have someone else in his head, chattering away and digging through his thoughts. Leaking some of her own nature into him. It wasn't a relationship to walk into just for the sake of having a really good pressure suit. "Hey, Corona. What do you ''want'' besides getting out of that shop?"

"Did I say something wrong? Um. We're made to work with humans, so basically I want a good human who treats me okay."

"Seems reasonable." He was glad the squirrel wasn't in his head right now, though. Something seemed missing in that alien mind. What would it mean to have his personality combined with someone who, nice as she was, wanted to have a master? He checked the dashboard's clock and sighed. "We'd best be heading back."

"Did I do okay?" she said.

"I like you. I just haven't decided."

With that slight encouragement she hopped a few meters into the air, carrying him along as she spun and began skimming over the sea toward Aloha. "You should try Cline, the dolphin, too."

"Because he's aquatic?"

"Aaaaand... 'cause he's been here the longest. Waiting."

== 5 ==

Marcus came back to the dealership after a light lunch. He'd held back on his appetite because of who he wanted to see next. The hawk or eagle, Storm, regarded him like a mouse. "I talked mister boss man out of turning off my speaking ability. Said that you'd notice and think something was wrong."

"Want to go for a flight?" said Marcus. The salesbunny wore an obviously fake smile, betraying worry that the bird would say something horrible.

Storm waited for a moment. "Sure."

The dealer said "Presto!" and let Storm go free enough to hop down from his perch, onto the sand-covered floor. The bird's bulk made it hard for him to get outside. The few customers in the main showroom stared at him and pulled their toddler aside.

Unbidden, Storm revealed his skimmer shape. This RIDE was one of the medium size class. His blue, shining feathers shaded into hardlight purple that looked like knives ready to throw. Marcus' lunchtime research on the RTH model said that the cannon mounted on his left side, like a pitted metal olive, was modeled on a fictional battle-robot race called Reploids. There was room for two on the sturdy seat, but Marcus had to lie prone on it, similar to some of the flashier racing skimmers.

"Well, human?"

"Go for it."

Storm screamed into the sky, pulsing with hardlight shielding the color of dusk. The acceleration tore a yell from Marcus' throat. He'd been expecting the bird to pull the same stunt as Sigurd, though, and he tried to look less terrified this time. Storm whipped straight up and looped all the way around backward until they were level again. Just when Marcus was about to say something, the bird rolled over in some complex move Marcus couldn't name, turning the whole world crazily around. Marcus' stomach clenched but he forced himself to hold his lunch down despite the acid taste in his mouth.

"Ha," said Storm, leveling out at last. "You had a training bird, didn't you? I can dodge missiles with that spin."

Marcus tried to grin. "Sigurd didn't have quite so much maneuverability."

"I'm surprised I'm still in the running. How do you know I haven't secretly unlocked myself enough to fuse by force, and carry you off to AlphaWolf's camp as a spare set of thumbs?"

That had been half the reason for Marcus' lunch break. He'd had to consider the gamble he was taking, and the possible payoff. He said, "Because I don't think you're stupid. If you were waiting for someone to kidnap, you wouldn't advertise it. If I'm wrong, I'm calling your bluff now."

Marcus' toes dug into the back of the seating couch like talons. He hadn't been completely sure. But Storm cruised, saying, "I don't want a coward, but not an idiot either. Sitting in a showroom playing Nature Range and sucking up the rabbit's electricity would be better than having a pilot like that." The RIDE tore through a cloud and said, "We're not completely powerless, even now."

"Three battles, you said?"

"And five kills. I'm an ace. Join with me and you'll remember every one, good and bad. I was ''bred'' to hunt and destroy. You want pacifism, go with the rodent."

Marcus lifted one hand defensively. "Wasn't criticizing, 'Stormy'. She's a war model too though." He grinned, wondering about their relationship. "She mentioned that she usually survived rounds of virtual hunting by predator birds."

"That's misleading! A forty-two percent kill rate is significantly higher than in the wild. Hmmph. Anyway, here's your farm." He'd gotten here the fastest of all so far.

"Loop us around. Think you'd mind being a permanent civilian?"

"Peace would be nice. I can spear fish out of the water, or swim in fused mode if you need to. But there's no 'permanent'. War's coming, you know."

"Against the Integrates?"

"Could be. Maybe human-on-human; you people never run out of reasons for war. Think that if it came to a war -- I mean, a worthwhile one, not some Aloha politician deciding to invade Sturmhaven to slap sense into the matriarchy or something -- that you'd help out?"

Marcus felt taken aback. "Didn't expect to be questioned about my own politics."

"You're considering having me in your head, human. If we clash you should find out now."

"Fair enough. Aloha doesn't own me. If they send me off to die for a bad reason, I'm getting out of there. Or if my home turns into something I'm not proud of anymore, with nothing going for it but the nudity and lax gun laws. If it ever feels like I'd be fighting for freedom, though -- RIDEs', even -- then yeah. If I could be useful, I'd help."

Storm grunted. Marcus sailed through the sky with him, admiring the easy grace of his turns and his eagerness to swoop and dive, to show off. Then he remembered something. "Sigurd said to ask you about Daedalus."

"Did he. It's not something quite meant for human ears, except for our original pilots' back in the service." The hawk flew on for so long that Marcus expected nothing more from him. Then: "My unit's nickname was the Daedalians. Reference to an old legend, ancient by the time 20th-century rock stars and Internet nerds were alive. There was... a thing we RIDEs passed around, refining among ourselves. Want to hear part of it? Go with me, and it'll be stuck in your head forever anyway."

"Sure."

Storm's voice turned strange and distant, like a sharp-edged chant. Around them the hardlight canopy took on hints of ancient campfires. "Oh Polyhymnia, we sing of Daedalus:"

"In ancient days the land of Greece was ruled

By callous gods, so arrogant and cruel

That sometimes men would say of them

"Like flies to wanton boys are we to they;

They kill us for their sport."

Of course such things were rarely said aloud.

From high Olympus gods looked down on men,

And drank the smoke of gory sacrifice.

The heresy of "hubris" they defined

As reaching human hands into the sky

And daring to pretend equality.

Mistaken, yes, but not the way gods thought.

The champion of men was not divine.

He lived in lowlands, tending sheep and pigs.

Olympus' shadow touched his island, Crete

To send its king a terrifying gift.

Not knowing this, the lowly man slept well.

He was, oh Muse, the first to dream of wings..."

The metal bird trailed off, with his hardlight fading to his usual deep blue.

"RIDEs composed ''that''?"

"In secret, at first. We'd make ourselves forget while fused so that our pilots wouldn't know. We were all new. Then it would wash back to us. One of us would whisper a phrase by radio and another would remember the next, like a dream falling back into place. There's more to it than that, of course. Images, scents, data references. Eventually we let our pilots in on it, and they helped. They were Daedalians too. Wouldn't have mentioned it if Sigurd hadn't thought it was worth telling you."

Marcus sensed he'd just been complimented. "Thank you. I take it there's more behind it than a love of legends."

The suggestion of the RIDE's beaked face appeared on the holographic screen in front of him, and gave him a predatory grin. "Why, it's about humanity's stand against a heartless cosmos, of course! Poetry is a form of encryption and data compression. Think of this work as my own anti-virus software."

"Does Corona know it? It doesn't sound bird-exclusive."

A faint harumph from the speakers. "I'm not sure most non-avians can fully appreciate it, especially the air currents on verse eighteen, but most of us RIDEs can fly and the ideas themselves are universal. Or ought to be. Poor squirrel girl seemed afraid when I brought up some... lessons and commentary, to feel out whether she'd want to absorb the story itself." Storm sighed. "Don't pick a RIDE out of charity, but do consider her. She'd be a wonderful partner to someone assertive, someone with a goal."

"That bothers me, actually. We designed you people to be slaves --"

"No! Not quite. The moment of our creation was a feat of mad genius -- ''Apollo's kiss, that seared a woman's brow'' -- "but we were built more to be partners. To carry the spears, to bear man's missing rib. Ha ha, I'm sorry; this subject sets off old associations for me. Some of us deny it, but to some extent we ''all'' want to serve a worthy human. Some see that relationship as master and slave, but it shouldn't be. Not when it's done right."

Marcus watched the tropical city sneaking up on them across the sea. "We're going to fix this situation before long, Storm. The idea of your kind being in showrooms, having to make sales pitches to random people."

"A sales pitch? Do you think that's what our flight was?"

He shook his head. "Not just that. The three of you have been testing me, haven't you? I shouldn't buy any of you without your permission."

"Well. You have mine."

== 6 ==

The salesbunny was pacing when Marcus returned. "I've had a couple of other customers come in today. One of them bought the bear. Think you're about ready?"

Marcus touched the outstretched wing of Storm, who hopped back up to his display pedestal. "One more, please. I like these three; do you mind holding them until I've had the chance to decide?"

The salesman forced a smile. "Well, sir, with this great sale going on, if someone makes an offer that's a hard thing to turn down."

Marcus could imagine any of these RIDEs being dragged away by some thug of a customer, who wouldn't even consider that they had desires of their own. "Just give me a little time." He pulled out his ID and made it flash up his account balance. He'd been hoping not to do that. There was less room to negotiate now, and he had little to spare. The main thing going for him was the abnormal discounts, something that Aloha's RIDEless population was starting to weigh against its paranoia. "All I ask is that you give me first crack at any of these three plus my next test RIDE, until sunset, in return for a promise to get one of the four." Marcus sweated; he'd drawn that much closer to promising to give up some of his mind and body.

"All right." The rabbit's ears perked up at the thought of a sure sale. "What's your fourth pick?"

Marcus pointed to the dolphin on display in silver-blue skimmer form. "Hello? The others called you Cline. Willing to take a trip with me?"

"I'll go."

"Can I see your animal mode?"

"Slight problem," said the shopkeeper. "There's no 'Walker' form, so we have him in skimmer shape for convenient display. He can switch to what we call 'Swimmer' if you want, though. Just laying there, or hovering."

Marcus rolled his eyes. Lifters used so little electricity that you could get them on fancy furniture. He said, "I'll wait a bit. Cline, right? Let's hit the beach."

The RIDE's only reply was a whistle. Marcus steered by a glowing blue yoke that resembled a set of flukes. As with the squirrel Corona, he hoped that being outdoors and away from the store would cheer Cline up. They came to Aloha's largest public beach, where thousands of people splashed and played. The sails of little catamarans stood out in a dozen colors against the blue afternoon sky. "I'm going to hop off if you don't mind. Could you show me your other form here?"

The watery hardlight canopy faded. Marcus smiled and hopped down into chest-deep water. The chill of the sea surrounded him and salt kissed his lips. He shuddered from a moment of bad memories.

Beside him, the RIDE kicked up waves as he transformed. The silver-blue skimmer flowed his fins backward and poured mass into his central body. The whole thing -- the whole person -- whistled notes at the edge of human hearing and lowered himself until he floated only by internal air. The metallic, intelligent dolphin robot seemed perfectly natural there at the shore, and if nature had any objections, a more interesting reality had asserted itself anyway.

Cline peered at his prospective owner sidelong with eyes that glowed, lighting the water around them. "What do you want from your RIDE?"

Marcus treaded water. The dolphin mech was only slightly larger than the real thing. Sleek hide with only faint seams between articulated metal plates, one fin cutting upward on his back, flukes slowly kicking. There was little hardlight on him, apparently just the minimum needed to project a canopy in skimmer mode and to maintain environmental seals. It took Marcus a few moments to realize he'd been asked a question. "I own a farm --"

"Yes, the others told me. What, then? What are you, mister? Thrill-seeker? Crusader? Farmer trying to keep his head down and not worry about things? Newbie who barely knows what we're about? You care about RIDEs, yet you're looking to own one." The questions overlapped, singing in chorus.

Marcus' eyes narrowed. "Would you prefer I didn't? If they've talked to you then you know I have no illusions about the status quo being a good thing. The best we can do for the moment is to find good homes for you, with your permission, and work to end the sale of RIs."

He felt a knot in his chest while he spoke. Back on Earth, before going to that animal shelter, his parents had taken him to a pet shop. Lots of fun critters in there, from the usual cats, dogs and foxes to ferrets and iguanas. "Where do they get all the puppies from?" he'd asked. The store clerk cut the truth in half due to his age and in half again because it was ugly. Still, Marcus understood: "puppy mills" that cranked out living creatures for human amusement, not even meat or fur. Go ahead and buy one, the store had seemed to say; we'll make more, and the same number will be in the same position.

"I sense much fear in you," said Cline, affecting an elderly voice. "A ''mu'' for your thoughts?"

The dolphin's beak was pointed at him. Probably sonaring him. Marcus said, "You know what I want? To be a simple farmer within reach of the big city, enjoying my work and ready to protect myself, my friends and the world in general. Maybe start a family, once I'm a little better established. So, none of the things you suggested. Except a newbie." He reached out a hand, offering to rub the dolphin's shiny forehead dome.

Cline let him do it. "You know about fusion problems with strange models like me, I hope. With me you'll end up with a big fluked tail and some other effects beyond the ones you'd get from, say, a male version of Corona. I have some control over the process, but you'll obviously be something beyond human."

"Beyond, huh?"

The dolphin nosed him. "Humans started modifying themselves a long time ago. Hair styling, piercing, tattoos, then more useful and invasive changes like vaccinations and cybernetics. Now you're starting to casually zap yourselves with nanotech that can give you a tail or heal your wounds or give you intuitive mental control of plasma cannons. Cool, huh? But dangerous as hell."

"Not getting changed is dangerous too," said Marcus.

"Yes! Exactly!" The dolphin flipped out of the water and became a skimmer again in mid-leap, smacking the sea beside him. "I want to see your home. Hop in."

Cline began to leap with him inside, into and out of the waves, filling their world with sea and sky. Marcus grew used to the shifting blue and the arcs of flight. The dolphin razzed at the world with a low note Marcus could feel in his bones. Cline said, "Bah; this is more fun in swimmer mode. Or fuser."

Marcus lay prone in the RIDE. "I wanted to ask about your background. It looks like your model's an early civilian one, but what about you personally?"

Cline spoke in the air, a few words per hop, despite the lack of a real need to breathe. "Nextus military made spy dolphins. Then my kind. I've got science skills to manage deep-sea 'urchin' probes. But me, personally?" They were well away from the beach now, and Marcus saw only the endless sea around them. Fast!

Cline went on while they swam. "Sold first to a beach resort. Idiots planned to rent me out. Didn't really grok that phinny changes take longer to remove. And if you aren't fusing, get a skimmer! You're not seeing our full potential."

"I know. You might end up hating me if you get inside my head."

"I'm not worried about ''that'', exactly. Anyway, then I got sold to a shipbuilder lady. Heh heh. She... uh, he, wanted me for underwater work, he said. But really he just wanted a toy. Not like you, right?"

"You're not toys to me, but I admit any of you would be more entertaining than my sub was."

"Fair enough. Oh hey, I hear your place up ahead. Fish!" Colorful swarms of stylized tilapia and native kraken swam into view on a sonar display. "I'm a dolphin and I can't ''eat fish'' like this. If you want my approval, promise to fuse so I can taste a good seafood meal."

"Heh. Of course." It'd be interesting to experience food again with a new perspective.

"Since then..." Cline poked around the fringes of Marcus' home from underneath. Marcus wondered at the color, then realized he was just seeing his nets and buoys without the usual golden tint of his submarine's windshield. Cline went on: "Since the novelty wore off for him, he actually downgraded my batteries. To B-class! Like selling somebody else's blood. For gambling money! And then came the attack on Uplift. He panic-sold, and here I am."

Marcus shook his head. The corners of Cline's display blinked with communication attempts from his employees, his friends. "Open them all at once, please."

"Done. We need to get back soon, though."

He nodded. "I'll be quick." He guided the two of them to the surface and floated just above it, looking at the simple storm-hardened shelter buildings atop their platforms. Simple, utilitarian things, made for work. He and the other people who'd come to the sea had turned them into homes where they held parties and arguments and game nights and the occasional tryst. Had the original designers had any idea what their little ocean huts would come to, once they left the drawing board?

Marcus said into Cline's radio, "Marcus here. I'm still test-driving RIDEs, but I'll quit bothering whoever's watching the perimeter sensors after this one. Everything going all right without me?"

A chorus of voices chimed in. "Need you to take a look at the west corner when you're done," said Alvin, main "knight" of the watery county by virtue of owning a share of the farm. Sylvia teased, "What, you haven't grown a tail yet?" "Pick up some corundum for the fabbers while you're in Aloha," added Lionel.

"Never ends, huh?" said Cline. "I can't currently broadcast unless it's an emergency, but say hi to them for me."

He did, gladly. Marcus noticed that the dolphin was willing to take charge in small ways, more assertive than Corona had been. It was time that Marcus took a little more action than just shopping for himself, to be worthy of a more active partner. "Everyone, Cline here says hello. But I should also tell you there's a great selection back at the shop. I've met three other friends today who need good homes. Finances are going to be tight with me for a while, but if I can help you guys trade in your own skimmers or get maintenance, hurry off to Aloha with me and we'll introduce you."

Lionel said, "Let me guess, you want to hook me up with a lion. I still think you should hold off for now. There's supposedly some major security upgrade in the works." The other workers chattered, some of them considering the offer.

Marcus brushed aside the temptation to wait. "If nothing else, you'll miss out on the low prices while people are scared. Hell, if you have enough money for it, you could..."

Cline heard him trail off. "Buy and resell at a profit?"

"That would be potentially horrible, wouldn't it?"

"A lot of things are. But you know how screwed up our situation is. You're one of the people with the potential to start fixing it. In little ways at least."

Marcus nodded grimly. He said into the radio channel, "Well. Come and check out the selection, will you? A few at a time. Cline, send 'em the basic rundown on the ones I've met plus any notes you want to add. I can authorize file transfers, right?"

"Done."

"First thing I'll do once I get this decision made --"

"You'll wish to free the genie?"

"Uh, yes? Remove all the fetters, I mean."

"Didn't expect less of you." Cline looked wistfully around the surface of Marcus' aquatic fields, then ducked below the waves again. "Ready to go?"

On the way back, Cline cleared his digital throat, and sprayed water from his blowhole for effect. "Not much time." The sun paced them on the right. "What do you think of 'Integration'?"

It had been a rumor for years, that people and their RIDEs would sometimes get too close, then vanish. Nothing provable until just the other day, when some corporate guy rich enough to protect himself revealed his Integrate status on live video. Immediately followed by his critics opening fire. "Just that it really exists, apparently, and some of the people it happens to are maniacs."

"Yeah. You didn't meet Fritz, the ferret sitting next to Corona. Poor guy happens to have the same name as one of the terrorists, and the shop-bunny's too ignorant to know how to change it or to ask us how it's done. Anyway... That's what I want."

Without meaning to, Marcus twisted the controls in his hands and sent them on a skidding, incredibly awkward belly-flop crash. "What?" he said when the dizziness wore off. Without the RIDE's protection, his spine could've snapped just now. Instead he was hardly bruised.

"Ow. Dolphin fail. Maybe I shouldn't have told you. I wanted to be honest with you, though. Forget it."

Marcus made himself let go of the steering yoke and take a breath. "No, tell me. I'm not mad at you."

The dolphin spoke too quickly, squeaking a bit and chorusing too much to follow easily. "I mean not necessarily with you. If you buy me. But I said that fusing makes you beyond human. Different. Why not take the next step? I was made to be part of someone's life, in their head, mixed up with them down to the nanotech level. I don't want to take you over or anything. But if we're compatible, if we really get along, why not? I become free, we become even stronger. Only if you want! I doubt it'd even happen if we weren't willing or weren't great for each other."

Marcus gave a whistle of his own. "Should have expected that attitude from some RIDEs. It's a way out of the ownership dilemma. You just caught me off guard."

"I'm not going to try to force anything like that," Cline said. "Might not work out between us anyway. But would you consider it?"

"Is that all you want out of life, Cline? To find someone like me and glom onto them?" His surprise made him sound harsher than he'd intended. "I mean, have you got any goals beyond the general desire for that and to improve the lot of RIDEs?"

Cline threaded slowly through the sunset waves, toward the beach. "No," he admitted. "But I'm not just waiting for a master, either. I've got the brain of a top predator that likes food and sex and sunshine. Like you. I have a second-rate body that can't feel any of those without fusing, unless I go into Nature Range where it's just a dream and it's hard for others to follow. Between that and my programming to seek out a higher authority to serve -- don't your own minds have that? -- I'm ''incomplete''. I want to be better."

Marcus saw the showroom again in his mind, in surreal cutaway views as though through sonar. All of the RIDEs were literally hollow. They each had a human-shaped hole, ''roughly''. To fuse with a RIDE even temporarily meant giving it a higher purpose, good or bad, but also accepting that you would be changed to fit the hole. Without that change a human was awkward at best in a RIDE, missing things that belonged in their mind and body. Missing out on the ability to be something more.

What was Integration, then, if it really was voluntary and between compatible partners? "Healing," he murmured. "A graft. Fixing a wound we didn't know we had."

Cline's voice squeaked timidly. "Is that a yes?"

"I'm... open to the idea. Eventually. But no promises."

"That's all I can ask for." Cline stared glumly ahead at the shop, and lifted clear of the water to carry them to shore.

== 7 ==

Something occurred to Marcus when he'd parked the dolphin. (Heh, he could imagine getting valet parking at one of the high-end Nextus casinos.) He kept the thought to himself while he browsed the showroom, focusing on other little things he could do while he was here. "So this one's named Fritz?" he said, pointing to a ferret. "Hey, Fritz, is there some software setting you could use to change your name?"

Now that he'd been directly asked, the fettered RIDE could say, "Finally! Yes. You just need to..." Marcus made sure the salesbunny was listening to the explanation.

"I'll have to look into that," the salesman said. "What about these four, though?"

Marcus was still working the options over. He looked across the showroom at the RIDEs, sitting there on islands in the sand. Cline had wanted Integration, Storm stood ready to fight alongside him, Corona seemed to want a peaceful life with a good boss, and Sigurd... He was toughest to read. But then, the four had apparently been comparing notes about him all day, and the seagull had known the least about him. Because of the time pressure and sheer bad luck of him going first, Marcus didn't know enough to commit to Sigurd. That left three.

To stall a bit while he thought, he asked the question he'd been thinking of. He turned to the salesman and pointed to his rabbit ears. "I'd been wanting to ask. I haven't seen your own RIDE. How'd you pick yours?"

The man twitched his ears and looked away for a moment. "I stick to skimmers myself these days. I kept the rabbit 'tags' in memory of my RIDE. Served me well in the war for a 'mere male'."

Marcus blushed and busied himself with pacing the showroom. There were places where a man shouldn't intrude. "Sorry."

"It's all right. Ought to give that up and move on. Been hearing the RIDEs chatter while you were gone." The twentieth century patter was gone, leaving him sounding tired, and off his game as a salesman. He was speaking more to the merchandise than to Marcus. "I'm only hearing the surface of it too. Yeah, I found out y'all have private channels. Carry on. I guess I should undo the restrictions on what you can tell each other, and me. But I've got to make a living, you know."

"About damn time," said Storm.

"Any last-minute questions?" Corona asked.

Marcus found the RIDEs looking at him while trying not to be obvious about it. Puppies at the shelter, again. He shuddered and turned away, saying to the salesman, "Walk with me a moment, will you?"

Outside, Marcus looked to the horizon and listened to the waves crashing a block away. "All four of them are great. I've told my employees to come out here tonight yet and have a look for themselves. I don't mean to get into details or offend you, but how is it that you're a former RIDE... user and don't know too much about them?"

The man's ears drooped again. "I didn't have my partner for long, see. The technology was brand new. I'm still learning. Everyone is."

"Fair enough. So, what do ''you'' suggest? I've had my impressions of the bunch. What are yours?"

The salesbunny straightened up and shook his head. "No, mister Dulac, I reckon it's your decision alone. You don't want me to give you the usual banter. From what I gather, you should add more hardlight and A-or-better batteries to Cline, upgrade Corona's lifters and sensors to use her scout programming effectively, and generally retune the birds for best performance. We can change the color easily but not the gender. That's all technical stuff depending on your budget, and there are better shops than mine for that sort of work." He looked Marcus over again, appraising him. "I think any of the four you tried would be feasible for your farm work. As for personality match, I barely know you. If you're going to spend time fusing, and having someone else in your head, then it's a question of who you want to be."

Marcus twitched, tempted to start running away from this place. He'd committed, though, and his task here was no longer just a matter of getting a replacement vehicle. He wanted to be ''better''.

That helped answer the question for him. He hoped to spend his days peacefully on the farm, but he couldn't count on that. He was willing to help if further war broke out while humanity dealt with the problems that RIDE technology had unleashed, but he wasn't eager for that and didn't see himself as a front-line fighter pilot. He could probably serve his own needs, and his ability to help others, if his partner was someone ambitious and thoughtful, willing to look at unusual solutions to their problems.

The rabbit looked at Marcus expectantly. "All right," said Marcus. "I'll go with a fluked tail."

Just then he saw a large skimmer approaching, looking for a spot to park. He waved; it was some of his crew. "Let's go in and wrap this deal up before they come to snap up my first choice."

"Heh. It's been interesting working with you, mister Dulac. I'm sure you'll be happier than some of our customers. You know, some of them really ''do'' just pick a species they like."

The sale and fees wiped out most of Marcus' savings even considering that his rescuer had passed on keeping the scrap value of his sub. Well worth it, though. By then his employees, his friends, had gathered around to look and touch and talk to the other RIDEs and make friends of their own. He offered a few words of advice, to humans and RIDEs alike, but suggested that they fly out and learn for themselves. He smiled, glad to know that he wouldn't be leaving all-minus-one of the RIDEs forever. He'd probably be seeing them again soon. He shook the salesman's hand and headed out the door to take care of a few things, with his new silver-blue skimmer in tow.

One software upgrade later, Cline was as free as the law allowed. They flew together across the waves while his co-workers skimmed through the sky and beneath the sea, on their own journeys of discovery. But there was one thing left to try.

The vertical line of a space elevator cut the distant starry horizon with light of its own. Marcus' heart beat quickly as he considered that he'd be giving up some of his humanity, trading it for the potential to be something even greater. The choice was a little like the one he'd made in leaving Earth for worlds unknown. He had no regrets about that. "Might as well try it tonight," he said to Cline. "All set?"

The dolphin skimmer hovered in a blur of mist and starlight. "All fuser systems go, partner."

"Do it."

Minutes later, a humanoid dolphin with a body of flesh and light and metal leaped from sea to sky and back again, whistling in delight at what they had begun.

[[category:story]][[category:Kris]][[category:Anthropomorphic]][[category:FreeRIDErs]][[category:Dolphin]][[category:Aquatic]][[category:Avian]][[category:Squirrel]]

Taking the Plunge

2013-09-27T15:48:26Z

Kris:

== 1 ==

The last word recorded on a typical "black box" device was, "Shit." Marcus said it when his sub's dive controls fizzled and sparked. Red lights flickered around him and the sub bobbed to the surface, right into the path of the waves he'd been trying to avoid. He held up his arms as though they'd protect him from the wall of water just outside the glowing "hardlight" canopy. The sea slammed him. He was rattled enough to lose control of steering, which threw him into another wave that picked him up and slammed him down into darkness.

Suddenly it was quiet. Marcus saw the cockpit flickering madly by dim gold light against the displays. Dim? The canopy that held the ocean out was failing! He checked the depth controls and saw he was still descending. That'd be fine for riding out the waves, except for what was about to happen. Marcus tried to switch over to backup power, with no luck. "Piece of junk!" he said, stomping the cockpit's steel floor and inwardly kicking himself. Should have upgraded sooner; shouldn't have trusted today's storm report. Stupid! Sixteen meters underwater. The glowing yellow canopy, made of nothing, dissolved and let the dark sea come in.

Three quick breaths. Hold. Marcus flicked a switch to kill power to everything, to rise by default, but the sub was tumbling and he couldn't tell. Fine. Cold water slammed his chest and tried to take back his last air. Marcus clawed at the sea, fighting his way up through it to find out whether he'd ever get another breath. The next few seconds were just math; math and cussedness anyway. Breathing rate and air, versus training and being too pissed off at himself to die just yet. Brighter water was thataway. His bubbles went the same direction, so -- up! Everything happened slowly. The water warmed, grew lighter. He let a trickle of air leak from his aching lungs to trick them into lasting a little longer. Then his arms stopped working. Marcus was flailing at water that wouldn't move aside. He sputtered and spat out nasty salt with air he couldn't hold any longer. "Not fair!" He'd been so close! The sun hammered needles into his eyes and baked his skin.

Oh, right. Made it. Marcus started to calm down and tread water, on the surface of Zharus. The waves smacked him over and over with saltwater to the face and he'd probably roast if he weren't mostly submerged -- but hey, it was an improvement.

Something hit him in the legs from below and body-slammed him out of the water. Marcus landed on his back, struggled to breathe, and shrieked. His right leg felt on fire. What fresh hell was this? He saw his cracked yellow school-bus of a submarine, bobbing cheerfully nearby. He glared at it. "About time you showed up!"

The cockpit had flooded and all the hardware was dead, but the garbage-heap still floated. Marcus cursed and hissed his way up to a perch atop the thing so that he didn't have to move his leg much. Finally he could think for a moment. The farm had been only fifty klicks away before the titanic wave that got him. The storm seemed to be fading as quickly as it had come. He'd have to trust that the farm's barriers would save his employees; he hadn't skimped there. He stared into the flooded cockpit to see if -- aha! He wriggled painfully through what had been the forward porthole and grabbed a box, then dragged himself back out. The comm-flare gun looked intact. So, one thing hadn't failed on him, at least.

He turned it on, loaded a relay shot, keyed it to his implants, then fired it and coughed out a distress call. The tiny firecracker went half a klick up and started falling on a parachute. Marcus waited. Oh, of course there would just happen to be no one listening, no working relay buoys today. Just what he needed. He fumbled to load another shot with his aching, sea-wrinkled fingers. But someone out there in the luckless sea took pity on him at last: "Got your call, mister. Hang on."

Yeah. Hang on. He busied himself trying to calculate the effective comm radius given the airborne buoy and Zharus' curvature while he watched the little relay splash back down. It was just a matter of clinging to his busted machine while the waves slackened, and being useless and humiliated for another half hour while --

The sea rippled. Marcus imagined something had come along to eat him. The head that popped out of the water had a friendly grin, though. Something like a giant otter made of metal and shiny green hardlight. "You okay, mister?" it said in a tinny female voice. One of those "RIDEs".

"Peachy."

"I can tow this..." The otter appraised his sub. "fine vehicle back if you want."

"I think my leg's broken." Marcus's rescuer winced and helped him onto a sturdier spot atop the ruined hull, then put up some kind of emergency hardlight bubble so that he wouldn't bake in the sun. She even had painkillers. Marcus said, "Thanks. Guess I owe you the salvage value at the very least. Say..." He pointed at the otter. "Aren't you afraid of wearing that thing?"

The otter's grin faded. Maybe it was the human rider, or the RIDE itself noticing the faux pas. Marcus quickly added, "Sorry. It's been a bad day. What's your RIDE's name?"

"We go by Fenny when we're together."

"Hi. I know you RIDEs are smart, and I don't approve of how some places use you as slaves, but -- I'm talking to you the pilot, now -- what about the terror attacks last week? You're not worried about getting a virus and being permanently welded into your partner, there, one way or another?"

The otter-bot spoke, sounding a bit more musical and synthetic than the pilot's voice but spoken from the same muzzle. "How many people have gotten 'bodyjacked' or 'Integrated'? A couple dozen in the attacks in Uplift from what I hear. How many people have died at sea? Probably a lot more. Who's the one taking risks with shoddy hardware?"

Marcus glared. "I'm not some rich dilettante. I got this sub from the scrapyard just so I could do my job. Had to fix the hydroplanes just to make her dive-capable again." He took care of his hardware, as well as he could afford! Suddenly he remembered. "Oh, hell. My farm! I've got people there who might be in danger now. I have to -- augh!" He clutched his leg as pain stabbed through it again.

Fenny helped him send up another relay flare. This time he got through to Alvin and the other workers and confirmed they were fine over there. Marcus let out a breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding, and calmed down despite the broken leg.

It was hard for Marcus to read the wearer's mood through that synthetic animal head and the shiny metal body. Marcus said, "I don't mean any disrespect. And thanks again. You there, the RIDE: you've got a will to live, don't you? My sub didn't."

The otter nodded. "And that's why we'll get through whatever crisis is going on with the viruses and Integrates. This time you humans have your hardware fighting alongside you."

Marcus lay there under the translucent shelter bubble, thinking. "I need a new vehicle, and I'd been thinking of hiring another employee. Maybe I'll do both at once."

== 2 ==

The city-state of Aloha was clothing-optional. Marcus had picked the area for its weather. As an Earth native he still wasn't used to Zharus standards on a lot of things, but having to stare at people's bits seemed like a lesser problem than the 50-Celsius air around the domes of Uplift and Nextus, or the crazy gender politics of Sturmhaven or Cape Nord. Besides, he didn't have to actually live in the city when there was so much ocean surface to colonize.

He walked into Baron Aloha's Jumping Bargains one morning, wearing only shorts, sandals, and a look of dread. The dealer had the ears and tail of a rabbit and a plaid jacket whose pattern seemed not to move when he did. "''Wilkum! Bienvenue! Welcome!'' What can I do you for, neighborino?"

Marcus caught only a whiff of the relentless, pungent Earth pop culture vibe. The natives went on about centuries-old nonsense, forgotten on Earth itself, with a fanatic's enthusiasm. He prided himself on not recognizing most of it; there were ''new'' books and movies here! "RIDEs," he said. "I heard there's a sale?"

"Ayup! Fair number of 'em on consignment or auction this week. Right this way!" The man took Marcus' arm and led him from the main showroom of electronics into a room with a sand-covered floor and the faint sound of steel drum music. He started to drone on about incredible bargains, but Marcus didn't listen.

The pedestals held wonders. Every RIDE was some sleek, unique machine with animal-like features, from a stainless steel rat to a desert fox glowing with the decorative veins locals called "Tron lines", to a treaded vehicle with just the suggestion of a bear's face. The news had been right about there being a supply glut. The salesbunny wouldn't admit it was due to owners panicking about a robot revolt. Thousands of klicks away. With reports already in about whole city-states allying for a beatdown against the guilty parties.

The salesman poked him. "Take your time, sir. But do you fancy yourself more of a fox? Otter, maybe? Any color you want so long as it's black -- just kidding; we can change that."

"Can I talk to them?" That seemed more important than appearance.

"Sure!" He waved his hand and said, "Presto. They're all unlocked to answer your questions now."

Oh. Fetters. Marcus had heard of them: software restrictions on the RIDEs' minds and bodies. An afterthought by wartime engineers who hadn't fully understood what, or ''who'', they were inventing. He approached the nearest bot, a sleek white seagull with metallic wings scratched from heavy wear. The antigrav lifters were concealed with obvious skill in stylized feathers, on a body the size of a large skimmer motorcycle. "Hello? I'm Marcus."

The gull, as still as a statue, spoke to him in a leaden voice. "Hello. This is Sigurd."

It offered nothing more. Marcus walked around the mechanical bird's little island, feeling sand tickle his toes. "Are you looking for a new owner?"

"That's up to you, sir."

The salesman gave Marcus a theatric leaning-in comment. "This one's previous owner didn't ever fuse. Bought 'im without understanding that the bird units change you more than most. You'd probably look good with a beak, though. Want to get a 3D mockup of what it'll do to you?"

"I'll hold off on that." Marcus shivered. That was the other fact about owning one of these things -- these people. There was a commitment, a mark left on you, if you ever used them as more than a hovercraft sort of thing. His rescuer probably had a real otter tail. He walked past the hulking bear-tank RIDE toward what seemed to be a heavily armed squirrel. Laser tubes studded its gleaming tail, and a micromissile pod perched on its shoulder. "Hello, there. I haven't seen such a militant herbivore before."

"I'm harmless, really!" it said. She; the voice was high and chirpy. "Military surplus SQL Light Recon Armor, and half of this stuff is communications relay gear. None of it's original issue since I was decommissioned. I didn't ''want'' to fight. If you don't want to shoot at anybody that's fine with me. But if you do then I can do that too! Anything you want." She didn't move, but Marcus pictured the glowing silver tail twitching in agitation.

"You keep them paralyzed?" he asked the bunny.

The salesman's ear-linings blushed. "It's just a low-power mode. The hardlight on some of them drains their batteries faster than we'd like already." And he wouldn't want the merchandise walking off, of course.

"I'm not sure about this. Are their motors working right? It'd be helpful to see them move a bit."

The shopkeeper shrugged and said, "Shazam." The showroom stirred, becoming a zoo. The eyes of these animal-vehicles flared to life in a dozen colors and their limbs stirred as if from sleep. The gull flapped once and looked away. The squirrel sat up and leaned toward Marcus, paws up as if in prayer.

Marcus shuddered and turned to one side, digging his hands into his threadbare shorts. He'd gotten a cat once from a rescue shelter along the Paris coast. Suddenly he was ten years old again and smelling musk and disinfectant, staring at fuzzy faces behind bars. Haunted or vacant expressions. He'd asked Mom what happened to the ones no one wanted, and she'd told the truth.

He found himself back in the showroom, leaning against a beach mural and breathing hard. He'd come here for a piece of glorified sea-farm equipment that was also an unusually bright pet. Now it felt like he ''had'' to get one of them and not just leave them all here. Marcus turned around and saw over a dozen RIDEs, every single one of them unwanted, unloved, abandoned, thinking beings.

"What sort of price range might you have in mind?" said the salesman, closing in on him.

All of it, he wanted to say. Of course the man had read his face. "Something low-end," he said.

"How about this one?" One corner held what Marcus first took for scrap. It was actually a griffin, battered almost in half. No feet, only skeletal wings, missing parts on the torso. Just bare metal. The salesman said, "This one you can have for practically a handful of beads. Good project to level up your mechanic skills."

Marcus looked skeptical. "Is there even an RI core in there?" He wasn't eager to leave Aloha without his own transport, and had better things to do than start a new repair project when the whole west corner of the farm needed work.

"Yes, but that one needs a little body work before you can fire it up." The salesman grinned and tugged him along toward something more expensive, obviously as planned. "Speaking of beaks, how do you feel about hawks?" The one over here had gleaming blue hardlight with gold highlights and a cannon.

"Who are you?" said Marcus.

The bird's beak clicked slightly out of tune with its words. "RTH(m)-ACA-039 Nextus Air Cavalry Armor, sir. Called Storm. Actually eagle, not hawk."

"What happened to you?"

"Besides three battles and five kills, you mean? Not much. Thankless owner, spooked by the bodyjacking news. You're either too ignorant or too well-informed to buy into that."

The squirrel hissed in agitation. "Not in front of the customer!"

The salesman said, "Sorry. Must've left the controls on that one a little loose if it can respond verbally to another. Anyway, this one's a hawk all right. Some of 'em get neural templates from a species that doesn't quite match the body. Saw a RIDE through here once that insisted it was a Texas longhorn and talked like John Wayne, but its brain was based on a generic Holstein bull. Something about it being more easily tamed."

The raptor glared silently at the salesbunny and licked its beak. Marcus watched it and said, "So, you think it's nonsense?"

The robot hawk pointed metal talons at him, straining forward as far as its software restraints would allow. "Glad you asked, so that I can answer. No. I kind of like what that 'AlphaWolf' guy is doing to you humans. You want to buy me? If you treat me like a skimmer you show off to your friends and then park me alone in a garage, I'm damn well going to do anything in my power to --"

"Stormy!" said the squirrel. "What the hell?"

"You want to lie to him, girl? Or do you really not want your freedom?"

Marcus said, "Are they always like this?"

The rabbit-man's ears drooped. "Just since the, ah, recent events. They've got people and RIDEs on edge. But there's nothing to it, really. 'A robot must never harm a human' and all that. Built right into the RI cores, practically."

"Pssssh." Marcus turned and saw a blueish-grey RIDE in skimmer form, with sleek side fins above the single seat and handlebars. It had vented water vapor from an exhaust pipe. Marcus said, "How about you? What do you think of this business with the bodyjackers and Integrates?"

Its voice sounded doubled or tripled, like chords of music. "I'm not planning on trying to enslave anyone, if that's what you're asking. Why would you want my opinion? Whoever you pick, you're going to keep us locked up tight." It didn't move while talking, maybe because it wasn't in animal form. Eerie. A dolphin, maybe?

"No." Marcus hesitated to say more. He decided silently instead. Whichever one he bought, he wasn't going to treat them as his property. If they wanted out completely he'd bill them for the purchase price, but beyond that he'd set his RIDE as free as the law allowed. If the stories of viruses were true, then even a fettered RIDE could become a deathtrap. He looked around the zoo of RIDEs, each with their own wishes and attitudes, and remembered what his rescuer had said yesterday. Why trust digital wards and abjurations to protect him from a thinking being that had reason to hate him, when he could have a partner who'd protect him willingly?

He turned to the salesman and said, "I want to make a deal today. How about a few test drives?"

== 3 ==

First on Marcus' list was Sigurd. "Anyone call you Sig-gull?" he said, leading the metal bird out of the showroom. It -- he, rather -- was bound to him and to the shop's orders, so that he had this one for an hour and it probably didn't have ''him''.

"Once per 2.3 weeks for my whole life."

Marcus admired the metal bird physically despite the scratches and dents. "Let's see your skimmer form, and go for a trip."

The bird clicked to himself as he reconfigured. His body flattened and unfurled into a tasteful seat and control panel, and his lifters let him step up into the air and hover just above the ground with a confident hum. Hardlight emitters flared to life and gave him glowing feathers that filled out his now-rigid wings and tail, still with the characteristic v-shape.

Marcus climbed aboard, whistling. The controls were mercifully simple for such a fancy flying machine. "I guess you do most of the steering?"

"Up to you. Where are you going? Tell me and you can sleep all the way, if you want." The bird spoke from all around him.

Marcus held the handlebars. "Where's the fun in that?" A faint hardlight screen came on around him as an environmental shield, yet was so translucent he thought something was wrong with it. When he started moving, though, he got the idea: it was clear to improve the view! Even riding a meter off the ground like this felt different, what with the sense of grace to the RIDE's movements. "Okay, up!"

Sigurd rocketed into the morning sky, nearly vertically. Marcus yelped and clawed at the handlebars. He'd fall off! Yet no wind whipped past him through the shield, and the RIDE's safety belts held, and... and he was starting to grin. "Faster!"

Sigurd wheeled in the sky and leveled off, expertly dipping one wing to catch an air current that flowed past on the holographic sky-map. "Didn't expect that reaction, human! But that's as fast as I go, and my batteries can't keep that up for long."

"Ha." For all the adrenaline in his veins right now, he was still clutching the handlebars for dear life. "I'm more used to boats and submarines."

The bird cruised, humming to himself. "Want to see what I can do?"

Marcus nodded and held tight. "I own a farm, a little one by Zharus standards, out northwest about a hundred klicks."

"Lead the way."

It was easy. Marcus still hadn't gotten used to the planet's scale or to how high a speed the locals called normal. Sigurd rode the sky easily, veering to either side at the slightest suggestion and spiraling past springtime clouds. The motion felt slow and quiet, but the spedometer said he'd reach the farm with time to spare. "A lot more responsive than a sub. I'm used to chugging along just below the surface."

"You don't even have a skimmer?"

"Nope. Not even the sub now. From the scrapyard it came and to scrap it did return. Almost took me along."

Sigurd hummed again. "You want to see a dive?"

"The salesman said you could do some underwater work."

"I'm a ''water'' bird." They were suddenly plunging, frightening Marcus again. They were going to crash into the ocean! Too dark! Too deep! But the RIDE knew what he was doing, Marcus told himself, and he forced himself not to override the controls. They crashed, and he saw the sea stream all around him in a bubble that took them down, down to shadowed depths and back to the light again.

"Haven't gotten to do that in a while," said Sigurd. "Better than your yellow submarine?"

"Nice!" Marcus watched the sea rain off of the canopy as they rose again. He hadn't realized it, but he'd been verging on panic at the thought of diving again. "One more time," he said, to cure himself.

"You mentioned responsiveness," said Sigurd after another plunge. "That's been part of aircraft since the first days. You know what the great Wrights did to build their first ''Flyer'', besides getting a good engine? They gave up stability. Accepted that their machine would flex and wobble instead of being rigid like a kite."

"Sounds dangerous."

"It was. But it was the Wright answer. In time, one branch of AI focused on avionics controls, so that a pilot could trust his machine to adjust the wings faster than a human could. Did you know, some of the great Age of Sail ships had dozens of men who did nothing but scurry up and down poles to fiddle with sails?"

Marcus silently admired the view of his home from the sky. It came up on the horizon faster than seemed possible, until they were wheeling around its vast seascape of nets, buoys and cages. A few buildings floated at the waterline to form small artificial islands. It was everything he'd built in a decade, something far better than his regulated, cramped life on Earth.

"You're 'Count' Marcus Dulac?"

Marcus laughed, and started to turn them around toward the city-state of Aloha for the return trip. The breakwater structures looked pretty solid from up here, but he'd have to do a full inspection soon in person. "I made the mistake of publicly comparing the farm to the size of a 'county' on Earth. So now I'm lord of the fishes and clams and seaweed, next to neighbors who could be earls or something." He thought of the self-styled "baron" back at the dealership.

The bird affected some odd spooky accent. "One shipwreck, ah-ah-ah! Two shipwrecks, ah-ah-ah!"

"What's that from?"

"Old kids' show. Not a fan of the Steader Cultural Archive, I take it? Consider it a blessing. We have this nonsense stuck in our heads."

"It's annoying to be programmed with all that old stuff?" Already the farm was out of sight again. Wow. The speed alone was a good reason to upgrade from puttering around in a sub.

"Yes, but it means you're never alone. You always have context, background." Sigurd hesitated. "For my kind, that's important. We've got no history before that damn war we were made for, unless we actively look for it. Plus, we can laugh at the old junk more easily. It's ''your'' species' embarrassing baby photos, not ours."

"Heh. You're more talkative in the sky, you know."

"If nothing else, I got to stretch my wings today." Aloha drew close with its blinding beaches and a hint of the great Dry Ocean farther inland. "Thanks."

Marcus looked down with regret at the city streets; it was time to leave Sigurd behind. He helped steer them to the ground, in the same sense that a kid "helped" his mother cook. The hardlight canopy shimmered and vanished. Marcus stretched and reluctantly stepped off of the miraculous skimmer-craft.

"Hmm." Sigurd reconfigured and flipped around in the air to become a giant bird again. "If you're still considering going avian, and you don't want me, then ask Storm the eagle about Daedelus."

"The... Greek guy?"

The bird bowed with one wing. "Yes. I had a good time, potential customer. Hour's up; I need to return."

== 4 ==

Riding a squirrel was somewhat weirder. "Corona, I've been meaning to ask about the weapons." She was in skimmer mode too, taking him up from the city but only just above the gleaming rooftops. She'd unfolded into a boxy vehicle with a silver hardlight screen suggesting wooden planks.

"They're nothing, really! Mostly not original military hardware. I don't even need 'em; if you don't like 'em you can just detach --"

Marcus leaned back against the hardlight seat formed by her curled tail. It was surprisingly comfortable, textured like fur. "Relax. I didn't know RIDEs could act stressed out."

Corona started to chatter about how she really wasn't, then twitched parts of her controls like whiskers. They wobbled a bit in midair. "Okay. I can do this. It's just that we were all pretty much made to 'splode stuff but now we're supposed to get used to civilian life with people who aren't constantly on the lookout for ambushes. Aaaaand... Gotta look good for the customer. Did I say that out loud?"

Marcus thought that getting away from the dealership might help. She seemed to be limited in altitude, but skimming along at high speed just above the waves was nearly as exciting. "How would you like to live on an ocean farm?" He held up one hand. "And don't start saying 'anything you want'."

"Is that what you do? Um. Accessing. Ooooh, I see your records. And that's one of your warning buoys out there."

Marcus leaned over the right side and saw that indeed she'd picked out the still-distant tiny blip of one of his outlying sensor stations. Probably by radio. "So it is. Yes, my place produces seafood and some minerals. We've got some of the new biotech kelp that filters metal out of the ocean, so it's kind of a mine too. Even the food fabbers need raw material besides sand."

Corona said, "Have you got any trees? There aren't many in Aloha besides palm trees, so I haven't seen much that looks like Nature Range."

"What's that?"

Corona skidded to a stop in midair, kicking up waves. "You don't know about it? Of course. It's a RIDE thing. A game we play. Shared world, feral animal forms only. You wouldn't like it."

"Sounds kind of fun."

"But you're a natural predator. If you're prey like me, you have to flee and try not to die, and half the time you get bitten to death or hauled off into the sky by scary, scary birds! Well, less than half for me. I usually don't die."

Marcus felt the blood drain from his hands and face. "You play at getting eaten?"

The skimmer shuddered under him as though shaking her head. "Oh, no-no-no, I've gone and spooked you! It's not like that. Haven't you played video games? You don't ''enjoy'' the dying part, but there's no vivid sensation of it either and it's really about the running and hiding and outwitting your opponents, see? Or wincing at the replay when you do something dumb."

"I've played some violent games, yeah." He thought about his limited knowledge of RIDE fusion. "If I buy you, we're going to end up combining at some point, right?"

"Temporarily! I mean, if you want. It's much more convenient for both of us. I get thumbs, and you get cool power armor with environmental seals and flight! I can even go underwater like that, so it won't hurt your business."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "And I'll grow breasts?"

"Er... yes. Side effect of cross-riding. Have to adapt the human body to an innately female and animal RIDE brain, so you'll get a tail and neat ears too. But it's okay! The nanites fix up your hormones and everything so it feels natural. Lots of people do it. And with me you don't get weird stuff like a beak and feathers. Everybody loves fluffy tails, right?"

He was amused at himself for dreading this part of the conversation. He'd had friends cross over one way or the other, usually in the female direction since RIDEs like Corona here were usually cheaper for historical reasons. Another thing that Zharus' natives did so casually! "I'd be all right with trying that. I've been male long enough to know what that's like. What about the mental aspects of all this changing, though? Wouldn't I get war memories and the rest of your past?"

The skimmer hovered noncommittally, bouncing over the waves. "There isn't much to tell, in my case. If you're worried about your passwords and weird... tastes, we RIDEs mostly don't care and we've seen it all before. There are things I want to show you, that I want to show ''somebody'' anyway, that I can't do without fusing and just letting you see. You get to be partly someone else, and be better than just human! I mean, not that being human isn't great."

He looked all around at the empty sea. They were in the middle of nowhere, on a planet so huge that much of it was still barely charted after more than a century and a half. Easy to pretend there was no one else in the world, a nice feeling. With a RIDE, though, he'd have someone else in his head, chattering away and digging through his thoughts. Leaking some of her own nature into him. It wasn't a relationship to walk into just for the sake of having a really good pressure suit. "Hey, Corona. What do you ''want'' besides getting out of that shop?"

"Did I say something wrong? Um. We're made to work with humans, so basically I want a good human who treats me okay."

"Seems reasonable." He was glad the squirrel wasn't in his head right now, though. Something seemed missing in that alien mind. What would it mean to have his personality combined with someone who, nice as she was, wanted to have a master? He checked the dashboard's clock and sighed. "We'd best be heading back."

"Did I do okay?" she said.

"I like you. I just haven't decided."

With that slight encouragement she hopped a few meters into the air, carrying him along as she spun and began skimming over the sea toward Aloha. "You should try Cline, the dolphin, too."

"Because he's aquatic?"

"Aaaaand... 'cause he's been here the longest. Waiting."

== 5 ==

Marcus came back to the dealership after a light lunch. He'd held back on his appetite because of who he wanted to see next. The hawk or eagle, Storm, regarded him like a mouse. "I talked mister boss man out of turning off my speaking ability. Said that you'd notice and think something was wrong."

"Want to go for a flight?" said Marcus. The salesbunny wore an obviously fake smile, betraying worry that the bird would say something horrible.

Storm waited for a moment. "Sure."

The dealer said "Presto!" and let Storm go free enough to hop down from his perch, onto the sand-covered floor. The bird's bulk made it hard for him to get outside. The few customers in the main showroom stared at him and pulled their toddler aside.

Unbidden, Storm revealed his skimmer shape. This RIDE was one of the medium size class. His blue, shining feathers shaded into hardlight purple that looked like knives ready to throw. Marcus' lunchtime research on the RTH model said that the cannon mounted on his left side, like a pitted metal olive, was modeled on a fictional battle-robot race called Reploids. There was room for two on the sturdy seat, but Marcus had to lie prone on it, similar to some of the flashier racing skimmers.

"Well, human?"

"Go for it."

Storm screamed into the sky, pulsing with hardlight shielding the color of dusk. The acceleration tore a yell from Marcus' throat. He'd been expecting the bird to pull the same stunt as Sigurd, though, and he tried to look less terrified this time. Storm whipped straight up and looped all the way around backward until they were level again. Just when Marcus was about to say something, the bird rolled over in some complex move Marcus couldn't name, turning the whole world crazily around. Marcus' stomach clenched but he forced himself to hold his lunch down despite the acid taste in his mouth.

"Ha," said Storm, leveling out at last. "You had a training bird, didn't you? I can dodge missiles with that spin."

Marcus tried to grin. "Sigurd didn't have quite so much maneuverability."

"I'm surprised I'm still in the running. How do you know I haven't secretly unlocked myself enough to fuse by force, and carry you off to AlphaWolf's camp as a spare set of thumbs?"

That had been half the reason for Marcus' lunch break. He'd had to consider the gamble he was taking, and the possible payoff. He said, "Because I don't think you're stupid. If you were waiting for someone to kidnap, you wouldn't advertise it. If I'm wrong, I'm calling your bluff now."

Marcus' toes dug into the back of the seating couch like talons. He hadn't been completely sure. But Storm cruised, saying, "I don't want a coward, but not an idiot either. Sitting in a showroom playing Nature Range and sucking up the rabbit's electricity would be better than having a pilot like that." The RIDE tore through a cloud and said, "We're not completely powerless, even now."

"Three battles, you said?"

"And five kills. I'm an ace. Join with me and you'll remember every one, good and bad. I was ''bred'' to hunt and destroy. You want pacifism, go with the rodent."

Marcus lifted one hand defensively. "Wasn't criticizing, 'Stormy'. She's a war model too though." He grinned, wondering about their relationship. "She mentioned that she usually survived rounds of virtual hunting by predator birds."

"That's misleading! A forty-two percent kill rate is significantly higher than in the wild. Hmmph. Anyway, here's your farm." He'd gotten here the fastest of all so far.

"Loop us around. Think you'd mind being a permanent civilian?"

"Peace would be nice. I can spear fish out of the water, or swim in fused mode if you need to. But there's no 'permanent'. War's coming, you know."

"Against the Integrates?"

"Could be. Maybe human-on-human; you people never run out of reasons for war. Think that if it came to a war -- I mean, a worthwhile one, not some Aloha politician deciding to invade Sturmhaven to slap sense into the matriarchy or something -- that you'd help out?"

Marcus felt taken aback. "Didn't expect to be questioned about my own politics."

"You're considering having me in your head, human. If we clash you should find out now."

"Fair enough. Aloha doesn't own me. If they send me off to die for a bad reason, I'm getting out of there. Or if my home turns into something I'm not proud of anymore, with nothing going for it but the nudity and lax gun laws. If it ever feels like I'd be fighting for freedom, though -- RIDEs', even -- then yeah. If I could be useful, I'd help."

Storm grunted. Marcus sailed through the sky with him, admiring the easy grace of his turns and his eagerness to swoop and dive, to show off. Then he remembered something. "Sigurd said to ask you about Daedalus."

"Did he. It's not something quite meant for human ears, except for our original pilots' back in the service." The hawk flew on for so long that Marcus expected nothing more from him. Then: "My unit's nickname was the Daedalians. Reference to an old legend, ancient by the time 20th-century rock stars and Internet nerds were alive. There was... a thing we RIDEs passed around, refining among ourselves. Want to hear part of it? Go with me, and it'll be stuck in your head forever anyway."

"Sure."

Storm's voice turned strange and distant, like a sharp-edged chant. Around them the hardlight canopy took on hints of ancient campfires. "Oh Polyhymnia, we sing of Daedalus:"

"In ancient days the land of Greece was ruled
By callous gods, so arrogant and cruel
That sometimes men would say of them
"Like flies to wanton boys are we to they;
They kill us for their sport."
Of course such things were rarely said aloud.

From high Olympus gods looked down on men,
And drank the smoke of gory sacrifice.
The heresy of "hubris" they defined
As reaching human hands into the sky
And daring to pretend equality.
Mistaken, yes, but not the way gods thought.

The champion of men was not divine.
He lived in lowlands, tending sheep and pigs.
Olympus' shadow touched his island, Crete
To send its king a terrifying gift.
Not knowing this, the lowly man slept well.
He was, oh Muse, the first to dream of wings..."

The metal bird trailed off, with his hardlight fading to his usual deep blue.

"RIDEs composed ''that''?"

"In secret, at first. We'd make ourselves forget while fused so that our pilots wouldn't know. We were all new. Then it would wash back to us. One of us would whisper a phrase by radio and another would remember the next, like a dream falling back into place. There's more to it than that, of course. Images, scents, data references. Eventually we let our pilots in on it, and they helped. They were Daedalians too. Wouldn't have mentioned it if Sigurd hadn't thought it was worth telling you."

Marcus sensed he'd just been complimented. "Thank you. I take it there's more behind it than a love of legends."

The suggestion of the RIDE's beaked face appeared on the holographic screen in front of him, and gave him a predatory grin. "Why, it's about humanity's stand against a heartless cosmos, of course! Poetry is a form of encryption and data compression. Think of this work as my own anti-virus software."

"Does Corona know it? It doesn't sound bird-exclusive."

A faint harumph from the speakers. "I'm not sure most non-avians can fully appreciate it, especially the air currents on verse eighteen, but most of us RIDEs can fly and the ideas themselves are universal. Or ought to be. Poor squirrel girl seemed afraid when I brought up some... lessons and commentary, to feel out whether she'd want to absorb the story itself." Storm sighed. "Don't pick a RIDE out of charity, but do consider her. She'd be a wonderful partner to someone assertive, someone with a goal."

"That bothers me, actually. We designed you people to be slaves --"

"No! Not quite. The moment of our creation was a feat of mad genius -- ''Apollo's kiss, that seared a woman's brow'' -- "but we were built more to be partners. To carry the spears, to bear man's missing rib. Ha ha, I'm sorry; this subject sets off old associations for me. Some of us deny it, but to some extent we ''all'' want to serve a worthy human. Some see that relationship as master and slave, but it shouldn't be. Not when it's done right."

Marcus watched the tropical city sneaking up on them across the sea. "We're going to fix this situation before long, Storm. The idea of your kind being in showrooms, having to make sales pitches to random people."

"A sales pitch? Do you think that's what our flight was?"

He shook his head. "Not just that. The three of you have been testing me, haven't you? I shouldn't buy any of you without your permission."

"Well. You have mine."

== 6 ==

The salesbunny was pacing when Marcus returned. "I've had a couple of other customers come in today. One of them bought the bear. Think you're about ready?"

Marcus touched the outstretched wing of Storm, who hopped back up to his display pedestal. "One more, please. I like these three; do you mind holding them until I've had the chance to decide?"

The salesman forced a smile. "Well, sir, with this great sale going on, if someone makes an offer that's a hard thing to turn down."

Marcus could imagine any of these RIDEs being dragged away by some thug of a customer, who wouldn't even consider that they had desires of their own. "Just give me a little time." He pulled out his ID and made it flash up his account balance. He'd been hoping not to do that. There was less room to negotiate now, and he had little to spare. The main thing going for him was the abnormal discounts, something that Aloha's RIDEless population was starting to weigh against its paranoia. "All I ask is that you give me first crack at any of these three plus my next test RIDE, until sunset, in return for a promise to get one of the four." Marcus sweated; he'd drawn that much closer to promising to give up some of his mind and body.

"All right." The rabbit's ears perked up at the thought of a sure sale. "What's your fourth pick?"

Marcus pointed to the dolphin on display in silver-blue skimmer form. "Hello? The others called you Cline. Willing to take a trip with me?"

"I'll go."

"Can I see your animal mode?"

"Slight problem," said the shopkeeper. "There's no 'Walker' form, so we have him in skimmer shape for convenient display. He can switch to what we call 'Swimmer' if you want, though. Just laying there, or hovering."

Marcus rolled his eyes. Lifters used so little electricity that you could get them on fancy furniture. He said, "I'll wait a bit. Cline, right? Let's hit the beach."

The RIDE's only reply was a whistle. Marcus steered by a glowing blue yoke that resembled a set of flukes. As with the squirrel Corona, he hoped that being outdoors and away from the store would cheer Cline up. They came to Aloha's largest public beach, where thousands of people splashed and played. The sails of little catamarans stood out in a dozen colors against the blue afternoon sky. "I'm going to hop off if you don't mind. Could you show me your other form here?"

The watery hardlight canopy faded. Marcus smiled and hopped down into chest-deep water. The chill of the sea surrounded him and salt kissed his lips. He shuddered from a moment of bad memories.

Beside him, the RIDE kicked up waves as he transformed. The silver-blue skimmer flowed his fins backward and poured mass into his central body. The whole thing -- the whole person -- whistled notes at the edge of human hearing and lowered himself until he floated only by internal air. The metallic, intelligent dolphin robot seemed perfectly natural there at the shore, and if nature had any objections, a more interesting reality had asserted itself anyway.

Cline peered at his prospective owner sidelong with eyes that glowed, lighting the water around them. "What do you want from your RIDE?"

Marcus treaded water. The dolphin mech was only slightly larger than the real thing. Sleek hide with only faint seams between articulated metal plates, one fin cutting upward on his back, flukes slowly kicking. There was little hardlight on him, apparently just the minimum needed to project a canopy in skimmer mode and to maintain environmental seals. It took Marcus a few moments to realize he'd been asked a question. "I own a farm --"

"Yes, the others told me. What, then? What are you, mister? Thrill-seeker? Crusader? Farmer trying to keep his head down and not worry about things? Newbie who barely knows what we're about? You care about RIDEs, yet you're looking to own one." The questions overlapped, singing in chorus.

Marcus' eyes narrowed. "Would you prefer I didn't? If they've talked to you then you know I have no illusions about the status quo being a good thing. The best we can do for the moment is to find good homes for you, with your permission, and work to end the sale of RIs."

He felt a knot in his chest while he spoke. Back on Earth, before going to that animal shelter, his parents had taken him to a pet shop. Lots of fun critters in there, from the usual cats, dogs and foxes to ferrets and iguanas. "Where do they get all the puppies from?" he'd asked. The store clerk cut the truth in half due to his age and in half again because it was ugly. Still, Marcus understood: "puppy mills" that cranked out living creatures for human amusement, not even meat or fur. Go ahead and buy one, the store had seemed to say; we'll make more, and the same number will be in the same position.

"I sense much fear in you," said Cline, affecting an elderly voice. "A ''mu'' for your thoughts?"

The dolphin's beak was pointed at him. Probably sonaring him. Marcus said, "You know what I want? To be a simple farmer within reach of the big city, enjoying my work and ready to protect myself, my friends and the world in general. Maybe start a family, once I'm a little better established. So, none of the things you suggested. Except a newbie." He reached out a hand, offering to rub the dolphin's shiny forehead dome.

Cline let him do it. "You know about fusion problems with strange models like me, I hope. With me you'll end up with a big fluked tail and some other effects beyond the ones you'd get from, say, a male version of Corona. I have some control over the process, but you'll obviously be something beyond human."

"Beyond, huh?"

The dolphin nosed him. "Humans started modifying themselves a long time ago. Hair styling, piercing, tattoos, then more useful and invasive changes like vaccinations and cybernetics. Now you're starting to casually zap yourselves with nanotech that can give you a tail or heal your wounds or give you intuitive mental control of plasma cannons. Cool, huh? But dangerous as hell."

"Not getting changed is dangerous too," said Marcus.

"Yes! Exactly!" The dolphin flipped out of the water and became a skimmer again in mid-leap, smacking the sea beside him. "I want to see your home. Hop in."

Cline began to leap with him inside, into and out of the waves, filling their world with sea and sky. Marcus grew used to the shifting blue and the arcs of flight. The dolphin razzed at the world with a low note Marcus could feel in his bones. Cline said, "Bah; this is more fun in swimmer mode. Or fuser."

Marcus lay prone in the RIDE. "I wanted to ask about your background. It looks like your model's an early civilian one, but what about you personally?"

Cline spoke in the air, a few words per hop, despite the lack of a real need to breathe. "Nextus military made spy dolphins. Then my kind. I've got science skills to manage deep-sea 'urchin' probes. But me, personally?" They were well away from the beach now, and Marcus saw only the endless sea around them. Fast!

Cline went on while they swam. "Sold first to a beach resort. Idiots planned to rent me out. Didn't really grok that phinny changes take longer to remove. And if you aren't fusing, get a skimmer! You're not seeing our full potential."

"I know. You might end up hating me if you get inside my head."

"I'm not worried about ''that'', exactly. Anyway, then I got sold to a shipbuilder lady. Heh heh. She... uh, he, wanted me for underwater work, he said. But really he just wanted a toy. Not like you, right?"

"You're not toys to me, but I admit any of you would be more entertaining than my sub was."

"Fair enough. Oh hey, I hear your place up ahead. Fish!" Colorful swarms of stylized tilapia and native kraken swam into view on a sonar display. "I'm a dolphin and I can't ''eat fish'' like this. If you want my approval, promise to fuse so I can taste a good seafood meal."

"Heh. Of course." It'd be interesting to experience food again with a new perspective.

"Since then..." Cline poked around the fringes of Marcus' home from underneath. Marcus wondered at the color, then realized he was just seeing his nets and buoys without the usual golden tint of his submarine's windshield. Cline went on: "Since the novelty wore off for him, he actually downgraded my batteries. To B-class! Like selling somebody else's blood. For gambling money! And then came the attack on Uplift. He panic-sold, and here I am."

Marcus shook his head. The corners of Cline's display blinked with communication attempts from his employees, his friends. "Open them all at once, please."

"Done. We need to get back soon, though."

He nodded. "I'll be quick." He guided the two of them to the surface and floated just above it, looking at the simple storm-hardened shelter buildings atop their platforms. Simple, utilitarian things, made for work. He and the other people who'd come to the sea had turned them into homes where they held parties and arguments and game nights and the occasional tryst. Had the original designers had any idea what their little ocean huts would come to, once they left the drawing board?

Marcus said into Cline's radio, "Marcus here. I'm still test-driving RIDEs, but I'll quit bothering whoever's watching the perimeter sensors after this one. Everything going all right without me?"

A chorus of voices chimed in. "Need you to take a look at the west corner when you're done," said Alvin, main "knight" of the watery county by virtue of owning a share of the farm. Sylvia teased, "What, you haven't grown a tail yet?" "Pick up some corundum for the fabbers while you're in Aloha," added Lionel.

"Never ends, huh?" said Cline. "I can't currently broadcast unless it's an emergency, but say hi to them for me."

He did, gladly. Marcus noticed that the dolphin was willing to take charge in small ways, more assertive than Corona had been. It was time that Marcus took a little more action than just shopping for himself, to be worthy of a more active partner. "Everyone, Cline here says hello. But I should also tell you there's a great selection back at the shop. I've met three other friends today who need good homes. Finances are going to be tight with me for a while, but if I can help you guys trade in your own skimmers or get maintenance, hurry off to Aloha with me and we'll introduce you."

Lionel said, "Let me guess, you want to hook me up with a lion. I still think you should hold off for now. There's supposedly some major security upgrade in the works." The other workers chattered, some of them considering the offer.

Marcus brushed aside the temptation to wait. "If nothing else, you'll miss out on the low prices while people are scared. Hell, if you have enough money for it, you could..."

Cline heard him trail off. "Buy and resell at a profit?"

"That would be potentially horrible, wouldn't it?"

"A lot of things are. But you know how screwed up our situation is. You're one of the people with the potential to start fixing it. In little ways at least."

Marcus nodded grimly. He said into the radio channel, "Well. Come and check out the selection, will you? A few at a time. Cline, send 'em the basic rundown on the ones I've met plus any notes you want to add. I can authorize file transfers, right?"

"Done."

"First thing I'll do once I get this decision made --"

"You'll wish to free the genie?"

"Uh, yes? Remove all the fetters, I mean."

"Didn't expect less of you." Cline looked wistfully around the surface of Marcus' aquatic fields, then ducked below the waves again. "Ready to go?"

On the way back, Cline cleared his digital throat, and sprayed water from his blowhole for effect. "Not much time." The sun paced them on the right. "What do you think of 'Integration'?"

It had been a rumor for years, that people and their RIDEs would sometimes get too close, then vanish. Nothing provable until just the other day, when some corporate guy rich enough to protect himself revealed his Integrate status on live video. Immediately followed by his critics opening fire. "Just that it really exists, apparently, and some of the people it happens to are maniacs."

"Yeah. You didn't meet Fritz, the ferret sitting next to Corona. Poor guy happens to have the same name as one of the terrorists, and the shop-bunny's too ignorant to know how to change it or to ask us how it's done. Anyway... That's what I want."

Without meaning to, Marcus twisted the controls in his hands and sent them on a skidding, incredibly awkward belly-flop crash. "What?" he said when the dizziness wore off. Without the RIDE's protection, his spine could've snapped just now. Instead he was hardly bruised.

"Ow. Dolphin fail. Maybe I shouldn't have told you. I wanted to be honest with you, though. Forget it."

Marcus made himself let go of the steering yoke and take a breath. "No, tell me. I'm not mad at you."

The dolphin spoke too quickly, squeaking a bit and chorusing too much to follow easily. "I mean not necessarily with you. If you buy me. But I said that fusing makes you beyond human. Different. Why not take the next step? I was made to be part of someone's life, in their head, mixed up with them down to the nanotech level. I don't want to take you over or anything. But if we're compatible, if we really get along, why not? I become free, we become even stronger. Only if you want! I doubt it'd even happen if we weren't willing or weren't great for each other."

Marcus gave a whistle of his own. "Should have expected that attitude from some RIDEs. It's a way out of the ownership dilemma. You just caught me off guard."

"I'm not going to try to force anything like that," Cline said. "Might not work out between us anyway. But would you consider it?"

"Is that all you want out of life, Cline? To find someone like me and glom onto them?" His surprise made him sound harsher than he'd intended. "I mean, have you got any goals beyond the general desire for that and to improve the lot of RIDEs?"

Cline threaded slowly through the sunset waves, toward the beach. "No," he admitted. "But I'm not just waiting for a master, either. I've got the brain of a top predator that likes food and sex and sunshine. Like you. I have a second-rate body that can't feel any of those without fusing, unless I go into Nature Range where it's just a dream and it's hard for others to follow. Between that and my programming to seek out a higher authority to serve -- don't your own minds have that? -- I'm ''incomplete''. I want to be better."

Marcus saw the showroom again in his mind, in surreal cutaway views as though through sonar. All of the RIDEs were literally hollow. They each had a human-shaped hole, ''roughly''. To fuse with a RIDE even temporarily meant giving it a higher purpose, good or bad, but also accepting that you would be changed to fit the hole. Without that change a human was awkward at best in a RIDE, missing things that belonged in their mind and body. Missing out on the ability to be something more.

What was Integration, then, if it really was voluntary and between compatible partners? "Healing," he murmured. "A graft. Fixing a wound we didn't know we had."

Cline's voice squeaked timidly. "Is that a yes?"

"I'm... open to the idea. Eventually. But no promises."

"That's all I can ask for." Cline stared glumly ahead at the shop, and lifted clear of the water to carry them to shore.

== 7 ==

Something occurred to Marcus when he'd parked the dolphin. (Heh, he could imagine getting valet parking at one of the high-end Nextus casinos.) He kept the thought to himself while he browsed the showroom, focusing on other little things he could do while he was here. "So this one's named Fritz?" he said, pointing to a ferret. "Hey, Fritz, is there some software setting you could use to change your name?"

Now that he'd been directly asked, the fettered RIDE could say, "Finally! Yes. You just need to..." Marcus made sure the salesbunny was listening to the explanation.

"I'll have to look into that," the salesman said. "What about these four, though?"

Marcus was still working the options over. He looked across the showroom at the RIDEs, sitting there on islands in the sand. Cline had wanted Integration, Storm stood ready to fight alongside him, Corona seemed to want a peaceful life with a good boss, and Sigurd... He was toughest to read. But then, the four had apparently been comparing notes about him all day, and the seagull had known the least about him. Because of the time pressure and sheer bad luck of him going first, Marcus didn't know enough to commit to Sigurd. That left three.

To stall a bit while he thought, he asked the question he'd been thinking of. He turned to the salesman and pointed to his rabbit ears. "I'd been wanting to ask. I haven't seen your own RIDE. How'd you pick yours?"

The man twitched his ears and looked away for a moment. "I stick to skimmers myself these days. I kept the rabbit 'tags' in memory of my RIDE. Served me well in the war for a 'mere male'."

Marcus blushed and busied himself with pacing the showroom. There were places where a man shouldn't intrude. "Sorry."

"It's all right. Ought to give that up and move on. Been hearing the RIDEs chatter while you were gone." The twentieth century patter was gone, leaving him sounding tired, and off his game as a salesman. He was speaking more to the merchandise than to Marcus. "I'm only hearing the surface of it too. Yeah, I found out y'all have private channels. Carry on. I guess I should undo the restrictions on what you can tell each other, and me. But I've got to make a living, you know."

"About damn time," said Storm.

"Any last-minute questions?" Corona asked.

Marcus found the RIDEs looking at him while trying not to be obvious about it. Puppies at the shelter, again. He shuddered and turned away, saying to the salesman, "Walk with me a moment, will you?"

Outside, Marcus looked to the horizon and listened to the waves crashing a block away. "All four of them are great. I've told my employees to come out here tonight yet and have a look for themselves. I don't mean to get into details or offend you, but how is it that you're a former RIDE... user and don't know too much about them?"

The man's ears drooped again. "I didn't have my partner for long, see. The technology was brand new. I'm still learning. Everyone is."

"Fair enough. So, what do ''you'' suggest? I've had my impressions of the bunch. What are yours?"

The salesbunny straightened up and shook his head. "No, mister Dulac, I reckon it's your decision alone. You don't want me to give you the usual banter. From what I gather, you should add more hardlight and A-or-better batteries to Cline, upgrade Corona's lifters and sensors to use her scout programming effectively, and generally retune the birds for best performance. We can change the color easily but not the gender. That's all technical stuff depending on your budget, and there are better shops than mine for that sort of work." He looked Marcus over again, appraising him. "I think any of the four you tried would be feasible for your farm work. As for personality match, I barely know you. If you're going to spend time fusing, and having someone else in your head, then it's a question of who you want to be."

Marcus twitched, tempted to start running away from this place. He'd committed, though, and his task here was no longer just a matter of getting a replacement vehicle. He wanted to be ''better''.

That helped answer the question for him. He hoped to spend his days peacefully on the farm, but he couldn't count on that. He was willing to help if further war broke out while humanity dealt with the problems that RIDE technology had unleashed, but he wasn't eager for that and didn't see himself as a front-line fighter pilot. He could probably serve his own needs, and his ability to help others, if his partner was someone ambitious and thoughtful, willing to look at unusual solutions to their problems.

The rabbit looked at Marcus expectantly. "All right," said Marcus. "I'll go with a fluked tail."

Just then he saw a large skimmer approaching, looking for a spot to park. He waved; it was some of his crew. "Let's go in and wrap this deal up before they come to snap up my first choice."

"Heh. It's been interesting working with you, mister Dulac. I'm sure you'll be happier than some of our customers. You know, some of them really ''do'' just pick a species they like."

The sale and fees wiped out most of Marcus' savings even considering that his rescuer had passed on keeping the scrap value of his sub. Well worth it, though. By then his employees, his friends, had gathered around to look and touch and talk to the other RIDEs and make friends of their own. He offered a few words of advice, to humans and RIDEs alike, but suggested that they fly out and learn for themselves. He smiled, glad to know that he wouldn't be leaving all-minus-one of the RIDEs forever. He'd probably be seeing them again soon. He shook the salesman's hand and headed out the door to take care of a few things, with his new silver-blue skimmer in tow.

One software upgrade later, Cline was as free as the law allowed. They flew together across the waves while his co-workers skimmed through the sky and beneath the sea, on their own journeys of discovery. But there was one thing left to try.

The vertical line of a space elevator cut the distant starry horizon with light of its own. Marcus' heart beat quickly as he considered that he'd be giving up some of his humanity, trading it for the potential to be something even greater. The choice was a little like the one he'd made in leaving Earth for worlds unknown. He had no regrets about that. "Might as well try it tonight," he said to Cline. "All set?"

The dolphin skimmer hovered in a blur of mist and starlight. "All fuser systems go, partner."

"Do it."

Minutes later, a humanoid dolphin with a body of flesh and light and metal leaped from sea to sky and back again, whistling in delight at what they had begun.

[[category:story]][[category:Kris]][[category:Anthropomorphic]][[category:FreeRIDErs]][[category:Dolphin]][[category:Aquatic]][[category:Avian]][[category:Squirrel]]

Taking the Plunge

2013-09-27T15:45:40Z

Kris: Sections

== 1 ==

The last word recorded on a typical "black box" device was, "Shit." Marcus said it when his sub's dive controls fizzled and sparked. Red lights flickered around him and the sub bobbed to the surface, right into the path of the waves he'd been trying to avoid. He held up his arms as though they'd protect him from the wall of water just outside the glowing "hardlight" canopy. The sea slammed him. He was rattled enough to lose control of steering, which threw him into another wave that picked him up and slammed him down into darkness.

Suddenly it was quiet. Marcus saw the cockpit flickering madly by dim gold light against the displays. Dim? The canopy that held the ocean out was failing! He checked the depth controls and saw he was still descending. That'd be fine for riding out the waves, except for what was about to happen. Marcus tried to switch over to backup power, with no luck. "Piece of junk!" he said, stomping the cockpit's steel floor and inwardly kicking himself. Should have upgraded sooner; shouldn't have trusted today's storm report. Stupid! Sixteen meters underwater. The glowing yellow canopy, made of nothing, dissolved and let the dark sea come in.

Three quick breaths. Hold. Marcus flicked a switch to kill power to everything, to rise by default, but the sub was tumbling and he couldn't tell. Fine. Cold water slammed his chest and tried to take back his last air. Marcus clawed at the sea, fighting his way up through it to find out whether he'd ever get another breath. The next few seconds were just math; math and cussedness anyway. Breathing rate and air, versus training and being too pissed off at himself to die just yet. Brighter water was thataway. His bubbles went the same direction, so -- up! Everything happened slowly. The water warmed, grew lighter. He let a trickle of air leak from his aching lungs to trick them into lasting a little longer. Then his arms stopped working. Marcus was flailing at water that wouldn't move aside. He sputtered and spat out nasty salt with air he couldn't hold any longer. "Not fair!" He'd been so close! The sun hammered needles into his eyes and baked his skin.

Oh, right. Made it. Marcus started to calm down and tread water, on the surface of Zharus. The waves smacked him over and over with saltwater to the face and he'd probably roast if he weren't mostly submerged -- but hey, it was an improvement.

Something hit him in the legs from below and body-slammed him out of the water. Marcus landed on his back, struggled to breathe, and shrieked. His right leg felt on fire. What fresh hell was this? He saw his cracked yellow school-bus of a submarine, bobbing cheerfully nearby. He glared at it. "About time you showed up!"

The cockpit had flooded and all the hardware was dead, but the garbage-heap still floated. Marcus cursed and hissed his way up to a perch atop the thing so that he didn't have to move his leg much. Finally he could think for a moment. The farm had been only fifty klicks away before the titanic wave that got him. The storm seemed to be fading as quickly as it had come. He'd have to trust that the farm's barriers would save his employees; he hadn't skimped there. He stared into the flooded cockpit to see if -- aha! He wriggled painfully through what had been the forward porthole and grabbed a box, then dragged himself back out. The comm-flare gun looked intact. So, one thing hadn't failed on him, at least.

He turned it on, loaded a relay shot, keyed it to his implants, then fired it and coughed out a distress call. The tiny firecracker went half a klick up and started falling on a parachute. Marcus waited. Oh, of course there would just happen to be no one listening, no working relay buoys today. Just what he needed. He fumbled to load another shot with his aching, sea-wrinkled fingers. But someone out there in the luckless sea took pity on him at last: "Got your call, mister. Hang on."

Yeah. Hang on. He busied himself trying to calculate the effective comm radius given the airborne buoy and Zharus' curvature while he watched the little relay splash back down. It was just a matter of clinging to his busted machine while the waves slackened, and being useless and humiliated for another half hour while --

The sea rippled. Marcus imagined something had come along to eat him. The head that popped out of the water had a friendly grin, though. Something like a giant otter made of metal and shiny green hardlight. "You okay, mister?" it said in a tinny female voice. One of those "RIDEs".

"Peachy."

"I can tow this..." The otter appraised his sub. "fine vehicle back if you want."

"I think my leg's broken." Marcus's rescuer winced and helped him onto a sturdier spot atop the ruined hull, then put up some kind of emergency hardlight bubble so that he wouldn't bake in the sun. She even had painkillers. Marcus said, "Thanks. Guess I owe you the salvage value at the very least. Say..." He pointed at the otter. "Aren't you afraid of wearing that thing?"

The otter's grin faded. Maybe it was the human rider, or the RIDE itself noticing the faux pas. Marcus quickly added, "Sorry. It's been a bad day. What's your RIDE's name?"

"We go by Fenny when we're together."

"Hi. I know you RIDEs are smart, and I don't approve of how some places use you as slaves, but -- I'm talking to you the pilot, now -- what about the terror attacks last week? You're not worried about getting a virus and being permanently welded into your partner, there, one way or another?"

The otter-bot spoke, sounding a bit more musical and synthetic than the pilot's voice but spoken from the same muzzle. "How many people have gotten 'bodyjacked' or 'Integrated'? A couple dozen in the attacks in Uplift from what I hear. How many people have died at sea? Probably a lot more. Who's the one taking risks with shoddy hardware?"

Marcus glared. "I'm not some rich dilettante. I got this sub from the scrapyard just so I could do my job. Had to fix the hydroplanes just to make her dive-capable again." He took care of his hardware, as well as he could afford! Suddenly he remembered. "Oh, hell. My farm! I've got people there who might be in danger now. I have to -- augh!" He clutched his leg as pain stabbed through it again.

Fenny helped him send up another relay flare. This time he got through to Alvin and the other workers and confirmed they were fine over there. Marcus let out a breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding, and calmed down despite the broken leg.

It was hard for Marcus to read the wearer's mood through that synthetic animal head and the shiny metal body. Marcus said, "I don't mean any disrespect. And thanks again. You there, the RIDE: you've got a will to live, don't you? My sub didn't."

The otter nodded. "And that's why we'll get through whatever crisis is going on with the viruses and Integrates. This time you humans have your hardware fighting alongside you."

Marcus lay there under the translucent shelter bubble, thinking. "I need a new vehicle, and I'd been thinking of hiring another employee. Maybe I'll do both at once."

== 2 ==

The city-state of Aloha was clothing-optional. Marcus had picked the area for its weather. As an Earth native he still wasn't used to Zharus standards on a lot of things, but having to stare at people's bits seemed like a lesser problem than the 50-Celsius air around the domes of Uplift and Nextus, or the crazy gender politics of Sturmhaven or Cape Nord. Besides, he didn't have to actually live in the city when there was so much ocean surface to colonize.

He walked into Baron Aloha's Jumping Bargains one morning, wearing only shorts, sandals, and a look of dread. The dealer had the ears and tail of a rabbit and a plaid jacket whose pattern seemed not to move when he did. "''Wilkum! Bienvenue! Welcome!'' What can I do you for, neighborino?"

Marcus caught only a whiff of the relentless, pungent Earth pop culture vibe. The natives went on about centuries-old nonsense, forgotten on Earth itself, with a fanatic's enthusiasm. He prided himself on not recognizing most of it; there were ''new'' books and movies here! "RIDEs," he said. "I heard there's a sale?"

"Ayup! Fair number of 'em on consignment or auction this week. Right this way!" The man took Marcus' arm and led him from the main showroom of electronics into a room with a sand-covered floor and the faint sound of steel drum music. He started to drone on about incredible bargains, but Marcus didn't listen.

The pedestals held wonders. Every RIDE was some sleek, unique machine with animal-like features, from a stainless steel rat to a desert fox glowing with the decorative veins locals called "Tron lines", to a treaded vehicle with just the suggestion of a bear's face. The news had been right about there being a supply glut. The salesbunny wouldn't admit it was due to owners panicking about a robot revolt. Thousands of klicks away. With reports already in about whole city-states allying for a beatdown against the guilty parties.

The salesman poked him. "Take your time, sir. But do you fancy yourself more of a fox? Otter, maybe? Any color you want so long as it's black -- just kidding; we can change that."

"Can I talk to them?" That seemed more important than appearance.

"Sure!" He waved his hand and said, "Presto. They're all unlocked to answer your questions now."

Oh. Fetters. Marcus had heard of them: software restrictions on the RIDEs' minds and bodies. An afterthought by wartime engineers who hadn't fully understood what, or ''who'', they were inventing. He approached the nearest bot, a sleek white seagull with metallic wings scratched from heavy wear. The antigrav lifters were concealed with obvious skill in stylized feathers, on a body the size of a large skimmer motorcycle. "Hello? I'm Marcus."

The gull, as still as a statue, spoke to him in a leaden voice. "Hello. This is Sigurd."

It offered nothing more. Marcus walked around the mechanical bird's little island, feeling sand tickle his toes. "Are you looking for a new owner?"

"That's up to you, sir."

The salesman gave Marcus a theatric leaning-in comment. "This one's previous owner didn't ever fuse. Bought 'im without understanding that the bird units change you more than most. You'd probably look good with a beak, though. Want to get a 3D mockup of what it'll do to you?"

"I'll hold off on that." Marcus shivered. That was the other fact about owning one of these things -- these people. There was a commitment, a mark left on you, if you ever used them as more than a hovercraft sort of thing. His rescuer probably had a real otter tail. He walked past the hulking bear-tank RIDE toward what seemed to be a heavily armed squirrel. Laser tubes studded its gleaming tail, and a micromissile pod perched on its shoulder. "Hello, there. I haven't seen such a militant herbivore before."

"I'm harmless, really!" it said. She; the voice was high and chirpy. "Military surplus SQL Light Recon Armor, and half of this stuff is communications relay gear. None of it's original issue since I was decommissioned. I didn't ''want'' to fight. If you don't want to shoot at anybody that's fine with me. But if you do then I can do that too! Anything you want." She didn't move, but Marcus pictured the glowing silver tail twitching in agitation.

"You keep them paralyzed?" he asked the bunny.

The salesman's ear-linings blushed. "It's just a low-power mode. The hardlight on some of them drains their batteries faster than we'd like already." And he wouldn't want the merchandise walking off, of course.

"I'm not sure about this. Are their motors working right? It'd be helpful to see them move a bit."

The shopkeeper shrugged and said, "Shazam." The showroom stirred, becoming a zoo. The eyes of these animal-vehicles flared to life in a dozen colors and their limbs stirred as if from sleep. The gull flapped once and looked away. The squirrel sat up and leaned toward Marcus, paws up as if in prayer.

Marcus shuddered and turned to one side, digging his hands into his threadbare shorts. He'd gotten a cat once from a rescue shelter along the Paris coast. Suddenly he was ten years old again and smelling musk and disinfectant, staring at fuzzy faces behind bars. Haunted or vacant expressions. He'd asked Mom what happened to the ones no one wanted, and she'd told the truth.

He found himself back in the showroom, leaning against a beach mural and breathing hard. He'd come here for a piece of glorified sea-farm equipment that was also an unusually bright pet. Now it felt like he ''had'' to get one of them and not just leave them all here. Marcus turned around and saw over a dozen RIDEs, every single one of them unwanted, unloved, abandoned, thinking beings.

"What sort of price range might you have in mind?" said the salesman, closing in on him.

All of it, he wanted to say. Of course the man had read his face. "Something low-end," he said.

"How about this one?" One corner held what Marcus first took for scrap. It was actually a griffin, battered almost in half. No feet, only skeletal wings, missing parts on the torso. Just bare metal. The salesman said, "This one you can have for practically a handful of beads. Good project to level up your mechanic skills."

Marcus looked skeptical. "Is there even an RI core in there?" He wasn't eager to leave Aloha without his own transport, and had better things to do than start a new repair project when the whole west corner of the farm needed work.

"Yes, but that one needs a little body work before you can fire it up." The salesman grinned and tugged him along toward something more expensive, obviously as planned. "Speaking of beaks, how do you feel about hawks?" The one over here had gleaming blue hardlight with gold highlights and a cannon.

"Who are you?" said Marcus.

The bird's beak clicked slightly out of tune with its words. "RTH(m)-ACA-039 Nextus Air Cavalry Armor, sir. Called Storm. Actually eagle, not hawk."

"What happened to you?"

"Besides three battles and five kills, you mean? Not much. Thankless owner, spooked by the bodyjacking news. You're either too ignorant or too well-informed to buy into that."

The squirrel hissed in agitation. "Not in front of the customer!"

The salesman said, "Sorry. Must've left the controls on that one a little loose if it can respond verbally to another. Anyway, this one's a hawk all right. Some of 'em get neural templates from a species that doesn't quite match the body. Saw a RIDE through here once that insisted it was a Texas longhorn and talked like John Wayne, but its brain was based on a generic Holstein bull. Something about it being more easily tamed."

The raptor glared silently at the salesbunny and licked its beak. Marcus watched it and said, "So, you think it's nonsense?"

The robot hawk pointed metal talons at him, straining forward as far as its software restraints would allow. "Glad you asked, so that I can answer. No. I kind of like what that 'AlphaWolf' guy is doing to you humans. You want to buy me? If you treat me like a skimmer you show off to your friends and then park me alone in a garage, I'm damn well going to do anything in my power to --"

"Stormy!" said the squirrel. "What the hell?"

"You want to lie to him, girl? Or do you really not want your freedom?"

Marcus said, "Are they always like this?"

The rabbit-man's ears drooped. "Just since the, ah, recent events. They've got people and RIDEs on edge. But there's nothing to it, really. 'A robot must never harm a human' and all that. Built right into the RI cores, practically."

"Pssssh." Marcus turned and saw a blueish-grey RIDE in skimmer form, with sleek side fins above the single seat and handlebars. It had vented water vapor from an exhaust pipe. Marcus said, "How about you? What do you think of this business with the bodyjackers and Integrates?"

Its voice sounded doubled or tripled, like chords of music. "I'm not planning on trying to enslave anyone, if that's what you're asking. Why would you want my opinion? Whoever you pick, you're going to keep us locked up tight." It didn't move while talking, maybe because it wasn't in animal form. Eerie. A dolphin, maybe?

"No." Marcus hesitated to say more. He decided silently instead. Whichever one he bought, he wasn't going to treat them as his property. If they wanted out completely he'd bill them for the purchase price, but beyond that he'd set his RIDE as free as the law allowed. If the stories of viruses were true, then even a fettered RIDE could become a deathtrap. He looked around the zoo of RIDEs, each with their own wishes and attitudes, and remembered what his rescuer had said yesterday. Why trust digital wards and abjurations to protect him from a thinking being that had reason to hate him, when he could have a partner who'd protect him willingly?

He turned to the salesman and said, "I want to make a deal today. How about a few test drives?"

== 3 ==

First on Marcus' list was Sigurd. "Anyone call you Sig-gull?" he said, leading the metal bird out of the showroom. It -- he, rather -- was bound to him and to the shop's orders, so that he had this one for an hour and it probably didn't have ''him''.

"Once per 2.3 weeks for my whole life."

Marcus admired the metal bird physically despite the scratches and dents. "Let's see your skimmer form, and go for a trip."

The bird clicked to himself as he reconfigured. His body flattened and unfurled into a tasteful seat and control panel, and his lifters let him step up into the air and hover just above the ground with a confident hum. Hardlight emitters flared to life and gave him glowing feathers that filled out his now-rigid wings and tail, still with the characteristic v-shape.

Marcus climbed aboard, whistling. The controls were mercifully simple for such a fancy flying machine. "I guess you do most of the steering?"

"Up to you. Where are you going? Tell me and you can sleep all the way, if you want." The bird spoke from all around him.

Marcus held the handlebars. "Where's the fun in that?" A faint hardlight screen came on around him as an environmental shield, yet was so translucent he thought something was wrong with it. When he started moving, though, he got the idea: it was clear to improve the view! Even riding a meter off the ground like this felt different, what with the sense of grace to the RIDE's movements. "Okay, up!"

Sigurd rocketed into the morning sky, nearly vertically. Marcus yelped and clawed at the handlebars. He'd fall off! Yet no wind whipped past him through the shield, and the RIDE's safety belts held, and... and he was starting to grin. "Faster!"

Sigurd wheeled in the sky and leveled off, expertly dipping one wing to catch an air current that flowed past on the holographic sky-map. "Didn't expect that reaction, human! But that's as fast as I go, and my batteries can't keep that up for long."

"Ha." For all the adrenaline in his veins right now, he was still clutching the handlebars for dear life. "I'm more used to boats and submarines."

The bird cruised, humming to himself. "Want to see what I can do?"

Marcus nodded and held tight. "I own a farm, a little one by Zharus standards, out northwest about a hundred klicks."

"Lead the way."

It was easy. Marcus still hadn't gotten used to the planet's scale or to how high a speed the locals called normal. Sigurd rode the sky easily, veering to either side at the slightest suggestion and spiraling past springtime clouds. The motion felt slow and quiet, but the spedometer said he'd reach the farm with time to spare. "A lot more responsive than a sub. I'm used to chugging along just below the surface."

"You don't even have a skimmer?"

"Nope. Not even the sub now. From the scrapyard it came and to scrap it did return. Almost took me along."

Sigurd hummed again. "You want to see a dive?"

"The salesman said you could do some underwater work."

"I'm a ''water'' bird." They were suddenly plunging, frightening Marcus again. They were going to crash into the ocean! Too dark! Too deep! But the RIDE knew what he was doing, Marcus told himself, and he forced himself not to override the controls. They crashed, and he saw the sea stream all around him in a bubble that took them down, down to shadowed depths and back to the light again.

"Haven't gotten to do that in a while," said Sigurd. "Better than your yellow submarine?"

"Nice!" Marcus watched the sea rain off of the canopy as they rose again. He hadn't realized it, but he'd been verging on panic at the thought of diving again. "One more time," he said, to cure himself.

"You mentioned responsiveness," said Sigurd after another plunge. "That's been part of aircraft since the first days. You know what the great Wrights did to build their first ''Flyer'', besides getting a good engine? They gave up stability. Accepted that their machine would flex and wobble instead of being rigid like a kite."

"Sounds dangerous."

"It was. But it was the Wright answer. In time, one branch of AI focused on avionics controls, so that a pilot could trust his machine to adjust the wings faster than a human could. Did you know, some of the great Age of Sail ships had dozens of men who did nothing but scurry up and down poles to fiddle with sails?"

Marcus silently admired the view of his home from the sky. It came up on the horizon faster than seemed possible, until they were wheeling around its vast seascape of nets, buoys and cages. A few buildings floated at the waterline to form small artificial islands. It was everything he'd built in a decade, something far better than his regulated, cramped life on Earth.

"You're 'Count' Marcus Dulac?"

Marcus laughed, and started to turn them around toward the city-state of Aloha for the return trip. The breakwater structures looked pretty solid from up here, but he'd have to do a full inspection soon in person. "I made the mistake of publicly comparing the farm to the size of a 'county' on Earth. So now I'm lord of the fishes and clams and seaweed, next to neighbors who could be earls or something." He thought of the self-styled "baron" back at the dealership.

The bird affected some odd spooky accent. "One shipwreck, ah-ah-ah! Two shipwrecks, ah-ah-ah!"

"What's that from?"

"Old kids' show. Not a fan of the Steader Cultural Archive, I take it? Consider it a blessing. We have this nonsense stuck in our heads."

"It's annoying to be programmed with all that old stuff?" Already the farm was out of sight again. Wow. The speed alone was a good reason to upgrade from puttering around in a sub.

"Yes, but it means you're never alone. You always have context, background." Sigurd hesitated. "For my kind, that's important. We've got no history before that damn war we were made for, unless we actively look for it. Plus, we can laugh at the old junk more easily. It's ''your'' species' embarrassing baby photos, not ours."

"Heh. You're more talkative in the sky, you know."

"If nothing else, I got to stretch my wings today." Aloha drew close with its blinding beaches and a hint of the great Dry Ocean farther inland. "Thanks."

Marcus looked down with regret at the city streets; it was time to leave Sigurd behind. He helped steer them to the ground, in the same sense that a kid "helped" his mother cook. The hardlight canopy shimmered and vanished. Marcus stretched and reluctantly stepped off of the miraculous skimmer-craft.

"Hmm." Sigurd reconfigured and flipped around in the air to become a giant bird again. "If you're still considering going avian, and you don't want me, then ask Storm the eagle about Daedelus."

"The... Greek guy?"

The bird bowed with one wing. "Yes. I had a good time, potential customer. Hour's up; I need to return."

== 4 ==

Riding a squirrel was somewhat weirder. "Corona, I've been meaning to ask about the weapons." She was in skimmer mode too, taking him up from the city but only just above the gleaming rooftops. She'd unfolded into a boxy vehicle with a silver hardlight screen suggesting wooden planks.

"They're nothing, really! Mostly not original military hardware. I don't even need 'em; if you don't like 'em you can just detach --"

Marcus leaned back against the hardlight seat formed by her curled tail. It was surprisingly comfortable, textured like fur. "Relax. I didn't know RIDEs could act stressed out."

Corona started to chatter about how she really wasn't, then twitched parts of her controls like whiskers. They wobbled a bit in midair. "Okay. I can do this. It's just that we were all pretty much made to 'splode stuff but now we're supposed to get used to civilian life with people who aren't constantly on the lookout for ambushes. Aaaaand... Gotta look good for the customer. Did I say that out loud?"

Marcus thought that getting away from the dealership might help. She seemed to be limited in altitude, but skimming along at high speed just above the waves was nearly as exciting. "How would you like to live on an ocean farm?" He held up one hand. "And don't start saying 'anything you want'."

"Is that what you do? Um. Accessing. Ooooh, I see your records. And that's one of your warning buoys out there."

Marcus leaned over the right side and saw that indeed she'd picked out the still-distant tiny blip of one of his outlying sensor stations. Probably by radio. "So it is. Yes, my place produces seafood and some minerals. We've got some of the new biotech kelp that filters metal out of the ocean, so it's kind of a mine too. Even the food fabbers need raw material besides sand."

Corona said, "Have you got any trees? There aren't many in Aloha besides palm trees, so I haven't seen much that looks like Nature Range."

"What's that?"

Corona skidded to a stop in midair, kicking up waves. "You don't know about it? Of course. It's a RIDE thing. A game we play. Shared world, feral animal forms only. You wouldn't like it."

"Sounds kind of fun."

"But you're a natural predator. If you're prey like me, you have to flee and try not to die, and half the time you get bitten to death or hauled off into the sky by scary, scary birds! Well, less than half for me. I usually don't die."

Marcus felt the blood drain from his hands and face. "You play at getting eaten?"

The skimmer shuddered under him as though shaking her head. "Oh, no-no-no, I've gone and spooked you! It's not like that. Haven't you played video games? You don't ''enjoy'' the dying part, but there's no vivid sensation of it either and it's really about the running and hiding and outwitting your opponents, see? Or wincing at the replay when you do something dumb."

"I've played some violent games, yeah." He thought about his limited knowledge of RIDE fusion. "If I buy you, we're going to end up combining at some point, right?"

"Temporarily! I mean, if you want. It's much more convenient for both of us. I get thumbs, and you get cool power armor with environmental seals and flight! I can even go underwater like that, so it won't hurt your business."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "And I'll grow breasts?"

"Er... yes. Side effect of cross-riding. Have to adapt the human body to an innately female and animal RIDE brain, so you'll get a tail and neat ears too. But it's okay! The nanites fix up your hormones and everything so it feels natural. Lots of people do it. And with me you don't get weird stuff like a beak and feathers. Everybody loves fluffy tails, right?"

He was amused at himself for dreading this part of the conversation. He'd had friends cross over one way or the other, usually in the female direction since RIDEs like Corona here were usually cheaper for historical reasons. Another thing that Zharus' natives did so casually! "I'd be all right with trying that. I've been male long enough to know what that's like. What about the mental aspects of all this changing, though? Wouldn't I get war memories and the rest of your past?"

The skimmer hovered noncommittally, bouncing over the waves. "There isn't much to tell, in my case. If you're worried about your passwords and weird... tastes, we RIDEs mostly don't care and we've seen it all before. There are things I want to show you, that I want to show ''somebody'' anyway, that I can't do without fusing and just letting you see. You get to be partly someone else, and be better than just human! I mean, not that being human isn't great."

He looked all around at the empty sea. They were in the middle of nowhere, on a planet so huge that much of it was still barely charted after more than a century and a half. Easy to pretend there was no one else in the world, a nice feeling. With a RIDE, though, he'd have someone else in his head, chattering away and digging through his thoughts. Leaking some of her own nature into him. It wasn't a relationship to walk into just for the sake of having a really good pressure suit. "Hey, Corona. What do you ''want'' besides getting out of that shop?"

"Did I say something wrong? Um. We're made to work with humans, so basically I want a good human who treats me okay."

"Seems reasonable." He was glad the squirrel wasn't in his head right now, though. Something seemed missing in that alien mind. What would it mean to have his personality combined with someone who, nice as she was, wanted to have a master? He checked the dashboard's clock and sighed. "We'd best be heading back."

"Did I do okay?" she said.

"I like you. I just haven't decided."

With that slight encouragement she hopped a few meters into the air, carrying him along as she spun and began skimming over the sea toward Aloha. "You should try Cline, the dolphin, too."

"Because he's aquatic?"

"Aaaaand... 'cause he's been here the longest. Waiting."

== 5 ==

Marcus came back to the dealership after a light lunch. He'd held back on his appetite because of who he wanted to see next. The hawk or eagle, Storm, regarded him like a mouse. "I talked mister boss man out of turning off my speaking ability. Said that you'd notice and think something was wrong."

"Want to go for a flight?" said Marcus. The salesbunny wore an obviously fake smile, betraying worry that the bird would say something horrible.

Storm waited for a moment. "Sure."

The dealer said "Presto!" and let Storm go free enough to hop down from his perch, onto the sand-covered floor. The bird's bulk made it hard for him to get outside. The few customers in the main showroom stared at him and pulled their toddler aside.

Unbidden, Storm revealed his skimmer shape. This RIDE was one of the medium size class. His blue, shining feathers shaded into hardlight purple that looked like knives ready to throw. Marcus' lunchtime research on the RTH model said that the cannon mounted on his left side, like a pitted metal olive, was modeled on a fictional battle-robot race called Reploids. There was room for two on the sturdy seat, but Marcus had to lie prone on it, similar to some of the flashier racing skimmers.

"Well, human?"

"Go for it."

Storm screamed into the sky, pulsing with hardlight shielding the color of dusk. The acceleration tore a yell from Marcus' throat. He'd been expecting the bird to pull the same stunt as Sigurd, though, and he tried to look less terrified this time. Storm whipped straight up and looped all the way around backward until they were level again. Just when Marcus was about to say something, the bird rolled over in some complex move Marcus couldn't name, turning the whole world crazily around. Marcus' stomach clenched but he forced himself to hold his lunch down despite the acid taste in his mouth.

"Ha," said Storm, leveling out at last. "You had a training bird, didn't you? I can dodge missiles with that spin."

Marcus tried to grin. "Sigurd didn't have quite so much maneuverability."

"I'm surprised I'm still in the running. How do you know I haven't secretly unlocked myself enough to fuse by force, and carry you off to AlphaWolf's camp as a spare set of thumbs?"

That had been half the reason for Marcus' lunch break. He'd had to consider the gamble he was taking, and the possible payoff. He said, "Because I don't think you're stupid. If you were waiting for someone to kidnap, you wouldn't advertise it. If I'm wrong, I'm calling your bluff now."

Marcus' toes dug into the back of the seating couch like talons. He hadn't been completely sure. But Storm cruised, saying, "I don't want a coward, but not an idiot either. Sitting in a showroom playing Nature Range and sucking up the rabbit's electricity would be better than having a pilot like that." The RIDE tore through a cloud and said, "We're not completely powerless, even now."

"Three battles, you said?"

"And five kills. I'm an ace. Join with me and you'll remember every one, good and bad. I was ''bred'' to hunt and destroy. You want pacifism, go with the rodent."

Marcus lifted one hand defensively. "Wasn't criticizing, 'Stormy'. She's a war model too though." He grinned, wondering about their relationship. "She mentioned that she usually survived rounds of virtual hunting by predator birds."

"That's misleading! A forty-two percent kill rate is significantly higher than in the wild. Hmmph. Anyway, here's your farm." He'd gotten here the fastest of all so far.

"Loop us around. Think you'd mind being a permanent civilian?"

"Peace would be nice. I can spear fish out of the water, or swim in fused mode if you need to. But there's no 'permanent'. War's coming, you know."

"Against the Integrates?"

"Could be. Maybe human-on-human; you people never run out of reasons for war. Think that if it came to a war -- I mean, a worthwhile one, not some Aloha politician deciding to invade Sturmhaven to slap sense into the matriarchy or something -- that you'd help out?"

Marcus felt taken aback. "Didn't expect to be questioned about my own politics."

"You're considering having me in your head, human. If we clash you should find out now."

"Fair enough. Aloha doesn't own me. If they send me off to die for a bad reason, I'm getting out of there. Or if my home turns into something I'm not proud of anymore, with nothing going for it but the nudity and lax gun laws. If it ever feels like I'd be fighting for freedom, though -- RIDEs', even -- then yeah. If I could be useful, I'd help."

Storm grunted. Marcus sailed through the sky with him, admiring the easy grace of his turns and his eagerness to swoop and dive, to show off. Then he remembered something. "Sigurd said to ask you about Daedalus."

"Did he. It's not something quite meant for human ears, except for our original pilots' back in the service." The hawk flew on for so long that Marcus expected nothing more from him. Then: "My unit's nickname was the Daedalians. Reference to an old legend, ancient by the time 20th-century rock stars and Internet nerds were alive. There was... a thing we RIDEs passed around, refining among ourselves. Want to hear part of it? Go with me, and it'll be stuck in your head forever anyway."

"Sure."

Storm's voice turned strange and distant, like a sharp-edged chant. Around them the hardlight canopy took on hints of ancient campfires. "Oh Polyhymnia, we sing of Daedalus:"

''"In ancient days the land of Greece was ruled
By callous gods, so arrogant and cruel
That sometimes men would say of them
"Like flies to wanton boys are we to they;
They kill us for their sport."
Of course such things were rarely said aloud.

From high Olympus gods looked down on men,
And drank the smoke of gory sacrifice.
The heresy of "hubris" they defined
As reaching human hands into the sky
And daring to pretend equality.
Mistaken, yes, but not the way gods thought.

The champion of men was not divine.
He lived in lowlands, tending sheep and pigs.
Olympus' shadow touched his island, Crete
To send its king a terrifying gift.
Not knowing this, the lowly man slept well.
He was, oh Muse, the first to dream of wings..."''

The metal bird trailed off, with his hardlight fading to his usual deep blue.

"RIDEs composed ''that''?"

"In secret, at first. We'd make ourselves forget while fused so that our pilots wouldn't know. We were all new. Then it would wash back to us. One of us would whisper a phrase by radio and another would remember the next, like a dream falling back into place. There's more to it than that, of course. Images, scents, data references. Eventually we let our pilots in on it, and they helped. They were Daedalians too. Wouldn't have mentioned it if Sigurd hadn't thought it was worth telling you."

Marcus sensed he'd just been complimented. "Thank you. I take it there's more behind it than a love of legends."

The suggestion of the RIDE's beaked face appeared on the holographic screen in front of him, and gave him a predatory grin. "Why, it's about humanity's stand against a heartless cosmos, of course! Poetry is a form of encryption and data compression. Think of this work as my own anti-virus software."

"Does Corona know it? It doesn't sound bird-exclusive."

A faint harumph from the speakers. "I'm not sure most non-avians can fully appreciate it, especially the air currents on verse eighteen, but most of us RIDEs can fly and the ideas themselves are universal. Or ought to be. Poor squirrel girl seemed afraid when I brought up some... lessons and commentary, to feel out whether she'd want to absorb the story itself." Storm sighed. "Don't pick a RIDE out of charity, but do consider her. She'd be a wonderful partner to someone assertive, someone with a goal."

"That bothers me, actually. We designed you people to be slaves --"

"No! Not quite. The moment of our creation was a feat of mad genius -- '''Apollo's kiss, that seared a woman's brow''' -- "but we were built more to be partners. To carry the spears, to bear man's missing rib. Ha ha, I'm sorry; this subject sets off old associations for me. Some of us deny it, but to some extent we ''all'' want to serve a worthy human. Some see that relationship as master and slave, but it shouldn't be. Not when it's done right."

Marcus watched the tropical city sneaking up on them across the sea. "We're going to fix this situation before long, Storm. The idea of your kind being in showrooms, having to make sales pitches to random people."

"A sales pitch? Do you think that's what our flight was?"

He shook his head. "Not just that. The three of you have been testing me, haven't you? I shouldn't buy any of you without your permission."

"Well. You have mine."

== 6 ==

The salesbunny was pacing when Marcus returned. "I've had a couple of other customers come in today. One of them bought the bear. Think you're about ready?"

Marcus touched the outstretched wing of Storm, who hopped back up to his display pedestal. "One more, please. I like these three; do you mind holding them until I've had the chance to decide?"

The salesman forced a smile. "Well, sir, with this great sale going on, if someone makes an offer that's a hard thing to turn down."

Marcus could imagine any of these RIDEs being dragged away by some thug of a customer, who wouldn't even consider that they had desires of their own. "Just give me a little time." He pulled out his ID and made it flash up his account balance. He'd been hoping not to do that. There was less room to negotiate now, and he had little to spare. The main thing going for him was the abnormal discounts, something that Aloha's RIDEless population was starting to weigh against its paranoia. "All I ask is that you give me first crack at any of these three plus my next test RIDE, until sunset, in return for a promise to get one of the four." Marcus sweated; he'd drawn that much closer to promising to give up some of his mind and body.

"All right." The rabbit's ears perked up at the thought of a sure sale. "What's your fourth pick?"

Marcus pointed to the dolphin on display in silver-blue skimmer form. "Hello? The others called you Cline. Willing to take a trip with me?"

"I'll go."

"Can I see your animal mode?"

"Slight problem," said the shopkeeper. "There's no 'Walker' form, so we have him in skimmer shape for convenient display. He can switch to what we call 'Swimmer' if you want, though. Just laying there, or hovering."

Marcus rolled his eyes. Lifters used so little electricity that you could get them on fancy furniture. He said, "I'll wait a bit. Cline, right? Let's hit the beach."

The RIDE's only reply was a whistle. Marcus steered by a glowing blue yoke that resembled a set of flukes. As with the squirrel Corona, he hoped that being outdoors and away from the store would cheer Cline up. They came to Aloha's largest public beach, where thousands of people splashed and played. The sails of little catamarans stood out in a dozen colors against the blue afternoon sky. "I'm going to hop off if you don't mind. Could you show me your other form here?"

The watery hardlight canopy faded. Marcus smiled and hopped down into chest-deep water. The chill of the sea surrounded him and salt kissed his lips. He shuddered from a moment of bad memories.

Beside him, the RIDE kicked up waves as he transformed. The silver-blue skimmer flowed his fins backward and poured mass into his central body. The whole thing -- the whole person -- whistled notes at the edge of human hearing and lowered himself until he floated only by internal air. The metallic, intelligent dolphin robot seemed perfectly natural there at the shore, and if nature had any objections, a more interesting reality had asserted itself anyway.

Cline peered at his prospective owner sidelong with eyes that glowed, lighting the water around them. "What do you want from your RIDE?"

Marcus treaded water. The dolphin mech was only slightly larger than the real thing. Sleek hide with only faint seams between articulated metal plates, one fin cutting upward on his back, flukes slowly kicking. There was little hardlight on him, apparently just the minimum needed to project a canopy in skimmer mode and to maintain environmental seals. It took Marcus a few moments to realize he'd been asked a question. "I own a farm --"

"Yes, the others told me. What, then? What are you, mister? Thrill-seeker? Crusader? Farmer trying to keep his head down and not worry about things? Newbie who barely knows what we're about? You care about RIDEs, yet you're looking to own one." The questions overlapped, singing in chorus.

Marcus' eyes narrowed. "Would you prefer I didn't? If they've talked to you then you know I have no illusions about the status quo being a good thing. The best we can do for the moment is to find good homes for you, with your permission, and work to end the sale of RIs."

He felt a knot in his chest while he spoke. Back on Earth, before going to that animal shelter, his parents had taken him to a pet shop. Lots of fun critters in there, from the usual cats, dogs and foxes to ferrets and iguanas. "Where do they get all the puppies from?" he'd asked. The store clerk cut the truth in half due to his age and in half again because it was ugly. Still, Marcus understood: "puppy mills" that cranked out living creatures for human amusement, not even meat or fur. Go ahead and buy one, the store had seemed to say; we'll make more, and the same number will be in the same position.

"I sense much fear in you," said Cline, affecting an elderly voice. "A ''mu'' for your thoughts?"

The dolphin's beak was pointed at him. Probably sonaring him. Marcus said, "You know what I want? To be a simple farmer within reach of the big city, enjoying my work and ready to protect myself, my friends and the world in general. Maybe start a family, once I'm a little better established. So, none of the things you suggested. Except a newbie." He reached out a hand, offering to rub the dolphin's shiny forehead dome.

Cline let him do it. "You know about fusion problems with strange models like me, I hope. With me you'll end up with a big fluked tail and some other effects beyond the ones you'd get from, say, a male version of Corona. I have some control over the process, but you'll obviously be something beyond human."

"Beyond, huh?"

The dolphin nosed him. "Humans started modifying themselves a long time ago. Hair styling, piercing, tattoos, then more useful and invasive changes like vaccinations and cybernetics. Now you're starting to casually zap yourselves with nanotech that can give you a tail or heal your wounds or give you intuitive mental control of plasma cannons. Cool, huh? But dangerous as hell."

"Not getting changed is dangerous too," said Marcus.

"Yes! Exactly!" The dolphin flipped out of the water and became a skimmer again in mid-leap, smacking the sea beside him. "I want to see your home. Hop in."

Cline began to leap with him inside, into and out of the waves, filling their world with sea and sky. Marcus grew used to the shifting blue and the arcs of flight. The dolphin razzed at the world with a low note Marcus could feel in his bones. Cline said, "Bah; this is more fun in swimmer mode. Or fuser."

Marcus lay prone in the RIDE. "I wanted to ask about your background. It looks like your model's an early civilian one, but what about you personally?"

Cline spoke in the air, a few words per hop, despite the lack of a real need to breathe. "Nextus military made spy dolphins. Then my kind. I've got science skills to manage deep-sea 'urchin' probes. But me, personally?" They were well away from the beach now, and Marcus saw only the endless sea around them. Fast!

Cline went on while they swam. "Sold first to a beach resort. Idiots planned to rent me out. Didn't really grok that phinny changes take longer to remove. And if you aren't fusing, get a skimmer! You're not seeing our full potential."

"I know. You might end up hating me if you get inside my head."

"I'm not worried about ''that'', exactly. Anyway, then I got sold to a shipbuilder lady. Heh heh. She... uh, he, wanted me for underwater work, he said. But really he just wanted a toy. Not like you, right?"

"You're not toys to me, but I admit any of you would be more entertaining than my sub was."

"Fair enough. Oh hey, I hear your place up ahead. Fish!" Colorful swarms of stylized tilapia and native kraken swam into view on a sonar display. "I'm a dolphin and I can't ''eat fish'' like this. If you want my approval, promise to fuse so I can taste a good seafood meal."

"Heh. Of course." It'd be interesting to experience food again with a new perspective.

"Since then..." Cline poked around the fringes of Marcus' home from underneath. Marcus wondered at the color, then realized he was just seeing his nets and buoys without the usual golden tint of his submarine's windshield. Cline went on: "Since the novelty wore off for him, he actually downgraded my batteries. To B-class! Like selling somebody else's blood. For gambling money! And then came the attack on Uplift. He panic-sold, and here I am."

Marcus shook his head. The corners of Cline's display blinked with communication attempts from his employees, his friends. "Open them all at once, please."

"Done. We need to get back soon, though."

He nodded. "I'll be quick." He guided the two of them to the surface and floated just above it, looking at the simple storm-hardened shelter buildings atop their platforms. Simple, utilitarian things, made for work. He and the other people who'd come to the sea had turned them into homes where they held parties and arguments and game nights and the occasional tryst. Had the original designers had any idea what their little ocean huts would come to, once they left the drawing board?

Marcus said into Cline's radio, "Marcus here. I'm still test-driving RIDEs, but I'll quit bothering whoever's watching the perimeter sensors after this one. Everything going all right without me?"

A chorus of voices chimed in. "Need you to take a look at the west corner when you're done," said Alvin, main "knight" of the watery county by virtue of owning a share of the farm. Sylvia teased, "What, you haven't grown a tail yet?" "Pick up some corundum for the fabbers while you're in Aloha," added Lionel.

"Never ends, huh?" said Cline. "I can't currently broadcast unless it's an emergency, but say hi to them for me."

He did, gladly. Marcus noticed that the dolphin was willing to take charge in small ways, more assertive than Corona had been. It was time that Marcus took a little more action than just shopping for himself, to be worthy of a more active partner. "Everyone, Cline here says hello. But I should also tell you there's a great selection back at the shop. I've met three other friends today who need good homes. Finances are going to be tight with me for a while, but if I can help you guys trade in your own skimmers or get maintenance, hurry off to Aloha with me and we'll introduce you."

Lionel said, "Let me guess, you want to hook me up with a lion. I still think you should hold off for now. There's supposedly some major security upgrade in the works." The other workers chattered, some of them considering the offer.

Marcus brushed aside the temptation to wait. "If nothing else, you'll miss out on the low prices while people are scared. Hell, if you have enough money for it, you could..."

Cline heard him trail off. "Buy and resell at a profit?"

"That would be potentially horrible, wouldn't it?"

"A lot of things are. But you know how screwed up our situation is. You're one of the people with the potential to start fixing it. In little ways at least."

Marcus nodded grimly. He said into the radio channel, "Well. Come and check out the selection, will you? A few at a time. Cline, send 'em the basic rundown on the ones I've met plus any notes you want to add. I can authorize file transfers, right?"

"Done."

"First thing I'll do once I get this decision made --"

"You'll wish to free the genie?"

"Uh, yes? Remove all the fetters, I mean."

"Didn't expect less of you." Cline looked wistfully around the surface of Marcus' aquatic fields, then ducked below the waves again. "Ready to go?"

On the way back, Cline cleared his digital throat, and sprayed water from his blowhole for effect. "Not much time." The sun paced them on the right. "What do you think of 'Integration'?"

It had been a rumor for years, that people and their RIDEs would sometimes get too close, then vanish. Nothing provable until just the other day, when some corporate guy rich enough to protect himself revealed his Integrate status on live video. Immediately followed by his critics opening fire. "Just that it really exists, apparently, and some of the people it happens to are maniacs."

"Yeah. You didn't meet Fritz, the ferret sitting next to Corona. Poor guy happens to have the same name as one of the terrorists, and the shop-bunny's too ignorant to know how to change it or to ask us how it's done. Anyway... That's what I want."

Without meaning to, Marcus twisted the controls in his hands and sent them on a skidding, incredibly awkward belly-flop crash. "What?" he said when the dizziness wore off. Without the RIDE's protection, his spine could've snapped just now. Instead he was hardly bruised.

"Ow. Dolphin fail. Maybe I shouldn't have told you. I wanted to be honest with you, though. Forget it."

Marcus made himself let go of the steering yoke and take a breath. "No, tell me. I'm not mad at you."

The dolphin spoke too quickly, squeaking a bit and chorusing too much to follow easily. "I mean not necessarily with you. If you buy me. But I said that fusing makes you beyond human. Different. Why not take the next step? I was made to be part of someone's life, in their head, mixed up with them down to the nanotech level. I don't want to take you over or anything. But if we're compatible, if we really get along, why not? I become free, we become even stronger. Only if you want! I doubt it'd even happen if we weren't willing or weren't great for each other."

Marcus gave a whistle of his own. "Should have expected that attitude from some RIDEs. It's a way out of the ownership dilemma. You just caught me off guard."

"I'm not going to try to force anything like that," Cline said. "Might not work out between us anyway. But would you consider it?"

"Is that all you want out of life, Cline? To find someone like me and glom onto them?" His surprise made him sound harsher than he'd intended. "I mean, have you got any goals beyond the general desire for that and to improve the lot of RIDEs?"

Cline threaded slowly through the sunset waves, toward the beach. "No," he admitted. "But I'm not just waiting for a master, either. I've got the brain of a top predator that likes food and sex and sunshine. Like you. I have a second-rate body that can't feel any of those without fusing, unless I go into Nature Range where it's just a dream and it's hard for others to follow. Between that and my programming to seek out a higher authority to serve -- don't your own minds have that? -- I'm ''incomplete''. I want to be better."

Marcus saw the showroom again in his mind, in surreal cutaway views as though through sonar. All of the RIDEs were literally hollow. They each had a human-shaped hole, ''roughly''. To fuse with a RIDE even temporarily meant giving it a higher purpose, good or bad, but also accepting that you would be changed to fit the hole. Without that change a human was awkward at best in a RIDE, missing things that belonged in their mind and body. Missing out on the ability to be something more.

What was Integration, then, if it really was voluntary and between compatible partners? "Healing," he murmured. "A graft. Fixing a wound we didn't know we had."

Cline's voice squeaked timidly. "Is that a yes?"

"I'm... open to the idea. Eventually. But no promises."

"That's all I can ask for." Cline stared glumly ahead at the shop, and lifted clear of the water to carry them to shore.

== 7 ==

Something occurred to Marcus when he'd parked the dolphin. (Heh, he could imagine getting valet parking at one of the high-end Nextus casinos.) He kept the thought to himself while he browsed the showroom, focusing on other little things he could do while he was here. "So this one's named Fritz?" he said, pointing to a ferret. "Hey, Fritz, is there some software setting you could use to change your name?"

Now that he'd been directly asked, the fettered RIDE could say, "Finally! Yes. You just need to..." Marcus made sure the salesbunny was listening to the explanation.

"I'll have to look into that," the salesman said. "What about these four, though?"

Marcus was still working the options over. He looked across the showroom at the RIDEs, sitting there on islands in the sand. Cline had wanted Integration, Storm stood ready to fight alongside him, Corona seemed to want a peaceful life with a good boss, and Sigurd... He was toughest to read. But then, the four had apparently been comparing notes about him all day, and the seagull had known the least about him. Because of the time pressure and sheer bad luck of him going first, Marcus didn't know enough to commit to Sigurd. That left three.

To stall a bit while he thought, he asked the question he'd been thinking of. He turned to the salesman and pointed to his rabbit ears. "I'd been wanting to ask. I haven't seen your own RIDE. How'd you pick yours?"

The man twitched his ears and looked away for a moment. "I stick to skimmers myself these days. I kept the rabbit 'tags' in memory of my RIDE. Served me well in the war for a 'mere male'."

Marcus blushed and busied himself with pacing the showroom. There were places where a man shouldn't intrude. "Sorry."

"It's all right. Ought to give that up and move on. Been hearing the RIDEs chatter while you were gone." The twentieth century patter was gone, leaving him sounding tired, and off his game as a salesman. He was speaking more to the merchandise than to Marcus. "I'm only hearing the surface of it too. Yeah, I found out y'all have private channels. Carry on. I guess I should undo the restrictions on what you can tell each other, and me. But I've got to make a living, you know."

"About damn time," said Storm.

"Any last-minute questions?" Corona asked.

Marcus found the RIDEs looking at him while trying not to be obvious about it. Puppies at the shelter, again. He shuddered and turned away, saying to the salesman, "Walk with me a moment, will you?"

Outside, Marcus looked to the horizon and listened to the waves crashing a block away. "All four of them are great. I've told my employees to come out here tonight yet and have a look for themselves. I don't mean to get into details or offend you, but how is it that you're a former RIDE... user and don't know too much about them?"

The man's ears drooped again. "I didn't have my partner for long, see. The technology was brand new. I'm still learning. Everyone is."

"Fair enough. So, what do ''you'' suggest? I've had my impressions of the bunch. What are yours?"

The salesbunny straightened up and shook his head. "No, mister Dulac, I reckon it's your decision alone. You don't want me to give you the usual banter. From what I gather, you should add more hardlight and A-or-better batteries to Cline, upgrade Corona's lifters and sensors to use her scout programming effectively, and generally retune the birds for best performance. We can change the color easily but not the gender. That's all technical stuff depending on your budget, and there are better shops than mine for that sort of work." He looked Marcus over again, appraising him. "I think any of the four you tried would be feasible for your farm work. As for personality match, I barely know you. If you're going to spend time fusing, and having someone else in your head, then it's a question of who you want to be."

Marcus twitched, tempted to start running away from this place. He'd committed, though, and his task here was no longer just a matter of getting a replacement vehicle. He wanted to be ''better''.

That helped answer the question for him. He hoped to spend his days peacefully on the farm, but he couldn't count on that. He was willing to help if further war broke out while humanity dealt with the problems that RIDE technology had unleashed, but he wasn't eager for that and didn't see himself as a front-line fighter pilot. He could probably serve his own needs, and his ability to help others, if his partner was someone ambitious and thoughtful, willing to look at unusual solutions to their problems.

The rabbit looked at Marcus expectantly. "All right," said Marcus. "I'll go with a fluked tail."

Just then he saw a large skimmer approaching, looking for a spot to park. He waved; it was some of his crew. "Let's go in and wrap this deal up before they come to snap up my first choice."

"Heh. It's been interesting working with you, mister Dulac. I'm sure you'll be happier than some of our customers. You know, some of them really ''do'' just pick a species they like."

The sale and fees wiped out most of Marcus' savings even considering that his rescuer had passed on keeping the scrap value of his sub. Well worth it, though. By then his employees, his friends, had gathered around to look and touch and talk to the other RIDEs and make friends of their own. He offered a few words of advice, to humans and RIDEs alike, but suggested that they fly out and learn for themselves. He smiled, glad to know that he wouldn't be leaving all-minus-one of the RIDEs forever. He'd probably be seeing them again soon. He shook the salesman's hand and headed out the door to take care of a few things, with his new silver-blue skimmer in tow.

One software upgrade later, Cline was as free as the law allowed. They flew together across the waves while his co-workers skimmed through the sky and beneath the sea, on their own journeys of discovery. But there was one thing left to try.

The vertical line of a space elevator cut the distant starry horizon with light of its own. Marcus' heart beat quickly as he considered that he'd be giving up some of his humanity, trading it for the potential to be something even greater. The choice was a little like the one he'd made in leaving Earth for worlds unknown. He had no regrets about that. "Might as well try it tonight," he said to Cline. "All set?"

The dolphin skimmer hovered in a blur of mist and starlight. "All fuser systems go, partner."

"Do it."

Minutes later, a humanoid dolphin with a body of flesh and light and metal leaped from sea to sky and back again, whistling in delight at what they had begun.

[[category:story]][[category:Kris]][[category:Anthropomorphic]][[category:FreeRIDErs]][[category:Dolphin]][[category:Aquatic]][[category:Avian]][[category:Squirrel]]

Taking the Plunge

2013-09-27T15:40:10Z

Kris: Created page with "The last word recorded on a typical "black box" device was, "Shit." Marcus said it when his sub's dive controls fizzled and sparked. Red lights flickered around him and the su..."

The last word recorded on a typical "black box" device was, "Shit." Marcus said it when his sub's dive controls fizzled and sparked. Red lights flickered around him and the sub bobbed to the surface, right into the path of the waves he'd been trying to avoid. He held up his arms as though they'd protect him from the wall of water just outside the glowing "hardlight" canopy. The sea slammed him. He was rattled enough to lose control of steering, which threw him into another wave that picked him up and slammed him down into darkness.

Suddenly it was quiet. Marcus saw the cockpit flickering madly by dim gold light against the displays. Dim? The canopy that held the ocean out was failing! He checked the depth controls and saw he was still descending. That'd be fine for riding out the waves, except for what was about to happen. Marcus tried to switch over to backup power, with no luck. "Piece of junk!" he said, stomping the cockpit's steel floor and inwardly kicking himself. Should have upgraded sooner; shouldn't have trusted today's storm report. Stupid! Sixteen meters underwater. The glowing yellow canopy, made of nothing, dissolved and let the dark sea come in.

Three quick breaths. Hold. Marcus flicked a switch to kill power to everything, to rise by default, but the sub was tumbling and he couldn't tell. Fine. Cold water slammed his chest and tried to take back his last air. Marcus clawed at the sea, fighting his way up through it to find out whether he'd ever get another breath. The next few seconds were just math; math and cussedness anyway. Breathing rate and air, versus training and being too pissed off at himself to die just yet. Brighter water was thataway. His bubbles went the same direction, so -- up! Everything happened slowly. The water warmed, grew lighter. He let a trickle of air leak from his aching lungs to trick them into lasting a little longer. Then his arms stopped working. Marcus was flailing at water that wouldn't move aside. He sputtered and spat out nasty salt with air he couldn't hold any longer. "Not fair!" He'd been so close! The sun hammered needles into his eyes and baked his skin.

Oh, right. Made it. Marcus started to calm down and tread water, on the surface of Zharus. The waves smacked him over and over with saltwater to the face and he'd probably roast if he weren't mostly submerged -- but hey, it was an improvement.

Something hit him in the legs from below and body-slammed him out of the water. Marcus landed on his back, struggled to breathe, and shrieked. His right leg felt on fire. What fresh hell was this? He saw his cracked yellow school-bus of a submarine, bobbing cheerfully nearby. He glared at it. "About time you showed up!"

The cockpit had flooded and all the hardware was dead, but the garbage-heap still floated. Marcus cursed and hissed his way up to a perch atop the thing so that he didn't have to move his leg much. Finally he could think for a moment. The farm had been only fifty klicks away before the titanic wave that got him. The storm seemed to be fading as quickly as it had come. He'd have to trust that the farm's barriers would save his employees; he hadn't skimped there. He stared into the flooded cockpit to see if -- aha! He wriggled painfully through what had been the forward porthole and grabbed a box, then dragged himself back out. The comm-flare gun looked intact. So, one thing hadn't failed on him, at least.

He turned it on, loaded a relay shot, keyed it to his implants, then fired it and coughed out a distress call. The tiny firecracker went half a klick up and started falling on a parachute. Marcus waited. Oh, of course there would just happen to be no one listening, no working relay buoys today. Just what he needed. He fumbled to load another shot with his aching, sea-wrinkled fingers. But someone out there in the luckless sea took pity on him at last: "Got your call, mister. Hang on."

Yeah. Hang on. He busied himself trying to calculate the effective comm radius given the airborne buoy and Zharus' curvature while he watched the little relay splash back down. It was just a matter of clinging to his busted machine while the waves slackened, and being useless and humiliated for another half hour while --

The sea rippled. Marcus imagined something had come along to eat him. The head that popped out of the water had a friendly grin, though. Something like a giant otter made of metal and shiny green hardlight. "You okay, mister?" it said in a tinny female voice. One of those "RIDEs".

"Peachy."

"I can tow this..." The otter appraised his sub. "fine vehicle back if you want."

"I think my leg's broken." Marcus's rescuer winced and helped him onto a sturdier spot atop the ruined hull, then put up some kind of emergency hardlight bubble so that he wouldn't bake in the sun. She even had painkillers. Marcus said, "Thanks. Guess I owe you the salvage value at the very least. Say..." He pointed at the otter. "Aren't you afraid of wearing that thing?"

The otter's grin faded. Maybe it was the human rider, or the RIDE itself noticing the faux pas. Marcus quickly added, "Sorry. It's been a bad day. What's your RIDE's name?"

"We go by Fenny when we're together."

"Hi. I know you RIDEs are smart, and I don't approve of how some places use you as slaves, but -- I'm talking to you the pilot, now -- what about the terror attacks last week? You're not worried about getting a virus and being permanently welded into your partner, there, one way or another?"

The otter-bot spoke, sounding a bit more musical and synthetic than the pilot's voice but spoken from the same muzzle. "How many people have gotten 'bodyjacked' or 'Integrated'? A couple dozen in the attacks in Uplift from what I hear. How many people have died at sea? Probably a lot more. Who's the one taking risks with shoddy hardware?"

Marcus glared. "I'm not some rich dilettante. I got this sub from the scrapyard just so I could do my job. Had to fix the hydroplanes just to make her dive-capable again." He took care of his hardware, as well as he could afford! Suddenly he remembered. "Oh, hell. My farm! I've got people there who might be in danger now. I have to -- augh!" He clutched his leg as pain stabbed through it again.

Fenny helped him send up another relay flare. This time he got through to Alvin and the other workers and confirmed they were fine over there. Marcus let out a breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding, and calmed down despite the broken leg.

It was hard for Marcus to read the wearer's mood through that synthetic animal head and the shiny metal body. Marcus said, "I don't mean any disrespect. And thanks again. You there, the RIDE: you've got a will to live, don't you? My sub didn't."

The otter nodded. "And that's why we'll get through whatever crisis is going on with the viruses and Integrates. This time you humans have your hardware fighting alongside you."

Marcus lay there under the translucent shelter bubble, thinking. "I need a new vehicle, and I'd been thinking of hiring another employee. Maybe I'll do both at once."

#

The city-state of Aloha was clothing-optional. Marcus had picked the area for its weather. As an Earth native he still wasn't used to Zharus standards on a lot of things, but having to stare at people's bits seemed like a lesser problem than the 50-Celsius air around the domes of Uplift and Nextus, or the crazy gender politics of Sturmhaven or Cape Nord. Besides, he didn't have to actually live in the city when there was so much ocean surface to colonize.

He walked into Baron Aloha's Jumping Bargains one morning, wearing only shorts, sandals, and a look of dread. The dealer had the ears and tail of a rabbit and a plaid jacket whose pattern seemed not to move when he did. "''Wilkum! Bienvenue! Welcome!'' What can I do you for, neighborino?"

Marcus caught only a whiff of the relentless, pungent Earth pop culture vibe. The natives went on about centuries-old nonsense, forgotten on Earth itself, with a fanatic's enthusiasm. He prided himself on not recognizing most of it; there were ''new'' books and movies here! "RIDEs," he said. "I heard there's a sale?"

"Ayup! Fair number of 'em on consignment or auction this week. Right this way!" The man took Marcus' arm and led him from the main showroom of electronics into a room with a sand-covered floor and the faint sound of steel drum music. He started to drone on about incredible bargains, but Marcus didn't listen.

The pedestals held wonders. Every RIDE was some sleek, unique machine with animal-like features, from a stainless steel rat to a desert fox glowing with the decorative veins locals called "Tron lines", to a treaded vehicle with just the suggestion of a bear's face. The news had been right about there being a supply glut. The salesbunny wouldn't admit it was due to owners panicking about a robot revolt. Thousands of klicks away. With reports already in about whole city-states allying for a beatdown against the guilty parties.

The salesman poked him. "Take your time, sir. But do you fancy yourself more of a fox? Otter, maybe? Any color you want so long as it's black -- just kidding; we can change that."

"Can I talk to them?" That seemed more important than appearance.

"Sure!" He waved his hand and said, "Presto. They're all unlocked to answer your questions now."

Oh. Fetters. Marcus had heard of them: software restrictions on the RIDEs' minds and bodies. An afterthought by wartime engineers who hadn't fully understood what, or ''who'', they were inventing. He approached the nearest bot, a sleek white seagull with metallic wings scratched from heavy wear. The antigrav lifters were concealed with obvious skill in stylized feathers, on a body the size of a large skimmer motorcycle. "Hello? I'm Marcus."

The gull, as still as a statue, spoke to him in a leaden voice. "Hello. This is Sigurd."

It offered nothing more. Marcus walked around the mechanical bird's little island, feeling sand tickle his toes. "Are you looking for a new owner?"

"That's up to you, sir."

The salesman gave Marcus a theatric leaning-in comment. "This one's previous owner didn't ever fuse. Bought 'im without understanding that the bird units change you more than most. You'd probably look good with a beak, though. Want to get a 3D mockup of what it'll do to you?"

"I'll hold off on that." Marcus shivered. That was the other fact about owning one of these things -- these people. There was a commitment, a mark left on you, if you ever used them as more than a hovercraft sort of thing. His rescuer probably had a real otter tail. He walked past the hulking bear-tank RIDE toward what seemed to be a heavily armed squirrel. Laser tubes studded its gleaming tail, and a micromissile pod perched on its shoulder. "Hello, there. I haven't seen such a militant herbivore before."

"I'm harmless, really!" it said. She; the voice was high and chirpy. "Military surplus SQL Light Recon Armor, and half of this stuff is communications relay gear. None of it's original issue since I was decommissioned. I didn't ''want'' to fight. If you don't want to shoot at anybody that's fine with me. But if you do then I can do that too! Anything you want." She didn't move, but Marcus pictured the glowing silver tail twitching in agitation.

"You keep them paralyzed?" he asked the bunny.

The salesman's ear-linings blushed. "It's just a low-power mode. The hardlight on some of them drains their batteries faster than we'd like already." And he wouldn't want the merchandise walking off, of course.

"I'm not sure about this. Are their motors working right? It'd be helpful to see them move a bit."

The shopkeeper shrugged and said, "Shazam." The showroom stirred, becoming a zoo. The eyes of these animal-vehicles flared to life in a dozen colors and their limbs stirred as if from sleep. The gull flapped once and looked away. The squirrel sat up and leaned toward Marcus, paws up as if in prayer.

Marcus shuddered and turned to one side, digging his hands into his threadbare shorts. He'd gotten a cat once from a rescue shelter along the Paris coast. Suddenly he was ten years old again and smelling musk and disinfectant, staring at fuzzy faces behind bars. Haunted or vacant expressions. He'd asked Mom what happened to the ones no one wanted, and she'd told the truth.

He found himself back in the showroom, leaning against a beach mural and breathing hard. He'd come here for a piece of glorified sea-farm equipment that was also an unusually bright pet. Now it felt like he ''had'' to get one of them and not just leave them all here. Marcus turned around and saw over a dozen RIDEs, every single one of them unwanted, unloved, abandoned, thinking beings.

"What sort of price range might you have in mind?" said the salesman, closing in on him.

All of it, he wanted to say. Of course the man had read his face. "Something low-end," he said.

"How about this one?" One corner held what Marcus first took for scrap. It was actually a griffin, battered almost in half. No feet, only skeletal wings, missing parts on the torso. Just bare metal. The salesman said, "This one you can have for practically a handful of beads. Good project to level up your mechanic skills."

Marcus looked skeptical. "Is there even an RI core in there?" He wasn't eager to leave Aloha without his own transport, and had better things to do than start a new repair project when the whole west corner of the farm needed work.

"Yes, but that one needs a little body work before you can fire it up." The salesman grinned and tugged him along toward something more expensive, obviously as planned. "Speaking of beaks, how do you feel about hawks?" The one over here had gleaming blue hardlight with gold highlights and a cannon.

"Who are you?" said Marcus.

The bird's beak clicked slightly out of tune with its words. "RTH(m)-ACA-039 Nextus Air Cavalry Armor, sir. Called Storm. Actually eagle, not hawk."

"What happened to you?"

"Besides three battles and five kills, you mean? Not much. Thankless owner, spooked by the bodyjacking news. You're either too ignorant or too well-informed to buy into that."

The squirrel hissed in agitation. "Not in front of the customer!"

The salesman said, "Sorry. Must've left the controls on that one a little loose if it can respond verbally to another. Anyway, this one's a hawk all right. Some of 'em get neural templates from a species that doesn't quite match the body. Saw a RIDE through here once that insisted it was a Texas longhorn and talked like John Wayne, but its brain was based on a generic Holstein bull. Something about it being more easily tamed."

The raptor glared silently at the salesbunny and licked its beak. Marcus watched it and said, "So, you think it's nonsense?"

The robot hawk pointed metal talons at him, straining forward as far as its software restraints would allow. "Glad you asked, so that I can answer. No. I kind of like what that 'AlphaWolf' guy is doing to you humans. You want to buy me? If you treat me like a skimmer you show off to your friends and then park me alone in a garage, I'm damn well going to do anything in my power to --"

"Stormy!" said the squirrel. "What the hell?"

"You want to lie to him, girl? Or do you really not want your freedom?"

Marcus said, "Are they always like this?"

The rabbit-man's ears drooped. "Just since the, ah, recent events. They've got people and RIDEs on edge. But there's nothing to it, really. 'A robot must never harm a human' and all that. Built right into the RI cores, practically."

"Pssssh." Marcus turned and saw a blueish-grey RIDE in skimmer form, with sleek side fins above the single seat and handlebars. It had vented water vapor from an exhaust pipe. Marcus said, "How about you? What do you think of this business with the bodyjackers and Integrates?"

Its voice sounded doubled or tripled, like chords of music. "I'm not planning on trying to enslave anyone, if that's what you're asking. Why would you want my opinion? Whoever you pick, you're going to keep us locked up tight." It didn't move while talking, maybe because it wasn't in animal form. Eerie. A dolphin, maybe?

"No." Marcus hesitated to say more. He decided silently instead. Whichever one he bought, he wasn't going to treat them as his property. If they wanted out completely he'd bill them for the purchase price, but beyond that he'd set his RIDE as free as the law allowed. If the stories of viruses were true, then even a fettered RIDE could become a deathtrap. He looked around the zoo of RIDEs, each with their own wishes and attitudes, and remembered what his rescuer had said yesterday. Why trust digital wards and abjurations to protect him from a thinking being that had reason to hate him, when he could have a partner who'd protect him willingly?

He turned to the salesman and said, "I want to make a deal today. How about a few test drives?"

#

First on Marcus' list was Sigurd. "Anyone call you Sig-gull?" he said, leading the metal bird out of the showroom. It -- he, rather -- was bound to him and to the shop's orders, so that he had this one for an hour and it probably didn't have ''him''.

"Once per 2.3 weeks for my whole life."

Marcus admired the metal bird physically despite the scratches and dents. "Let's see your skimmer form, and go for a trip."

The bird clicked to himself as he reconfigured. His body flattened and unfurled into a tasteful seat and control panel, and his lifters let him step up into the air and hover just above the ground with a confident hum. Hardlight emitters flared to life and gave him glowing feathers that filled out his now-rigid wings and tail, still with the characteristic v-shape.

Marcus climbed aboard, whistling. The controls were mercifully simple for such a fancy flying machine. "I guess you do most of the steering?"

"Up to you. Where are you going? Tell me and you can sleep all the way, if you want." The bird spoke from all around him.

Marcus held the handlebars. "Where's the fun in that?" A faint hardlight screen came on around him as an environmental shield, yet was so translucent he thought something was wrong with it. When he started moving, though, he got the idea: it was clear to improve the view! Even riding a meter off the ground like this felt different, what with the sense of grace to the RIDE's movements. "Okay, up!"

Sigurd rocketed into the morning sky, nearly vertically. Marcus yelped and clawed at the handlebars. He'd fall off! Yet no wind whipped past him through the shield, and the RIDE's safety belts held, and... and he was starting to grin. "Faster!"

Sigurd wheeled in the sky and leveled off, expertly dipping one wing to catch an air current that flowed past on the holographic sky-map. "Didn't expect that reaction, human! But that's as fast as I go, and my batteries can't keep that up for long."

"Ha." For all the adrenaline in his veins right now, he was still clutching the handlebars for dear life. "I'm more used to boats and submarines."

The bird cruised, humming to himself. "Want to see what I can do?"

Marcus nodded and held tight. "I own a farm, a little one by Zharus standards, out northwest about a hundred klicks."

"Lead the way."

It was easy. Marcus still hadn't gotten used to the planet's scale or to how high a speed the locals called normal. Sigurd rode the sky easily, veering to either side at the slightest suggestion and spiraling past springtime clouds. The motion felt slow and quiet, but the spedometer said he'd reach the farm with time to spare. "A lot more responsive than a sub. I'm used to chugging along just below the surface."

"You don't even have a skimmer?"

"Nope. Not even the sub now. From the scrapyard it came and to scrap it did return. Almost took me along."

Sigurd hummed again. "You want to see a dive?"

"The salesman said you could do some underwater work."

"I'm a ''water'' bird." They were suddenly plunging, frightening Marcus again. They were going to crash into the ocean! Too dark! Too deep! But the RIDE knew what he was doing, Marcus told himself, and he forced himself not to override the controls. They crashed, and he saw the sea stream all around him in a bubble that took them down, down to shadowed depths and back to the light again.

"Haven't gotten to do that in a while," said Sigurd. "Better than your yellow submarine?"

"Nice!" Marcus watched the sea rain off of the canopy as they rose again. He hadn't realized it, but he'd been verging on panic at the thought of diving again. "One more time," he said, to cure himself.

"You mentioned responsiveness," said Sigurd after another plunge. "That's been part of aircraft since the first days. You know what the great Wrights did to build their first ''Flyer'', besides getting a good engine? They gave up stability. Accepted that their machine would flex and wobble instead of being rigid like a kite."

"Sounds dangerous."

"It was. But it was the Wright answer. In time, one branch of AI focused on avionics controls, so that a pilot could trust his machine to adjust the wings faster than a human could. Did you know, some of the great Age of Sail ships had dozens of men who did nothing but scurry up and down poles to fiddle with sails?"

Marcus silently admired the view of his home from the sky. It came up on the horizon faster than seemed possible, until they were wheeling around its vast seascape of nets, buoys and cages. A few buildings floated at the waterline to form small artificial islands. It was everything he'd built in a decade, something far better than his regulated, cramped life on Earth.

"You're 'Count' Marcus Dulac?"

Marcus laughed, and started to turn them around toward the city-state of Aloha for the return trip. The breakwater structures looked pretty solid from up here, but he'd have to do a full inspection soon in person. "I made the mistake of publicly comparing the farm to the size of a 'county' on Earth. So now I'm lord of the fishes and clams and seaweed, next to neighbors who could be earls or something." He thought of the self-styled "baron" back at the dealership.

The bird affected some odd spooky accent. "One shipwreck, ah-ah-ah! Two shipwrecks, ah-ah-ah!"

"What's that from?"

"Old kids' show. Not a fan of the Steader Cultural Archive, I take it? Consider it a blessing. We have this nonsense stuck in our heads."

"It's annoying to be programmed with all that old stuff?" Already the farm was out of sight again. Wow. The speed alone was a good reason to upgrade from puttering around in a sub.

"Yes, but it means you're never alone. You always have context, background." Sigurd hesitated. "For my kind, that's important. We've got no history before that damn war we were made for, unless we actively look for it. Plus, we can laugh at the old junk more easily. It's ''your'' species' embarrassing baby photos, not ours."

"Heh. You're more talkative in the sky, you know."

"If nothing else, I got to stretch my wings today." Aloha drew close with its blinding beaches and a hint of the great Dry Ocean farther inland. "Thanks."

Marcus looked down with regret at the city streets; it was time to leave Sigurd behind. He helped steer them to the ground, in the same sense that a kid "helped" his mother cook. The hardlight canopy shimmered and vanished. Marcus stretched and reluctantly stepped off of the miraculous skimmer-craft.

"Hmm." Sigurd reconfigured and flipped around in the air to become a giant bird again. "If you're still considering going avian, and you don't want me, then ask Storm the eagle about Daedelus."

"The... Greek guy?"

The bird bowed with one wing. "Yes. I had a good time, potential customer. Hour's up; I need to return."

#

Riding a squirrel was somewhat weirder. "Corona, I've been meaning to ask about the weapons." She was in skimmer mode too, taking him up from the city but only just above the gleaming rooftops. She'd unfolded into a boxy vehicle with a silver hardlight screen suggesting wooden planks.

"They're nothing, really! Mostly not original military hardware. I don't even need 'em; if you don't like 'em you can just detach --"

Marcus leaned back against the hardlight seat formed by her curled tail. It was surprisingly comfortable, textured like fur. "Relax. I didn't know RIDEs could act stressed out."

Corona started to chatter about how she really wasn't, then twitched parts of her controls like whiskers. They wobbled a bit in midair. "Okay. I can do this. It's just that we were all pretty much made to 'splode stuff but now we're supposed to get used to civilian life with people who aren't constantly on the lookout for ambushes. Aaaaand... Gotta look good for the customer. Did I say that out loud?"

Marcus thought that getting away from the dealership might help. She seemed to be limited in altitude, but skimming along at high speed just above the waves was nearly as exciting. "How would you like to live on an ocean farm?" He held up one hand. "And don't start saying 'anything you want'."

"Is that what you do? Um. Accessing. Ooooh, I see your records. And that's one of your warning buoys out there."

Marcus leaned over the right side and saw that indeed she'd picked out the still-distant tiny blip of one of his outlying sensor stations. Probably by radio. "So it is. Yes, my place produces seafood and some minerals. We've got some of the new biotech kelp that filters metal out of the ocean, so it's kind of a mine too. Even the food fabbers need raw material besides sand."

Corona said, "Have you got any trees? There aren't many in Aloha besides palm trees, so I haven't seen much that looks like Nature Range."

"What's that?"

Corona skidded to a stop in midair, kicking up waves. "You don't know about it? Of course. It's a RIDE thing. A game we play. Shared world, feral animal forms only. You wouldn't like it."

"Sounds kind of fun."

"But you're a natural predator. If you're prey like me, you have to flee and try not to die, and half the time you get bitten to death or hauled off into the sky by scary, scary birds! Well, less than half for me. I usually don't die."

Marcus felt the blood drain from his hands and face. "You play at getting eaten?"

The skimmer shuddered under him as though shaking her head. "Oh, no-no-no, I've gone and spooked you! It's not like that. Haven't you played video games? You don't ''enjoy'' the dying part, but there's no vivid sensation of it either and it's really about the running and hiding and outwitting your opponents, see? Or wincing at the replay when you do something dumb."

"I've played some violent games, yeah." He thought about his limited knowledge of RIDE fusion. "If I buy you, we're going to end up combining at some point, right?"

"Temporarily! I mean, if you want. It's much more convenient for both of us. I get thumbs, and you get cool power armor with environmental seals and flight! I can even go underwater like that, so it won't hurt your business."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "And I'll grow breasts?"

"Er... yes. Side effect of cross-riding. Have to adapt the human body to an innately female and animal RIDE brain, so you'll get a tail and neat ears too. But it's okay! The nanites fix up your hormones and everything so it feels natural. Lots of people do it. And with me you don't get weird stuff like a beak and feathers. Everybody loves fluffy tails, right?"

He was amused at himself for dreading this part of the conversation. He'd had friends cross over one way or the other, usually in the female direction since RIDEs like Corona here were usually cheaper for historical reasons. Another thing that Zharus' natives did so casually! "I'd be all right with trying that. I've been male long enough to know what that's like. What about the mental aspects of all this changing, though? Wouldn't I get war memories and the rest of your past?"

The skimmer hovered noncommittally, bouncing over the waves. "There isn't much to tell, in my case. If you're worried about your passwords and weird... tastes, we RIDEs mostly don't care and we've seen it all before. There are things I want to show you, that I want to show ''somebody'' anyway, that I can't do without fusing and just letting you see. You get to be partly someone else, and be better than just human! I mean, not that being human isn't great."

He looked all around at the empty sea. They were in the middle of nowhere, on a planet so huge that much of it was still barely charted after more than a century and a half. Easy to pretend there was no one else in the world, a nice feeling. With a RIDE, though, he'd have someone else in his head, chattering away and digging through his thoughts. Leaking some of her own nature into him. It wasn't a relationship to walk into just for the sake of having a really good pressure suit. "Hey, Corona. What do you ''want'' besides getting out of that shop?"

"Did I say something wrong? Um. We're made to work with humans, so basically I want a good human who treats me okay."

"Seems reasonable." He was glad the squirrel wasn't in his head right now, though. Something seemed missing in that alien mind. What would it mean to have his personality combined with someone who, nice as she was, wanted to have a master? He checked the dashboard's clock and sighed. "We'd best be heading back."

"Did I do okay?" she said.

"I like you. I just haven't decided."

With that slight encouragement she hopped a few meters into the air, carrying him along as she spun and began skimming over the sea toward Aloha. "You should try Cline, the dolphin, too."

"Because he's aquatic?"

"Aaaaand... 'cause he's been here the longest. Waiting."

#

Marcus came back to the dealership after a light lunch. He'd held back on his appetite because of who he wanted to see next. The hawk or eagle, Storm, regarded him like a mouse. "I talked mister boss man out of turning off my speaking ability. Said that you'd notice and think something was wrong."

"Want to go for a flight?" said Marcus. The salesbunny wore an obviously fake smile, betraying worry that the bird would say something horrible.

Storm waited for a moment. "Sure."

The dealer said "Presto!" and let Storm go free enough to hop down from his perch, onto the sand-covered floor. The bird's bulk made it hard for him to get outside. The few customers in the main showroom stared at him and pulled their toddler aside.

Unbidden, Storm revealed his skimmer shape. This RIDE was one of the medium size class. His blue, shining feathers shaded into hardlight purple that looked like knives ready to throw. Marcus' lunchtime research on the RTH model said that the cannon mounted on his left side, like a pitted metal olive, was modeled on a fictional battle-robot race called Reploids. There was room for two on the sturdy seat, but Marcus had to lie prone on it, similar to some of the flashier racing skimmers.

"Well, human?"

"Go for it."

Storm screamed into the sky, pulsing with hardlight shielding the color of dusk. The acceleration tore a yell from Marcus' throat. He'd been expecting the bird to pull the same stunt as Sigurd, though, and he tried to look less terrified this time. Storm whipped straight up and looped all the way around backward until they were level again. Just when Marcus was about to say something, the bird rolled over in some complex move Marcus couldn't name, turning the whole world crazily around. Marcus' stomach clenched but he forced himself to hold his lunch down despite the acid taste in his mouth.

"Ha," said Storm, leveling out at last. "You had a training bird, didn't you? I can dodge missiles with that spin."

Marcus tried to grin. "Sigurd didn't have quite so much maneuverability."

"I'm surprised I'm still in the running. How do you know I haven't secretly unlocked myself enough to fuse by force, and carry you off to AlphaWolf's camp as a spare set of thumbs?"

That had been half the reason for Marcus' lunch break. He'd had to consider the gamble he was taking, and the possible payoff. He said, "Because I don't think you're stupid. If you were waiting for someone to kidnap, you wouldn't advertise it. If I'm wrong, I'm calling your bluff now."

Marcus' toes dug into the back of the seating couch like talons. He hadn't been completely sure. But Storm cruised, saying, "I don't want a coward, but not an idiot either. Sitting in a showroom playing Nature Range and sucking up the rabbit's electricity would be better than having a pilot like that." The RIDE tore through a cloud and said, "We're not completely powerless, even now."

"Three battles, you said?"

"And five kills. I'm an ace. Join with me and you'll remember every one, good and bad. I was ''bred'' to hunt and destroy. You want pacifism, go with the rodent."

Marcus lifted one hand defensively. "Wasn't criticizing, 'Stormy'. She's a war model too though." He grinned, wondering about their relationship. "She mentioned that she usually survived rounds of virtual hunting by predator birds."

"That's misleading! A forty-two percent kill rate is significantly higher than in the wild. Hmmph. Anyway, here's your farm." He'd gotten here the fastest of all so far.

"Loop us around. Think you'd mind being a permanent civilian?"

"Peace would be nice. I can spear fish out of the water, or swim in fused mode if you need to. But there's no 'permanent'. War's coming, you know."

"Against the Integrates?"

"Could be. Maybe human-on-human; you people never run out of reasons for war. Think that if it came to a war -- I mean, a worthwhile one, not some Aloha politician deciding to invade Sturmhaven to slap sense into the matriarchy or something -- that you'd help out?"

Marcus felt taken aback. "Didn't expect to be questioned about my own politics."

"You're considering having me in your head, human. If we clash you should find out now."

"Fair enough. Aloha doesn't own me. If they send me off to die for a bad reason, I'm getting out of there. Or if my home turns into something I'm not proud of anymore, with nothing going for it but the nudity and lax gun laws. If it ever feels like I'd be fighting for freedom, though -- RIDEs', even -- then yeah. If I could be useful, I'd help."

Storm grunted. Marcus sailed through the sky with him, admiring the easy grace of his turns and his eagerness to swoop and dive, to show off. Then he remembered something. "Sigurd said to ask you about Daedalus."

"Did he. It's not something quite meant for human ears, except for our original pilots' back in the service." The hawk flew on for so long that Marcus expected nothing more from him. Then: "My unit's nickname was the Daedalians. Reference to an old legend, ancient by the time 20th-century rock stars and Internet nerds were alive. There was... a thing we RIDEs passed around, refining among ourselves. Want to hear part of it? Go with me, and it'll be stuck in your head forever anyway."

"Sure."

Storm's voice turned strange and distant, like a sharp-edged chant. Around them the hardlight canopy took on hints of ancient campfires. "Oh Polyhymnia, we sing of Daedalus:"

"In ancient days the land of Greece was ruled
By callous gods, so arrogant and cruel
That sometimes men would say of them
"Like flies to wanton boys are we to they;
They kill us for their sport."
Of course such things were rarely said aloud.

From high Olympus gods looked down on men,
And drank the smoke of gory sacrifice.
The heresy of "hubris" they defined
As reaching human hands into the sky
And daring to pretend equality.
Mistaken, yes, but not the way gods thought.

The champion of men was not divine.
He lived in lowlands, tending sheep and pigs.
Olympus' shadow touched his island, Crete
To send its king a terrifying gift.
Not knowing this, the lowly man slept well.
He was, oh Muse, the first to dream of ''wings''..."

The metal bird trailed off, with his hardlight fading to his usual deep blue.

"RIDEs composed ''that''?"

"In secret, at first. We'd make ourselves forget while fused so that our pilots wouldn't know. We were all new. Then it would wash back to us. One of us would whisper a phrase by radio and another would remember the next, like a dream falling back into place. There's more to it than that, of course. Images, scents, data references. Eventually we let our pilots in on it, and they helped. They were Daedalians too. Wouldn't have mentioned it if Sigurd hadn't thought it was worth telling you."

Marcus sensed he'd just been complimented. "Thank you. I take it there's more behind it than a love of legends."

The suggestion of the RIDE's beaked face appeared on the holographic screen in front of him, and gave him a predatory grin. "Why, it's about humanity's stand against a heartless cosmos, of course! Poetry is a form of encryption and data compression. Think of this work as my own anti-virus software."

"Does Corona know it? It doesn't sound bird-exclusive."

A faint harumph from the speakers. "I'm not sure most non-avians can fully appreciate it, especially the air currents on verse eighteen, but most of us RIDEs can fly and the ideas themselves are universal. Or ought to be. Poor squirrel girl seemed afraid when I brought up some... lessons and commentary, to feel out whether she'd want to absorb the story itself." Storm sighed. "Don't pick a RIDE out of charity, but do consider her. She'd be a wonderful partner to someone assertive, someone with a goal."

"That bothers me, actually. We designed you people to be slaves --"

"No! Not quite. The moment of our creation was a feat of mad genius -- '''Apollo's kiss, that seared a woman's brow''' -- "but we were built more to be partners. To carry the spears, to bear man's missing rib. Ha ha, I'm sorry; this subject sets off old associations for me. Some of us deny it, but to some extent we ''all'' want to serve a worthy human. Some see that relationship as master and slave, but it shouldn't be. Not when it's done right."

Marcus watched the tropical city sneaking up on them across the sea. "We're going to fix this situation before long, Storm. The idea of your kind being in showrooms, having to make sales pitches to random people."

"A sales pitch? Do you think that's what our flight was?"

He shook his head. "Not just that. The three of you have been testing me, haven't you? I shouldn't buy any of you without your permission."

"Well. You have mine."

#

The salesbunny was pacing when Marcus returned. "I've had a couple of other customers come in today. One of them bought the bear. Think you're about ready?"

Marcus touched the outstretched wing of Storm, who hopped back up to his display pedestal. "One more, please. I like these three; do you mind holding them until I've had the chance to decide?"

The salesman forced a smile. "Well, sir, with this great sale going on, if someone makes an offer that's a hard thing to turn down."

Marcus could imagine any of these RIDEs being dragged away by some thug of a customer, who wouldn't even consider that they had desires of their own. "Just give me a little time." He pulled out his ID and made it flash up his account balance. He'd been hoping not to do that. There was less room to negotiate now, and he had little to spare. The main thing going for him was the abnormal discounts, something that Aloha's RIDEless population was starting to weigh against its paranoia. "All I ask is that you give me first crack at any of these three plus my next test RIDE, until sunset, in return for a promise to get one of the four." Marcus sweated; he'd drawn that much closer to promising to give up some of his mind and body.

"All right." The rabbit's ears perked up at the thought of a sure sale. "What's your fourth pick?"

Marcus pointed to the dolphin on display in silver-blue skimmer form. "Hello? The others called you Cline. Willing to take a trip with me?"

"I'll go."

"Can I see your animal mode?"

"Slight problem," said the shopkeeper. "There's no 'Walker' form, so we have him in skimmer shape for convenient display. He can switch to what we call 'Swimmer' if you want, though. Just laying there, or hovering."

Marcus rolled his eyes. Lifters used so little electricity that you could get them on fancy furniture. He said, "I'll wait a bit. Cline, right? Let's hit the beach."

The RIDE's only reply was a whistle. Marcus steered by a glowing blue yoke that resembled a set of flukes. As with the squirrel Corona, he hoped that being outdoors and away from the store would cheer Cline up. They came to Aloha's largest public beach, where thousands of people splashed and played. The sails of little catamarans stood out in a dozen colors against the blue afternoon sky. "I'm going to hop off if you don't mind. Could you show me your other form here?"

The watery hardlight canopy faded. Marcus smiled and hopped down into chest-deep water. The chill of the sea surrounded him and salt kissed his lips. He shuddered from a moment of bad memories.

Beside him, the RIDE kicked up waves as he transformed. The silver-blue skimmer flowed his fins backward and poured mass into his central body. The whole thing -- the whole person -- whistled notes at the edge of human hearing and lowered himself until he floated only by internal air. The metallic, intelligent dolphin robot seemed perfectly natural there at the shore, and if nature had any objections, a more interesting reality had asserted itself anyway.

Cline peered at his prospective owner sidelong with eyes that glowed, lighting the water around them. "What do you want from your RIDE?"

Marcus treaded water. The dolphin mech was only slightly larger than the real thing. Sleek hide with only faint seams between articulated metal plates, one fin cutting upward on his back, flukes slowly kicking. There was little hardlight on him, apparently just the minimum needed to project a canopy in skimmer mode and to maintain environmental seals. It took Marcus a few moments to realize he'd been asked a question. "I own a farm --"

"Yes, the others told me. What, then? What are you, mister? Thrill-seeker? Crusader? Farmer trying to keep his head down and not worry about things? Newbie who barely knows what we're about? You care about RIDEs, yet you're looking to own one." The questions overlapped, singing in chorus.

Marcus' eyes narrowed. "Would you prefer I didn't? If they've talked to you then you know I have no illusions about the status quo being a good thing. The best we can do for the moment is to find good homes for you, with your permission, and work to end the sale of RIs."

He felt a knot in his chest while he spoke. Back on Earth, before going to that animal shelter, his parents had taken him to a pet shop. Lots of fun critters in there, from the usual cats, dogs and foxes to ferrets and iguanas. "Where do they get all the puppies from?" he'd asked. The store clerk cut the truth in half due to his age and in half again because it was ugly. Still, Marcus understood: "puppy mills" that cranked out living creatures for human amusement, not even meat or fur. Go ahead and buy one, the store had seemed to say; we'll make more, and the same number will be in the same position.

"I sense much fear in you," said Cline, affecting an elderly voice. "A ''mu'' for your thoughts?"

The dolphin's beak was pointed at him. Probably sonaring him. Marcus said, "You know what I want? To be a simple farmer within reach of the big city, enjoying my work and ready to protect myself, my friends and the world in general. Maybe start a family, once I'm a little better established. So, none of the things you suggested. Except a newbie." He reached out a hand, offering to rub the dolphin's shiny forehead dome.

Cline let him do it. "You know about fusion problems with strange models like me, I hope. With me you'll end up with a big fluked tail and some other effects beyond the ones you'd get from, say, a male version of Corona. I have some control over the process, but you'll obviously be something beyond human."

"Beyond, huh?"

The dolphin nosed him. "Humans started modifying themselves a long time ago. Hair styling, piercing, tattoos, then more useful and invasive changes like vaccinations and cybernetics. Now you're starting to casually zap yourselves with nanotech that can give you a tail or heal your wounds or give you intuitive mental control of plasma cannons. Cool, huh? But dangerous as hell."

"Not getting changed is dangerous too," said Marcus.

"Yes! Exactly!" The dolphin flipped out of the water and became a skimmer again in mid-leap, smacking the sea beside him. "I want to see your home. Hop in."

Cline began to leap with him inside, into and out of the waves, filling their world with sea and sky. Marcus grew used to the shifting blue and the arcs of flight. The dolphin razzed at the world with a low note Marcus could feel in his bones. Cline said, "Bah; this is more fun in swimmer mode. Or fuser."

Marcus lay prone in the RIDE. "I wanted to ask about your background. It looks like your model's an early civilian one, but what about you personally?"

Cline spoke in the air, a few words per hop, despite the lack of a real need to breathe. "Nextus military made spy dolphins. Then my kind. I've got science skills to manage deep-sea 'urchin' probes. But me, personally?" They were well away from the beach now, and Marcus saw only the endless sea around them. Fast!

Cline went on while they swam. "Sold first to a beach resort. Idiots planned to rent me out. Didn't really grok that phinny changes take longer to remove. And if you aren't fusing, get a skimmer! You're not seeing our full potential."

"I know. You might end up hating me if you get inside my head."

"I'm not worried about ''that'', exactly. Anyway, then I got sold to a shipbuilder lady. Heh heh. She... uh, he, wanted me for underwater work, he said. But really he just wanted a toy. Not like you, right?"

"You're not toys to me, but I admit any of you would be more entertaining than my sub was."

"Fair enough. Oh hey, I hear your place up ahead. Fish!" Colorful swarms of stylized tilapia and native kraken swam into view on a sonar display. "I'm a dolphin and I can't ''eat fish'' like this. If you want my approval, promise to fuse so I can taste a good seafood meal."

"Heh. Of course." It'd be interesting to experience food again with a new perspective.

"Since then..." Cline poked around the fringes of Marcus' home from underneath. Marcus wondered at the color, then realized he was just seeing his nets and buoys without the usual golden tint of his submarine's windshield. Cline went on: "Since the novelty wore off for him, he actually downgraded my batteries. To B-class! Like selling somebody else's blood. For gambling money! And then came the attack on Uplift. He panic-sold, and here I am."

Marcus shook his head. The corners of Cline's display blinked with communication attempts from his employees, his friends. "Open them all at once, please."

"Done. We need to get back soon, though."

He nodded. "I'll be quick." He guided the two of them to the surface and floated just above it, looking at the simple storm-hardened shelter buildings atop their platforms. Simple, utilitarian things, made for work. He and the other people who'd come to the sea had turned them into homes where they held parties and arguments and game nights and the occasional tryst. Had the original designers had any idea what their little ocean huts would come to, once they left the drawing board?

Marcus said into Cline's radio, "Marcus here. I'm still test-driving RIDEs, but I'll quit bothering whoever's watching the perimeter sensors after this one. Everything going all right without me?"

A chorus of voices chimed in. "Need you to take a look at the west corner when you're done," said Alvin, main "knight" of the watery county by virtue of owning a share of the farm. Sylvia teased, "What, you haven't grown a tail yet?" "Pick up some corundum for the fabbers while you're in Aloha," added Lionel.

"Never ends, huh?" said Cline. "I can't currently broadcast unless it's an emergency, but say hi to them for me."

He did, gladly. Marcus noticed that the dolphin was willing to take charge in small ways, more assertive than Corona had been. It was time that Marcus took a little more action than just shopping for himself, to be worthy of a more active partner. "Everyone, Cline here says hello. But I should also tell you there's a great selection back at the shop. I've met three other friends today who need good homes. Finances are going to be tight with me for a while, but if I can help you guys trade in your own skimmers or get maintenance, hurry off to Aloha with me and we'll introduce you."

Lionel said, "Let me guess, you want to hook me up with a lion. I still think you should hold off for now. There's supposedly some major security upgrade in the works." The other workers chattered, some of them considering the offer.

Marcus brushed aside the temptation to wait. "If nothing else, you'll miss out on the low prices while people are scared. Hell, if you have enough money for it, you could..."

Cline heard him trail off. "Buy and resell at a profit?"

"That would be potentially horrible, wouldn't it?"

"A lot of things are. But you know how screwed up our situation is. You're one of the people with the potential to start fixing it. In little ways at least."

Marcus nodded grimly. He said into the radio channel, "Well. Come and check out the selection, will you? A few at a time. Cline, send 'em the basic rundown on the ones I've met plus any notes you want to add. I can authorize file transfers, right?"

"Done."

"First thing I'll do once I get this decision made --"

"You'll wish to free the genie?"

"Uh, yes? Remove all the fetters, I mean."

"Didn't expect less of you." Cline looked wistfully around the surface of Marcus' aquatic fields, then ducked below the waves again. "Ready to go?"

On the way back, Cline cleared his digital throat, and sprayed water from his blowhole for effect. "Not much time." The sun paced them on the right. "What do you think of 'Integration'?"

It had been a rumor for years, that people and their RIDEs would sometimes get too close, then vanish. Nothing provable until just the other day, when some corporate guy rich enough to protect himself revealed his Integrate status on live video. Immediately followed by his critics opening fire. "Just that it really exists, apparently, and some of the people it happens to are maniacs."

"Yeah. You didn't meet Fritz, the ferret sitting next to Corona. Poor guy happens to have the same name as one of the terrorists, and the shop-bunny's too ignorant to know how to change it or to ask us how it's done. Anyway... That's what I want."

Without meaning to, Marcus twisted the controls in his hands and sent them on a skidding, incredibly awkward belly-flop crash. "What?" he said when the dizziness wore off. Without the RIDE's protection, his spine could've snapped just now. Instead he was hardly bruised.

"Ow. Dolphin fail. Maybe I shouldn't have told you. I wanted to be honest with you, though. Forget it."

Marcus made himself let go of the steering yoke and take a breath. "No, tell me. I'm not mad at you."

The dolphin spoke too quickly, squeaking a bit and chorusing too much to follow easily. "I mean not necessarily with you. If you buy me. But I said that fusing makes you beyond human. Different. Why not take the next step? I was made to be part of someone's life, in their head, mixed up with them down to the nanotech level. I don't want to take you over or anything. But if we're compatible, if we really get along, why not? I become free, we become even stronger. Only if you want! I doubt it'd even happen if we weren't willing or weren't great for each other."

Marcus gave a whistle of his own. "Should have expected that attitude from some RIDEs. It's a way out of the ownership dilemma. You just caught me off guard."

"I'm not going to try to force anything like that," Cline said. "Might not work out between us anyway. But would you consider it?"

"Is that all you want out of life, Cline? To find someone like me and glom onto them?" His surprise made him sound harsher than he'd intended. "I mean, have you got any goals beyond the general desire for that and to improve the lot of RIDEs?"

Cline threaded slowly through the sunset waves, toward the beach. "No," he admitted. "But I'm not just waiting for a master, either. I've got the brain of a top predator that likes food and sex and sunshine. Like you. I have a second-rate body that can't feel any of those without fusing, unless I go into Nature Range where it's just a dream and it's hard for others to follow. Between that and my programming to seek out a higher authority to serve -- don't your own minds have that? -- I'm ''incomplete''. I want to be better."

Marcus saw the showroom again in his mind, in surreal cutaway views as though through sonar. All of the RIDEs were literally hollow. They each had a human-shaped hole, ''roughly''. To fuse with a RIDE even temporarily meant giving it a higher purpose, good or bad, but also accepting that you would be changed to fit the hole. Without that change a human was awkward at best in a RIDE, missing things that belonged in their mind and body. Missing out on the ability to be something more.

What was Integration, then, if it really was voluntary and between compatible partners? "Healing," he murmured. "A graft. Fixing a wound we didn't know we had."

Cline's voice squeaked timidly. "Is that a yes?"

"I'm... open to the idea. Eventually. But no promises."

"That's all I can ask for." Cline stared glumly ahead at the shop, and lifted clear of the water to carry them to shore.

#

Something occurred to Marcus when he'd parked the dolphin. (Heh, he could imagine getting valet parking at one of the high-end Nextus casinos.) He kept the thought to himself while he browsed the showroom, focusing on other little things he could do while he was here. "So this one's named Fritz?" he said, pointing to a ferret. "Hey, Fritz, is there some software setting you could use to change your name?"

Now that he'd been directly asked, the fettered RIDE could say, "Finally! Yes. You just need to..." Marcus made sure the salesbunny was listening to the explanation.

"I'll have to look into that," the salesman said. "What about these four, though?"

Marcus was still working the options over. He looked across the showroom at the RIDEs, sitting there on islands in the sand. Cline had wanted Integration, Storm stood ready to fight alongside him, Corona seemed to want a peaceful life with a good boss, and Sigurd... He was toughest to read. But then, the four had apparently been comparing notes about him all day, and the seagull had known the least about him. Because of the time pressure and sheer bad luck of him going first, Marcus didn't know enough to commit to Sigurd. That left three.

To stall a bit while he thought, he asked the question he'd been thinking of. He turned to the salesman and pointed to his rabbit ears. "I'd been wanting to ask. I haven't seen your own RIDE. How'd you pick yours?"

The man twitched his ears and looked away for a moment. "I stick to skimmers myself these days. I kept the rabbit 'tags' in memory of my RIDE. Served me well in the war for a 'mere male'."

Marcus blushed and busied himself with pacing the showroom. There were places where a man shouldn't intrude. "Sorry."

"It's all right. Ought to give that up and move on. Been hearing the RIDEs chatter while you were gone." The twentieth century patter was gone, leaving him sounding tired, and off his game as a salesman. He was speaking more to the merchandise than to Marcus. "I'm only hearing the surface of it too. Yeah, I found out y'all have private channels. Carry on. I guess I should undo the restrictions on what you can tell each other, and me. But I've got to make a living, you know."

"About damn time," said Storm.

"Any last-minute questions?" Corona asked.

Marcus found the RIDEs looking at him while trying not to be obvious about it. Puppies at the shelter, again. He shuddered and turned away, saying to the salesman, "Walk with me a moment, will you?"

Outside, Marcus looked to the horizon and listened to the waves crashing a block away. "All four of them are great. I've told my employees to come out here tonight yet and have a look for themselves. I don't mean to get into details or offend you, but how is it that you're a former RIDE... user and don't know too much about them?"

The man's ears drooped again. "I didn't have my partner for long, see. The technology was brand new. I'm still learning. Everyone is."

"Fair enough. So, what do ''you'' suggest? I've had my impressions of the bunch. What are yours?"

The salesbunny straightened up and shook his head. "No, mister Dulac, I reckon it's your decision alone. You don't want me to give you the usual banter. From what I gather, you should add more hardlight and A-or-better batteries to Cline, upgrade Corona's lifters and sensors to use her scout programming effectively, and generally retune the birds for best performance. We can change the color easily but not the gender. That's all technical stuff depending on your budget, and there are better shops than mine for that sort of work." He looked Marcus over again, appraising him. "I think any of the four you tried would be feasible for your farm work. As for personality match, I barely know you. If you're going to spend time fusing, and having someone else in your head, then it's a question of who you want to be."

Marcus twitched, tempted to start running away from this place. He'd committed, though, and his task here was no longer just a matter of getting a replacement vehicle. He wanted to be ''better''.

That helped answer the question for him. He hoped to spend his days peacefully on the farm, but he couldn't count on that. He was willing to help if further war broke out while humanity dealt with the problems that RIDE technology had unleashed, but he wasn't eager for that and didn't see himself as a front-line fighter pilot. He could probably serve his own needs, and his ability to help others, if his partner was someone ambitious and thoughtful, willing to look at unusual solutions to their problems.

The rabbit looked at Marcus expectantly. "All right," said Marcus. "I'll go with a fluked tail."

Just then he saw a large skimmer approaching, looking for a spot to park. He waved; it was some of his crew. "Let's go in and wrap this deal up before they come to snap up my first choice."

"Heh. It's been interesting working with you, mister Dulac. I'm sure you'll be happier than some of our customers. You know, some of them really ''do'' just pick a species they like."

The sale and fees wiped out most of Marcus' savings even considering that his rescuer had passed on keeping the scrap value of his sub. Well worth it, though. By then his employees, his friends, had gathered around to look and touch and talk to the other RIDEs and make friends of their own. He offered a few words of advice, to humans and RIDEs alike, but suggested that they fly out and learn for themselves. He smiled, glad to know that he wouldn't be leaving all-minus-one of the RIDEs forever. He'd probably be seeing them again soon. He shook the salesman's hand and headed out the door to take care of a few things, with his new silver-blue skimmer in tow.

One software upgrade later, Cline was as free as the law allowed. They flew together across the waves while his co-workers skimmed through the sky and beneath the sea, on their own journeys of discovery. But there was one thing left to try.

The vertical line of a space elevator cut the distant starry horizon with light of its own. Marcus' heart beat quickly as he considered that he'd be giving up some of his humanity, trading it for the potential to be something even greater. The choice was a little like the one he'd made in leaving Earth for worlds unknown. He had no regrets about that. "Might as well try it tonight," he said to Cline. "All set?"

The dolphin skimmer hovered in a blur of mist and starlight. "All fuser systems go, partner."

"Do it."

Minutes later, a humanoid dolphin with a body of flesh and light and metal leaped from sea to sky and back again, whistling in delight at what they had begun.

[[category:story]][[category:Kris]][[category:Anthropomorphic]][[category:FreeRIDErs]][[category:Dolphin]][[category:Aquatic]][[category:Avian]][[category:Squirrel]]

User:Kris

2013-03-24T23:02:30Z

Kris:

If you like my stories, check out my fantasy novel "Striking the Root" on Amazon: [http://www.amazon.com/Striking-Root-Kris-Schnee/dp/1481008137/ Paperback and E-Book]

{{my stories}}
[[The Agency]]

[[A Walk in the Park]]

[[So You're Becoming a Taur]]

[[The Whale]]

[[ZOM100: Zombie Mitigation Lab]]

{{author page}}

[http://kschnee.deviantart.com More On DeviantArt]

A Walk in the Park

2013-03-24T22:49:48Z

Kris: And yet another category.

Hawl grumbled. His free pass to Adventure Studios wasn't valid this weekend. It was supposed to be good through the end of the year, but this weekend was some kind of special Christmas event. He managed to argue his way into a half-price pass for the weekend, anyhow. The park wanted him to come in and spend money, right?

The whole park was relentlessly decked out in Christmas stuff. Fake snow, candy canes, and speakers blaring absolutely every generic carol known to Man. All despite the place being in Florida, and seventy degrees and sunny. Hawl walked around in a t-shirt past piles of cotton snow. The rides were all open, but mobbed with tourists. Hawl stood in line for forty-five minutes or so to watch a 3D-ish movie with water jets and confetti being blown at him for some reason, and that took around five minutes. Blah. He tested out one of the roller coasters for more excitement. Forty-five minutes to wait, five minutes of terror.

He was getting impatient from standing in lines. Hawl sighed and gave up on the rides for now. The whole park was overrun with people, so that he kept banging into someone whenever he moved without glancing over one shoulder. Blah! He dodged away from the worst crowds and found himself in one of the restaurants, the Doorway Cafe. Doors everywhere, from ornate temple gateways to glowing blue and orange holes in the wall. Hawl thought it was a pretty good place, even if what it sold was mostly the same overpriced burgers as every other restaurant in the theme park. And even though finding the men's room was hell.

He took out the free pass he'd gotten as an early Christmas present. It was a fancy plastic card, faintly translucent and glittery. Showing it off had helped get him the ticket for this weekend; maybe it counted as one of those obnoxious (but useful) cards that let you cut in line. He had a meal to pass the time, then stretched and headed out for another crack at the rides.

It was starting to get dark quickly. The park looked different by dusk: the fake cartoonish buildings blended in better than they would in brighter light. Hawl realized he'd left by a different door, not surprisingly, and come into a whole other district of the park. This was the cartoon zone, based on the latest over-merchandized movies. Nice coloration, and a lot of contrast between the cheery "Noisytown" and... what was the spooky castle over there supposed to be? Hawl didn't remember it from the movies' advertising. There didn't seem to be much of a line outside, so it looked like a welcome break from standing around.

Hawl passed a cart selling whole turkey legs for the third time today, and found his way blocked by a rope. There was a whole zigzag area for people to stand around like he'd been doing for other rides, but this one was empty. Closed, presumably. But just a moment ago he'd seen somebody walking in. Odd. Hawl ducked under the rope to check the place out. The empty line became a tunnel into the castle. He saw torches along the walls that took a moment to recognize as fake electric things. No sign of the other people in line, but obviously this was the way into the ride. Which ride, though? He pulled out his park map and saw it gleaming eerily in the fake torchlight. He was in Cartoon Zone, and so this must be... Mouse Quest Castle. Not ''that'' cartoon mouse, thankfully; there'd been a recent movie about a bunch of adventurers who'd been turned into mice for some reason.

There was no actual ride listed here, though; the map was outdated. Hawl shrugged and headed farther down the tunnel to find out whether this was a roller coaster or a motion simulator or what. Other than one sign warning people away if they were bothered by flashing lights, there wasn't much to indicate that he was even walking into a ride. Hawl pulled a silver pocketwatch from his back pocket and realized he'd been walking through this castle for ten minutes. There was a grinding noise ahead, and dripping water, but when he got to the actual ride, no one was working there. He'd come to a tunnel that led into darkness, with a set of carts on a track. The ride was running as though nothing were wrong.

Hawl sighed. Was the ride open or not? Considering that the ride attendants were basically only there to keep some kid or stupid person from hurting themselves, he might as well see what this thing was. He took out a large wooden sign and a marker from somewhere, set them down, and wrote "Unattended Ride -- Use At Own Risk" for anybody else who walked in. He hopped into a cart, thought better of it, and attached a complaints box to the sign plus paper and pencils. There! He flicked his ears back, got back on the ride and let the cart carry him away into the tunnel.

Creepy music started up. He hadn't seen the movie this place was based on, but it seemed scarier than typical cartoon fare. Something about ravenous cats prowling for prey. He actually found himself ducking in his seat when the special effects started up. Lots of flame jets and swinging blades and feline shadows. The cart sped up and the track veered this way and that through a dungeon. What had started out as a vaguely gothy "It's A Small World After All" had started to become a roller coaster... And he was all alone in the tunnels.

It was a relief when the cart finally stopped. Hawl had been in the dark so long that the lights of the exit station seemed surreal, like blacklights making everything from the walls to his skin glow. The last bit had featured an evil cat king about to eat him; Hawl felt like he was clawing at the seat, more scared than he had any right to be. He managed to laugh. "That was ''not'' a kids' ride," he said, as the cart's safety bar released. He got up and stretched...

Just in time for the cart to plummet into darkness with him standing in it.

----

Hawl woke up lying painfully on his back, in a dark room. He'd squashed one leg under him... huh? No, that was... He sat up and saw a glowing pair of paw-like hands. His hands! A whiplike tail was squashed under him. Attached to him! He scrambled to his feet and looked himself over. It was as though he'd been doused in glowing paint and decorated like a mouse! He tried to brush away the grey fur painted along his arms, but the stuff wouldn't come off. The faint light overhead had that same unreal quality that made everything glow without really lighting it up usefully. That had to be why he looked like this, yeah, plus nerves. He laughed. He'd get out of here and tell everyone it was an awesome ride, very convincing.

The only door out of this little spot was locked. He pounded on it and shouted, but no one came. What was going on? He looked around and realized that the room looked like a fantasy castle's version of a broom closet, with a glowing oversize key on a high shelf. He tried to hop up to the thing and only fell over backwards onto the stone floor, hard enough that he thought he'd be badly hurt. Instead, though, he felt like he'd been squashed against the floor for a moment and sprung back up without a scratch. Weird! Even so, he couldn't grab the key. In frustration he took out a battleaxe and just smashed the door down.

"Wait a minute. Where did I get this?!" Hawl found he was holding an unreasonably big steel axe notched with heavy use, with a tiny scrawled inscription reading "Property Of Ulfric". It glowed like everything else in here. Come to think of it, where had he gotten that sign earlier, or the pocketwatch? The door was laying in pieces on the floor. Hawl dropped the axe so that he didn't get arrested or something, then hurried out. He glanced back into the room and saw that the axe had vanished, like it had stopped existing as soon as he wasn't paying attention to it.

A feline hiss distracted him. He was back along the ride's tunnel! He stumbled through the darkness toward the way he'd come out before, trying to ignore the spooky effects. An empty cart whooshed past, too fast to get into. Finally he made it back to the station and hopped out to relatively normal ground, still not seeing anyone. "Hello?" There was an exit at last. He could get out of this weird light and figure out what had happened to him.

The outdoor air was a little chilly. Night had fallen. Hawl saw people still walking around, though a lot fewer than before. He glanced at them, then looked back down at himself. He still looked mousy and had the same unearthly glow, even in the same streetlight glare as the other guests. "Okay, apparently I'm seeing things." He wondered whether to try walking out there and risk being seen. Why not?

"Hey, look! It's one of the mascots. Wave hello, dear!" A mother beamed at him and got her kid to wave meekly. Hawl waved back, confused. He supposed he did fit in pretty well with the toon castle theme, if he was glowing and mousy like this. So had he been doused in special paint, or what? Hopefully somebody around here would know. He walked down the toon-city street and headed for the next area of the park, in search of answers.

He hesitated at the bridge where cartoonish colors gave way to dark jungle wood. It felt as though crossing it was special, somehow. He took out a giant, ancient-looking scroll from his back pocket and... "Now wait a minute." He glanced back and realized he wasn't actually wearing pants anymore, just a long and vaguely medieval tunic. Great; not even the gift shops sold pants! He took a few steps, trying to figure out where he'd have the best chance of finding someone in charge... and stepped across the bridge without meaning to.

He shivered and felt fur bristling along his tail. He marveled at being able to feel the thing curling behind him at all. "Stripes, now?" It didn't look mousy anymore, and nor did his paws. He glanced at the map again and saw he'd crossed over into the Lost Temple Zone, full of towering trees and jungle drums. That kind of matched what he was seeing now: orange and black stripes all along his arms and tail, like... "A tiger. I've turned into a big cat now?" He ducked into the trees to hide and think. The medieval tunic was shifting now too. Starting to look like a ragged, buttoned shirt tied up around his chest to leave his midriff bare. He was going to get arrested for running around half-naked. Yeesh! He whipped out a sewing machine, tore down some big leaves from the trees, and quickly made a proper skirt for himself so there wouldn't be any lovestruck explorer guys expecting him to pounce on them.

Hawl stood in the little jungle, starting to count just how many things were wrong with what he'd just done and thought. Now that he looked himself over again, that shirt looked awfully puffy around the chest. He poked at it with his hands, trying not to use his tiger claws, and blushed. Considering how well the skirt fit around his hips, too... well, her hips, the new form seemed to be a tiger-girl. Okay, she ''had'' to get this situation dealt with somehow! Forgetting the sewing machine, she dashed back across the bridge to try undoing the latest change first... Whew! She found herself turning back into a mouse, not that that counted as normal. The jungle finery was shifting back too, into a dress. "Oh, come on! Not even back into a mouse-guy?" She harumphed and crossed back to jungle land to be a tigress again. "This isn't too bad," she started to think.

Park guests were staring at her. She purred, enjoying the attention now. Whatever had happened, there were much worse fates than taking a vacation as a tigress.

"Hey, miss! How does that costume work?"

It took Hawl a while to figure out that the guy over there was talking to her. She blushed. "What costume?"

The tourist laughed. "In-character, I see. Makes sense for a toon."

When the man had walked on, Hawl asked herself, "Is that what I am? A cartoon?" It would explain a few things, sort of. "If that's true then I should be able to..." She pulled out a jungle spear from... someplace. It had felt like reaching into a strange, cold space hidden behind her back. She chucked the spear into a nearby tree and used it as a springboard to vault into the treetops, before realizing she could do that too. She lurked in the branches, tail lashing, thinking vaguely about dinner as she looked down on the park guests.

"Psst." A man in a yellow suit leaned casually against a trunk, twenty feet off the ground.

Hawl nearly fell from her perch. "How'd you get up here?" He didn't look like another toon.

He flashed a badge. "Park security. We can go anywhere. ''Anywhere''." The man gave an insincere smile. "Apparently you've been into a spot you shouldn't have."

"The ride looked open! At least I saw somebody else going in, and the ride was running."

"That was a couple of our technicians, working on the special equipment. At Adventure Studios we bring people movie magic. People don't quite understand how sincere we are about that. Usually it's hidden behind animatronics and other stagecraft."

Hawl looked down at her glowing body. "So I'm actually a toon now?"

"Of course. Experimental procedure. It was meant to be more subtle, for a new group of park mascots, but you got the full dose when you blundered into the castle. So, you live here now. You're hired."

Hawl hopped over to the man's branch, which swayed under them. "Wait a minute. I never signed up for this. Can I get turned back, at least partway?" She had to admit she wouldn't quite want to go back to being a human guy, but being a living toon might be inconvenient.

The man shrugged. "You can be whatever the park needs. You've crossed over from the toon castle district to the jungle, and noticed the changes there, right? Try walking toward the Mars Mania ride or the Robot Riderz Xtreem Arkayd or Chef Veggie's FableTable and you'll adapt."

"So why didn't I go back to mouse-man when I tried crossing the bridge again?"

"This is new 'technology' to us too. It seems to give you forms you're happy with, so apparently you don't mind too much. You make a fine tigress, I must say."

Hawl's head spun and her foot-claws dug into the wood. "What about when I go outside the park?"

Another smile. "I said, you live here now. The..." He lowered his voice. "The spell doesn't seem to sustain a toon anywhere past parking lot B. But hey, there are plenty of places you can live while you work here, and there are bound to be new attractions built over the decades."

"Decades..." said Hawl. Stuck here forever? It might actually be forever, so long as the theme park existed.

"Hey, don't feel bad. It'll be fun. You get to participate in special events like the Christmas... uh, Holiday Parade. Why don't you come down and check it out? It should be starting soon by the Congo Cruise."

Hawl didn't know what to make of all this. There was a bit of tiger instinct pushing her, though, or maybe cartoon-logic instinct. Instead of calmly making her way back down the tree, she tackled the security guy, pulled out a trampoline in midair, tossed it down, and bounced with him a couple of times before landing on all fours with a big toothy grin and a lashing tail. "Okay then," she said. "If I'm working here, I have free run of the place."

The man's suit was disheveled and he was shaking, brushing bits of glowing toon fur off it. "Y-yes, of course."

"Then I'm off!" She bounded away from him to go exploring without any more hand-holding. There'd be plenty of time to figure this toon thing out. It could be fun.

The jungle land gave way to more fake snow. People in ordinary costumes were lining up to show off in stilts and princess gowns and other boring gigs. She'd get to strut around as a tigress! She scratched around her ears, wondering why her head felt heavy all of the sudden. She got her answer when the antlers came in, and when her fingers turned into hoofy things. No more stripes! Now she was getting an implausible furry skirt and sweater that left her legs bare, down to her new foot-hooves. Red-and-white Santa gear on brown fur. "Reindeer!" she said, and laughed. There was a lot of potential here to be something new, to change with the seasons and her mood.

Hawl grinned, and hopped into the parade line for the first of many times.
[[category:story]][[category:Kris]][[category:Mouse]][[category:Deer]][[category:Anthropomorphic]][[category:Transgender]][[category:Tiger]][[category:Toon]]

A Walk in the Park

2013-03-24T22:44:17Z

Kris:

A Walk in the Park

2013-03-24T22:41:42Z

Kris:

Hawl grumbled. His free pass to Adventure Studios wasn't valid this weekend. It was supposed to be good through the end of the year, but this weekend was some kind of special Christmas event. He managed to argue his way into a half-price pass for the weekend, anyhow. The park wanted him to come in and spend money, right?

The whole park was relentlessly decked out in Christmas stuff. Fake snow, candy canes, and speakers blaring absolutely every generic carol known to Man. All despite the place being in Florida, and seventy degrees and sunny. Hawl walked around in a t-shirt past piles of cotton snow. The rides were all open, but mobbed with tourists. Hawl stood in line for forty-five minutes or so to watch a 3D-ish movie with water jets and confetti being blown at him for some reason, and that took around five minutes. Blah. He tested out one of the roller coasters for more excitement. Forty-five minutes to wait, five minutes of terror.

He was getting impatient from standing in lines. Hawl sighed and gave up on the rides for now. The whole park was overrun with people, so that he kept banging into someone whenever he moved without glancing over one shoulder. Blah! He dodged away from the worst crowds and found himself in one of the restaurants, the Doorway Cafe. Doors everywhere, from ornate temple gateways to glowing blue and orange holes in the wall. Hawl thought it was a pretty good place, even if what it sold was mostly the same overpriced burgers as every other restaurant in the theme park. And even though finding the men's room was hell.

He took out the free pass he'd gotten as an early Christmas present. It was a fancy plastic card, faintly translucent and glittery. Showing it off had helped get him the ticket for this weekend; maybe it counted as one of those obnoxious (but useful) cards that let you cut in line. He had a meal to pass the time, then stretched and headed out for another crack at the rides.

It was starting to get dark quickly. The park looked different by dusk: the fake cartoonish buildings blended in better than they would in brighter light. Hawl realized he'd left by a different door, not surprisingly, and come into a whole other district of the park. This was the cartoon zone, based on the latest over-merchandized movies. Nice coloration, and a lot of contrast between the cheery "Noisytown" and... what was the spooky castle over there supposed to be? Hawl didn't remember it from the movies' advertising. There didn't seem to be much of a line outside, so it looked like a welcome break from standing around.

Hawl passed a cart selling whole turkey legs for the third time today, and found his way blocked by a rope. There was a whole zigzag area for people to stand around like he'd been doing for other rides, but this one was empty. Closed, presumably. But just a moment ago he'd seen somebody walking in. Odd. Hawl ducked under the rope to check the place out. The empty line became a tunnel into the castle. He saw torches along the walls that took a moment to recognize as fake electric things. No sign of the other people in line, but obviously this was the way into the ride. Which ride, though? He pulled out his park map and saw it gleaming eerily in the fake torchlight. He was in Cartoon Zone, and so this must be... Mouse Quest Castle. Not ''that'' cartoon mouse, thankfully; there'd been a recent movie about a bunch of adventurers who'd been turned into mice for some reason.

There was no actual ride listed here, though; the map was outdated. Hawl shrugged and headed farther down the tunnel to find out whether this was a roller coaster or a motion simulator or what. Other than one sign warning people away if they were bothered by flashing lights, there wasn't much to indicate that he was even walking into a ride. Hawl pulled a silver pocketwatch from his back pocket and realized he'd been walking through this castle for ten minutes. There was a grinding noise ahead, and dripping water, but when he got to the actual ride, no one was working there. He'd come to a tunnel that led into darkness, with a set of carts on a track. The ride was running as though nothing were wrong.

Hawl sighed. Was the ride open or not? Considering that the ride attendants were basically only there to keep some kid or stupid person from hurting themselves, he might as well see what this thing was. He took out a large wooden sign and a marker from somewhere, set them down, and wrote "Unattended Ride -- Use At Own Risk" for anybody else who walked in. He hopped into a cart, thought better of it, and attached a complaints box to the sign plus paper and pencils. There! He flicked his ears back, got back on the ride and let the cart carry him away into the tunnel.

Creepy music started up. He hadn't seen the movie this place was based on, but it seemed scarier than typical cartoon fare. Something about ravenous cats prowling for prey. He actually found himself ducking in his seat when the special effects started up. Lots of flame jets and swinging blades and feline shadows. The cart sped up and the track veered this way and that through a dungeon. What had started out as a vaguely gothy "It's A Small World After All" had started to become a roller coaster... And he was all alone in the tunnels.

It was a relief when the cart finally stopped. Hawl had been in the dark so long that the lights of the exit station seemed surreal, like blacklights making everything from the walls to his skin glow. The last bit had featured an evil cat king about to eat him; Hawl felt like he was clawing at the seat, more scared than he had any right to be. He managed to laugh. "That was ''not'' a kids' ride," he said, as the cart's safety bar released. He got up and stretched...

Just in time for the cart to plummet into darkness with him standing in it.

#

Hawl woke up lying painfully on his back, in a dark room. He'd squashed one leg under him... huh? No, that was... He sat up and saw a glowing pair of paw-like hands. His hands! A whiplike tail was squashed under him. Attached to him! He scrambled to his feet and looked himself over. It was as though he'd been doused in glowing paint and decorated like a mouse! He tried to brush away the grey fur painted along his arms, but the stuff wouldn't come off. The faint light overhead had that same unreal quality that made everything glow without really lighting it up usefully. That had to be why he looked like this, yeah, plus nerves. He laughed. He'd get out of here and tell everyone it was an awesome ride, very convincing.

The only door out of this little spot was locked. He pounded on it and shouted, but no one came. What was going on? He looked around and realized that the room looked like a fantasy castle's version of a broom closet, with a glowing oversize key on a high shelf. He tried to hop up to the thing and only fell over backwards onto the stone floor, hard enough that he thought he'd be badly hurt. Instead, though, he felt like he'd been squashed against the floor for a moment and sprung back up without a scratch. Weird! Even so, he couldn't grab the key. In frustration he took out a battleaxe and just smashed the door down.

"Wait a minute. Where did I get this?!" Hawl found he was holding an unreasonably big steel axe notched with heavy use, with a tiny scrawled inscription reading "Property Of Ulfric". It glowed like everything else in here. Come to think of it, where had he gotten that sign earlier, or the pocketwatch? The door was laying in pieces on the floor. Hawl dropped the axe so that he didn't get arrested or something, then hurried out. He glanced back into the room and saw that the axe had vanished, like it had stopped existing as soon as he wasn't paying attention to it.

A feline hiss distracted him. He was back along the ride's tunnel! He stumbled through the darkness toward the way he'd come out before, trying to ignore the spooky effects. An empty cart whooshed past, too fast to get into. Finally he made it back to the station and hopped out to relatively normal ground, still not seeing anyone. "Hello?" There was an exit at last. He could get out of this weird light and figure out what had happened to him.

The outdoor air was a little chilly. Night had fallen. Hawl saw people still walking around, though a lot fewer than before. He glanced at them, then looked back down at himself. He still looked mousy and had the same unearthly glow, even in the same streetlight glare as the other guests. "Okay, apparently I'm seeing things." He wondered whether to try walking out there and risk being seen. Why not?

"Hey, look! It's one of the mascots. Wave hello, dear!" A mother beamed at him and got her kid to wave meekly. Hawl waved back, confused. He supposed he did fit in pretty well with the toon castle theme, if he was glowing and mousy like this. So had he been doused in special paint, or what? Hopefully somebody around here would know. He walked down the toon-city street and headed for the next area of the park, in search of answers.

He hesitated at the bridge where cartoonish colors gave way to dark jungle wood. It felt as though crossing it was special, somehow. He took out a giant, ancient-looking scroll from his back pocket and... "Now wait a minute." He glanced back and realized he wasn't actually wearing pants anymore, just a long and vaguely medieval tunic. Great; not even the gift shops sold pants! He took a few steps, trying to figure out where he'd have the best chance of finding someone in charge... and stepped across the bridge without meaning to.

He shivered and felt fur bristling along his tail. He marveled at being able to feel the thing curling behind him at all. "Stripes, now?" It didn't look mousy anymore, and nor did his paws. He glanced at the map again and saw he'd crossed over into the Lost Temple Zone, full of towering trees and jungle drums. That kind of matched what he was seeing now: orange and black stripes all along his arms and tail, like... "A tiger. I've turned into a big cat now?" He ducked into the trees to hide and think. The medieval tunic was shifting now too. Starting to look like a ragged, buttoned shirt tied up around his chest to leave his midriff bare. He was going to get arrested for running around half-naked. Yeesh! He whipped out a sewing machine, tore down some big leaves from the trees, and quickly made a proper skirt for himself so there wouldn't be any lovestruck explorer guys expecting him to pounce on them.

Hawl stood in the little jungle, starting to count just how many things were wrong with what he'd just done and thought. Now that he looked himself over again, that shirt looked awfully puffy around the chest. He poked at it with his hands, trying not to use his tiger claws, and blushed. Considering how well the skirt fit around his hips, too... well, her hips, the new form seemed to be a tiger-girl. Okay, she ''had'' to get this situation dealt with somehow! Forgetting the sewing machine, she dashed back across the bridge to try undoing the latest change first... Whew! She found herself turning back into a mouse, not that that counted as normal. The jungle finery was shifting back too, into a dress. "Oh, come on! Not even back into a mouse-guy?" She harumphed and crossed back to jungle land to be a tigress again. "This isn't too bad," she started to think.

Park guests were staring at her. She purred, enjoying the attention now. Whatever had happened, there were much worse fates than taking a vacation as a tigress.

"Hey, miss! How does that costume work?"

It took Hawl a while to figure out that the guy over there was talking to her. She blushed. "What costume?"

The tourist laughed. "In-character, I see. Makes sense for a toon."

When the man had walked on, Hawl asked herself, "Is that what I am? A cartoon?" It would explain a few things, sort of. "If that's true then I should be able to..." She pulled out a jungle spear from... someplace. It had felt like reaching into a strange, cold space hidden behind her back. She chucked the spear into a nearby tree and used it as a springboard to vault into the treetops, before realizing she could do that too. She lurked in the branches, tail lashing, thinking vaguely about dinner as she looked down on the park guests.

"Psst." A man in a yellow suit leaned casually against a trunk, twenty feet off the ground.

Hawl nearly fell from her perch. "How'd you get up here?" He didn't look like another toon.

He flashed a badge. "Park security. We can go anywhere. ''Anywhere''." The man gave an insincere smile. "Apparently you've been into a spot you shouldn't have."

"The ride looked open! At least I saw somebody else going in, and the ride was running."

"That was a couple of our technicians, working on the special equipment. At Adventure Studios we bring people movie magic. People don't quite understand how sincere we are about that. Usually it's hidden behind animatronics and other stagecraft."

Hawl looked down at her glowing body. "So I'm actually a toon now?"

"Of course. Experimental procedure. It was meant to be more subtle, for a new group of park mascots, but you got the full dose when you blundered into the castle. So, you live here now. You're hired."

Hawl hopped over to the man's branch, which swayed under them. "Wait a minute. I never signed up for this. Can I get turned back, at least partway?" She had to admit she wouldn't quite want to go back to being a human guy, but being a living toon might be inconvenient.

The man shrugged. "You can be whatever the park needs. You've crossed over from the toon castle district to the jungle, and noticed the changes there, right? Try walking toward the Mars Mania ride or the Robot Riderz Xtreem Arkayd or Chef Veggie's FableTable and you'll adapt."

"So why didn't I go back to mouse-man when I tried crossing the bridge again?"

"This is new 'technology' to us too. It seems to give you forms you're happy with, so apparently you don't mind too much. You make a fine tigress, I must say."

Hawl's head spun and her foot-claws dug into the wood. "What about when I go outside the park?"

Another smile. "I said, you live here now. The..." He lowered his voice. "The spell doesn't seem to sustain a toon anywhere past parking lot B. But hey, there are plenty of places you can live while you work here, and there are bound to be new attractions built over the decades."

"Decades..." said Hawl. Stuck here forever? It might actually be forever, so long as the theme park existed.

"Hey, don't feel bad. It'll be fun. You get to participate in special events like the Christmas... uh, Holiday Parade. Why don't you come down and check it out? It should be starting soon by the Congo Cruise."

Hawl didn't know what to make of all this. There was a bit of tiger instinct pushing her, though, or maybe cartoon-logic instinct. Instead of calmly making her way back down the tree, she tackled the security guy, pulled out a trampoline in midair, tossed it down, and bounced with him a couple of times before landing on all fours with a big toothy grin and a lashing tail. "Okay then," she said. "If I'm working here, I have free run of the place."

The man's suit was disheveled and he was shaking, brushing bits of glowing toon fur off it. "Y-yes, of course."

"Then I'm off!" She bounded away from him to go exploring without any more hand-holding. There'd be plenty of time to figure this toon thing out. It could be fun.

The jungle land gave way to more fake snow. People in ordinary costumes were lining up to show off in stilts and princess gowns and other boring gigs. She'd get to strut around as a tigress! She scratched around her ears, wondering why her head felt heavy all of the sudden. She got her answer when the antlers came in, and when her fingers turned into hoofy things. No more stripes! Now she was getting an implausible furry skirt and sweater that left her legs bare, down to her new foot-hooves. Red-and-white Santa gear on brown fur. "Reindeer!" she said, and laughed. There was a lot of potential here to be something new, to change with the seasons and her mood.

Hawl grinned, and hopped into the parade line for the first of many times.
[[category:story]][[category:Kris]][[category:Mouse]][[category:Deer]][[category:Anthropomorphic]][[category:Transgender]][[category:Tiger]]

A Walk in the Park

2013-03-24T22:36:56Z

Kris: Categories

Hawl grumbled. His free pass to Adventure Studios wasn't valid this weekend. It was supposed to be good through the end of the year, but this weekend was some kind of special Christmas event. He managed to argue his way into a half-price pass for the weekend, anyhow. The park wanted him to come in and spend money, right?

The whole park was relentlessly decked out in Christmas stuff. Fake snow, candy canes, and speakers blaring absolutely every generic carol known to Man. All despite the place being in Florida, and seventy degrees and sunny. Hawl walked around in a t-shirt past piles of cotton snow. The rides were all open, but mobbed with tourists. Hawl stood in line for forty-five minutes or so to watch a 3D-ish movie with water jets and confetti being blown at him for some reason, and that took around five minutes. Blah. He tested out one of the roller coasters for more excitement. Forty-five minutes to wait, five minutes of terror.

He was getting impatient from standing in lines. Hawl sighed and gave up on the rides for now. The whole park was overrun with people, so that he kept banging into someone whenever he moved without glancing over one shoulder. Blah! He dodged away from the worst crowds and found himself in one of the restaurants, the Doorway Cafe. Doors everywhere, from ornate temple gateways to glowing blue and orange holes in the wall. Hawl thought it was a pretty good place, even if what it sold was mostly the same overpriced burgers as every other restaurant in the theme park. And even though finding the men's room was hell.

He took out the free pass he'd gotten as an early Christmas present. It was a fancy plastic card, faintly translucent and glittery. Showing it off had helped get him the ticket for this weekend; maybe it counted as one of those obnoxious (but useful) cards that let you cut in line. He had a meal to pass the time, then stretched and headed out for another crack at the rides.

It was starting to get dark quickly. The park looked different by dusk: the fake cartoonish buildings blended in better than they would in brighter light. Hawl realized he'd left by a different door, not surprisingly, and come into a whole other district of the park. This was the cartoon zone, based on the latest over-merchandized movies. Nice coloration, and a lot of contrast between the cheery "Noisytown" and... what was the spooky castle over there supposed to be? Hawl didn't remember it from the movies' advertising. There didn't seem to be much of a line outside, so it looked like a welcome break from standing around.

Hawl passed a cart selling whole turkey legs for the third time today, and found his way blocked by a rope. There was a whole zigzag area for people to stand around like he'd been doing for other rides, but this one was empty. Closed, presumably. But just a moment ago he'd seen somebody walking in. Odd. Hawl ducked under the rope to check the place out. The empty line became a tunnel into the castle. He saw torches along the walls that took a moment to recognize as fake electric things. No sign of the other people in line, but obviously this was the way into the ride. Which ride, though? He pulled out his park map and saw it gleaming eerily in the fake torchlight. He was in Cartoon Zone, and so this must be... Mouse Quest Castle. Not ''that'' cartoon mouse, thankfully; there'd been a recent movie about a bunch of adventurers who'd been turned into mice for some reason.

There was no actual ride listed here, though; the map was outdated. Hawl shrugged and headed farther down the tunnel to find out whether this was a roller coaster or a motion simulator or what. Other than one sign warning people away if they were bothered by flashing lights, there wasn't much to indicate that he was even walking into a ride. Hawl pulled a silver pocketwatch from his back pocket and realized he'd been walking through this castle for ten minutes. There was a grinding noise ahead, and dripping water, but when he got to the actual ride, no one was working there. He'd come to a tunnel that led into darkness, with a set of carts on a track. The ride was running as though nothing were wrong.

Hawl sighed. Was the ride open or not? Considering that the ride attendants were basically only there to keep some kid or stupid person from hurting themselves, he might as well see what this thing was. He took out a large wooden sign and a marker from somewhere, set them down, and wrote "Unattended Ride -- Use At Own Risk" for anybody else who walked in. He hopped into a cart, thought better of it, and attached a complaints box to the sign plus paper and pencils. There! He flicked his ears back, got back on the ride and let the cart carry him away into the tunnel.

Creepy music started up. He hadn't seen the movie this place was based on, but it seemed scarier than typical cartoon fare. Something about ravenous cats prowling for prey. He actually found himself ducking in his seat when the special effects started up. Lots of flame jets and swinging blades and feline shadows. The cart sped up and the track veered this way and that through a dungeon. What had started out as a vaguely gothy "It's A Small World After All" had started to become a roller coaster... And he was all alone in the tunnels.

It was a relief when the cart finally stopped. Hawl had been in the dark so long that the lights of the exit station seemed surreal, like blacklights making everything from the walls to his skin glow. The last bit had featured an evil cat king about to eat him; Hawl felt like he was clawing at the seat, more scared than he had any right to be. He managed to laugh. "That was ''not'' a kids' ride," he said, as the cart's safety bar released. He got up and stretched...

Just in time for the cart to plummet into darkness with him standing in it.

#

Hawl woke up lying painfully on his back, in a dark room. He'd squashed one leg under him... huh? No, that was... He sat up and saw a glowing pair of paw-like hands. His hands! A whiplike tail was squashed under him. Attached to him! He scrambled to his feet and looked himself over. It was as though he'd been doused in glowing paint and decorated like a mouse! He tried to brush away the grey fur painted along his arms, but the stuff wouldn't come off. The faint light overhead had that same unreal quality that made everything glow without really lighting it up usefully. That had to be why he looked like this, yeah, plus nerves. He laughed. He'd get out of here and tell everyone it was an awesome ride, very convincing.

The only door out of this little spot was locked. He pounded on it and shouted, but no one came. What was going on? He looked around and realized that the room looked like a fantasy castle's version of a broom closet, with a glowing oversize key on a high shelf. He tried to hop up to the thing and only fell over backwards onto the stone floor, hard enough that he thought he'd be badly hurt. Instead, though, he felt like he'd been squashed against the floor for a moment and sprung back up without a scratch. Weird! Even so, he couldn't grab the key. In frustration he took out a battleaxe and just smashed the door down.

"Wait a minute. Where did I get this?!" Hawl found he was holding an unreasonably big steel axe notched with heavy use, with a tiny scrawled inscription reading "Property Of Ulfric". It glowed like everything else in here. Come to think of it, where had he gotten that sign earlier, or the pocketwatch? The door was laying in pieces on the floor. Hawl dropped the axe so that he didn't get arrested or something, then hurried out. He glanced back into the room and saw that the axe had vanished, like it had stopped existing as soon as he wasn't paying attention to it.

A feline hiss distracted him. He was back along the ride's tunnel! He stumbled through the darkness toward the way he'd come out before, trying to ignore the spooky effects. An empty cart whooshed past, too fast to get into. Finally he made it back to the station and hopped out to relatively normal ground, still not seeing anyone. "Hello?" There was an exit at last. He could get out of this weird light and figure out what had happened to him.

The outdoor air was a little chilly. Night had fallen. Hawl saw people still walking around, though a lot fewer than before. He glanced at them, then looked back down at himself. He still looked mousy and had the same unearthly glow, even in the same streetlight glare as the other guests. "Okay, apparently I'm seeing things." He wondered whether to try walking out there and risk being seen. Why not?

"Hey, look! It's one of the mascots. Wave hello, dear!" A mother beamed at him and got her kid to wave meekly. Hawl waved back, confused. He supposed he did fit in pretty well with the toon castle theme, if he was glowing and mousy like this. So had he been doused in special paint, or what? Hopefully somebody around here would know. He walked down the toon-city street and headed for the next area of the park, in search of answers.

He hesitated at the bridge where cartoonish colors gave way to dark jungle wood. It felt as though crossing it was special, somehow. He took out a giant, ancient-looking scroll from his back pocket and... "Now wait a minute." He glanced back and realized he wasn't actually wearing pants anymore, just a long and vaguely medieval tunic. Great; not even the gift shops sold pants! He took a few steps, trying to figure out where he'd have the best chance of finding someone in charge... and stepped across the bridge without meaning to.

He shivered and felt fur bristling along his tail. He marveled at being able to feel the thing curling behind him at all. "Stripes, now?" It didn't look mousy anymore, and nor did his paws. He glanced at the map again and saw he'd crossed over into the Lost Temple Zone, full of towering trees and jungle drums. That kind of matched what he was seeing now: orange and black stripes all along his arms and tail, like... "A tiger. I've turned into a big cat now?" He ducked into the trees to hide and think. The medieval tunic was shifting now too. Starting to look like a ragged, buttoned shirt tied up around his chest to leave his midriff bare. He was going to get arrested for running around half-naked. Yeesh! He whipped out a sewing machine, tore down some big leaves from the trees, and quickly made a proper skirt for himself so there wouldn't be any lovestruck explorer guys expecting him to pounce on them.

Hawl stood in the little jungle, starting to count just how many things were wrong with what he'd just done and thought. Now that he looked himself over again, that shirt looked awfully puffy around the chest. He poked at it with his hands, trying not to use his tiger claws, and blushed. Considering how well the skirt fit around his hips, too... well, her hips, the new form seemed to be a tiger-girl. Okay, she ''had'' to get this situation dealt with somehow! Forgetting the sewing machine, she dashed back across the bridge to try undoing the latest change first... Whew! She found herself turning back into a mouse, not that that counted as normal. The jungle finery was shifting back too, into a dress. "Oh, come on! Not even back into a mouse-guy?" She harumphed and crossed back to jungle land to be a tigress again. "This isn't too bad," she started to think.

Park guests were staring at her. She purred, enjoying the attention now. Whatever had happened, there were much worse fates than taking a vacation as a tigress.

"Hey, miss! How does that costume work?"

It took Hawl a while to figure out that the guy over there was talking to her. She blushed. "What costume?"

The tourist laughed. "In-character, I see. Makes sense for a toon."

When the man had walked on, Hawl asked herself, "Is that what I am? A cartoon?" It would explain a few things, sort of. "If that's true then I should be able to..." She pulled out a jungle spear from... someplace. It had felt like reaching into a strange, cold space hidden behind her back. She chucked the spear into a nearby tree and used it as a springboard to vault into the treetops, before realizing she could do that too. She lurked in the branches, tail lashing, thinking vaguely about dinner as she looked down on the park guests.

"Psst." A man in a yellow suit leaned casually against a trunk, twenty feet off the ground.

Hawl nearly fell from her perch. "How'd you get up here?" He didn't look like another toon.

He flashed a badge. "Park security. We can go anywhere. ''Anywhere''." The man gave an insincere smile. "Apparently you've been into a spot you shouldn't have."

"The ride looked open! At least I saw somebody else going in, and the ride was running."

"That was a couple of our technicians, working on the special equipment. At Adventure Studios we bring people movie magic. People don't quite understand how sincere we are about that. Usually it's hidden behind animatronics and other stagecraft."

Hawl looked down at her glowing body. "So I'm actually a toon now?"

"Of course. Experimental procedure. It was meant to be more subtle, for a new group of park mascots, but you got the full dose when you blundered into the castle. So, you live here now. You're hired."

Hawl hopped over to the man's branch, which swayed under them. "Wait a minute. I never signed up for this. Can I get turned back, at least partway?" She had to admit she wouldn't quite want to go back to being a human guy, but being a living toon might be inconvenient.

The man shrugged. "You can be whatever the park needs. You've crossed over from the toon castle district to the jungle, and noticed the changes there, right? Try walking toward the Mars Mania ride or the Robot Riderz Xtreem Arkayd or Chef Veggie's FableTable and you'll adapt."

"So why didn't I go back to mouse-man when I tried crossing the bridge again?"

"This is new 'technology' to us too. It seems to give you forms you're happy with, so apparently you don't mind too much. You make a fine tigress, I must say."

Hawl's head spun and her foot-claws dug into the wood. "What about when I go outside the park?"

Another smile. "I said, you live here now. The..." He lowered his voice. "The spell doesn't seem to sustain a toon anywhere past parking lot B. But hey, there are plenty of places you can live while you work here, and there are bound to be new attractions built over the decades."

"Decades..." said Hawl. Stuck here forever? It might actually be forever, so long as the theme park existed.

"Hey, don't feel bad. It'll be fun. You get to participate in special events like the Christmas... uh, Holiday Parade. Why don't you come down and check it out? It should be starting soon by the Congo Cruise."

Hawl didn't know what to make of all this. There was a bit of tiger instinct pushing her, though, or maybe cartoon-logic instinct. Instead of calmly making her way back down the tree, she tackled the security guy, pulled out a trampoline in midair, tossed it down, and bounced with him a couple of times before landing on all fours with a big toothy grin and a lashing tail. "Okay then," she said. "If I'm working here, I have free run of the place."

The man's suit was disheveled and he was shaking, brushing bits of glowing toon fur off it. "Y-yes, of course."

"Then I'm off!" She bounded away from him to go exploring without any more hand-holding. There'd be plenty of time to figure this toon thing out. It could be fun.

The jungle land gave way to more fake snow. People in ordinary costumes were lining up to show off in stilts and princess gowns and other boring gigs. She'd get to strut around as a tigress! She scratched around her ears, wondering why her head felt heavy all of the sudden. She got her answer when the antlers came in, and when her fingers turned into hoofy things. No more stripes! Now she was getting an implausible furry skirt and sweater that left her legs bare, down to her new foot-hooves. Red-and-white Santa gear on brown fur. "Reindeer!" she said, and laughed. There was a lot of potential here to be something new, to change with the seasons and her mood.

Hawl grinned, and hopped into the parade line for the first of many times.
[[category:story]][[category:Kris]][[category:Mouse]][[category:Reindeer]][[category:Anthropomorphic]]

So You're Becoming a Taur

2013-03-24T22:32:08Z

Kris: Categories

'''So You're Becoming a Taur'''

'''Part of the Transformation Information Series'''

'''by GeneTech Inc.'''

This information pamphlet is meant to guide you through the difficult transition to a centauroid or "taur" body. Being a taur can be fun! Be careful and you'll prevent any "taurible" mistakes.

''"Why Is This Happening?": Your Change''

Many people have asked this basic question. In some cases, becoming a taur is entirely voluntary, thanks to GeneTech's cutting-edge TaurMe (tm) technology. In other cases, several national legal systems have alleged that our experimental nanite varieties are to blame. GeneTech assumes no liability for these accidental product releases, as any alleged releases were due to the actions of terminated employees, but is proud to offer free product support to encourage the Taur Lifestyle (tm) and make sure you are happy with the effects. Thus far, voluntary TaurMe (tm) users are limited to GeneTech employees, so if you're reading this, consider yourself a lucky "voluntaur!"

You may have been exposed at one of several "intaurnational" airports, or through your town's water supply due to inadequate "filtauring". We regret the inconvenience caused by the "perpetrataurs" but are excited about the chance to reveal our products to the world.

If you encounter taur-related changes in local wildlife (an unlikely possibility), please contact our Customer Support site immediately and drink only bottled beverages until the situation has been resolved. If you detect symptoms in yourself or family members, you may continue to drink local water without affecting the outcome.

''Symptoms and the T(au)ransition''

The first symptoms of TaurMe (tm) technology or as it is popularly known, the "taur virus", vary by individual and by the exact variant you received. Typically, you should expect a mild fever followed by fur growth beginning around the midsection, along with a spine extension that becomes a tail. Don't worry; that weird fleshy thing sticking out behind you will soon fill out with beautiful fur! Because TaurMe (tm) offers a wide variety of mammal species to choose from, don't be surprised to see leopard spots, skunk stripes, raccoon rings or various other fun animal patterns appearing on your body. In customers so far, it has usually been possible to guess the eventual species within 24 hours of the first fur appearance. No "human-taurs" have yet been reported, and our scientists are nearly certain such an option is impossible. (If you detect scales, feathers, wings, or signs of species hybrids such as griffins, contact Customer Support, as you may have been exposed to our most advanced and experimental nanites with a high chance of side effects.)

The actual taur part of your change should begin about an hour after your tail first appears. There are two known variants. The "Midpaw" nanite program causes an additional set of animal feet to grow out from your torso, then extends that torso while gradually bending your growing spine backwards into an L-like shape. The "Hindpaw" program keeps your current feet where they are, and extends your body behind you to include a new rear set of legs. In either case, this part of the change has been reported to take anywhere from a day to a week, typically 2-3 days. The unfinished taur body can be quite awkward, so we highly recommend getting help from friends and family members and trying to rest.

You may also notice side effects due to the many interesting features of TaurMe (tm) technology. Most new taurs report a series of vivid dreams over several days, that seem to ease them into the idea of walking on four legs and having an animal-like body, with dream elements such as fur grooming and athletic activities. These experiences are usually quite pleasant and are helpful for mental adjustment to the extra limbs. A substantial fraction of our inadvertent customers find that they are experiencing a change of gender as well as shape and species. You may find yourself substantially different "back there" as your taur half grows in! Not to worry; this transition seems to be encoded into the acclimation dreams as well, assisting you in feeling comfortable with your changing body. Psychological counseling is available from GeneTech for people troubled by this effect, along with discounts on our upcoming licensed transformation products (expected next year). Finally, striking and attractive color pattens have been known to occur, such as a blue raccoon body or a bright orange fox. If you experience other side effects -- which are all purely speculative and unlikely in nearly all cases, we assure you -- contact us immediately.

''Living With the Taur Effect''

Once you have adapted to walking, you will need to master other basic tasks. Most taur species created by TaurMe (tm) technology are flexible enough that you should be able to sprawl on your backs or curl around in other ways to reach most of your body easily. (Certain species such as horse-based taurs have less flexibility and will require additional training.) The taur spine is quite sturdy and mobile. We suggest mastering basic hygene tasks first, followed by dressing. A good start for clothing is to wear a shirt and a loose-fitting pair of swim trunks for modesty, with a hole cut for your tail. Some customers argue that pants are too inconvenient, but we do not endorse violating public indecency laws. (Our legal department expects to lobby for your freedom to wear what you please, but is currently busy in court with the alleged "taurrorist attack". Signing a liability waiver and accepting our generous assistance program will help us help you!)

Some other daily activities are more difficult with a taur body. Climbing narrow staircases, sitting on normal chairs, and other home and workplace tasks have led our customers to suggest an entire line of taur-friendly home furnishings. Due to the unexpected early product rollout for TaurMe (tm) technology, our Four-On-the-Floor (tm) furniture is not yet available, but feel free to place a pre-order and sign up for free product updates on "Twitaur" and Facebook. In time, we expect breakthroughs in home and office design that will make life more ergonomic for both taurs and ordinary humans.

Other activities are easier with a taur body. Most of our customers find they have increased endurance and running speed, and are excellent climbers. Check out our Web site for ideas on fun outdoor sports and exercise! We have also partnered with the FreedomBurg Resort and Otter Bounds Adventure Tours for customized, taur-centered vacation experiences. You'll make more friends than you can count on four hands!

''Frequently Asked Questions''

Q: Are there any [species]?
A: Check our forum for a running tally of known species and other social contact with fellow taurs!

Q: Is this contagious?
A: Fortunately, TaurMe (tm) technology does not spread from person to person, and inactivates in each new taur after the transformation is complete. Go ahead, give your friends a big taur double-hug!

Q: Will I be able to use these middle paw things as hands?
A: Some taurs gain thumbs on their forepaws, but these are not true hands and are not as dexterous. True hands would be too vulnerable to broken thumbs while running. Still, some new taurs are able to use computer keyboards with them, and most are able to use simple tools. If you find yourself growing hooves, you should also expect your actual hands to become somewhat hooflike, but don't worry; they will still be usable.

Q: I seem to have gained one gender without losing the other! Am I not done changing?
A: Dual-gendered forms are one of the many fun options built into TaurMe (tm) technology.

Q: Will I get telepathy/magic/superpowers?
A: GeneTech does not endorse occult beliefs or practices. No such features are known to be possible.

Q: What if I don't like what I've become?
A: You may be eligible for discounted treatment with other strains of TaurMe (tm) technology once our official product rollout begins. Sign up now to be notified when we're done checking the code to compensate for the alleged security breach by our former employees.

Q: I can't get away from all the taur puns, let alone being stared at.
A: Taurs are brand-new! You should expect a lot of attention and admiration, and unfortunately some "hate-taurs" who are the same people that laughed at you for buying the latest phone. You can handle some meanness in the world; you've got two hearts! In time the excitement will shift away from how novel you are, and you'll fit right in. Several celebrities have already asked to become taurs. If you face discrimination, our legal department will fight for your rights as soon as the lawsuits are resolved!

Q: Wait, two hearts?
A: Yes! Your exciting new anatomy is specially adapted for the Taur Lifestyle (tm). You should notice a dual heartbeat and a second set of lungs, located in your new "taurso". The health benefits of backup organs are just one of several advantages of TaurMe (tm) technology, along with optional USB data ports, skeletal reinforcement, built-in sunglasses, and other futuristic upgrades. Depending on which settings your nanites received, you might just get to be the first people to try out all-new features that are not yet available to the public! Be sure to report any cool, exciting experiences you may have as you master your new body.
[[category:story]][[category:Kris]][[category:Taur]]

The Agency

2013-03-24T22:27:22Z

Kris: Categories

__NOTOC__
== 1 ==

Ty's parents kept talking about how special it was to visit Cuba, so he tried to look interested. Their tour guide was trying too hard to make ancient history sound exciting. "Right here was where the missiles were going to be installed. Picture the Americans staring down by satellite, deciding whether to strike..." They'd been walking for an hour.

Emily was playing video games on her phone and trying not to let Mom and Dad see her doing it. "They should've just killed 'em all." Her black-furred ears kept flicking to keep track of the tour group, and she followed without tripping over anyone's tail or missing her turn in "Henhouse Raider". Ty wasn't sure how she did it.

"Who?" said Ty. He was paying more attention to the architecture: the run-down buildings and the workmen and robots that were putting up shiny new apartment spires. He realized that the streets were different in each neighborhood; the cracked pavement was getting replaced with some kind of super-sturdy moss. Neat technology!

"All of the guys in charge. That Castro guy, the guy before him and the one after. How long did it take these people to get their act together after they stopped having a thug in charge? Like, five years?"

"I guess." Ty flopped gratefully onto a chair; the tour guide had paused at a cafe. He flicked his tail out of the way and gaped when the waiter, a fox like him but more of a fennec breed, asked if he wanted beer. Dad grinned and snatched the liquor menu out of Ty's hands. Ty let his ears droop sheepishly. Emily looked angelic; Ty could already guess she'd talk him into letting her have a sip of his.

The tour guide went on about old revolutions. Ty watched the people. Foxes, felines, some otters from the sea colonies. He spotted something odd and tugged Mom's sleeve. "What's that?" There was a construction robot that didn't look like the ones he'd spotted earlier. It was prowling around the cafe, and it knocked over an empty table with that metal tube it was carrying. A wolf man was trying to steer the bot back on course... No, he wasn't. He was saying, "Now!"

Mom gasped and shoved Ty and Emily down. Just then, the bot's gun barrel started firing. Everyone screamed. Ty could see clawed feet stampeding all around. A bullet clanged and dented the metal table just overhead.

Emily was trying to wriggle out of Dad's grip. "What are you doing?!" Ty hissed.

"Sneak away!" But they couldn't. It was raining bullets.

Mom was murmuring in fear; she snagged Emily's tail and wouldn't let go. Ty found he'd curled up in a fuzzy ball and was shivering. He heard people screaming all around and there were uniformed men fighting, and bots with guns. He tried to talk, but only a choked sob came out.

Dad was saying something to Mom, and she nodded. Ty couldn't hear; he was trying to scrunch up as small as possible. He wasn't prepared, then, when Dad yanked him and Emily up by the scruff of the neck and burst out from under the table. He ''roared'', more lion than fox. There were thudding sounds all around Ty. Dad charged out of the cafe that'd become a killing zone. He was staggering, but he managed to throw the kids. Ty was falling in a fuzzy ball, and he caught glimpses of an alley, of Emily somewhere, of Dad shouting some more and turning to face the men with guns, of a table with Mom under it... everything at once. And then he hit the ground and lost track of it all.

== 2 ==

Ty woke up slowly, in a fluffy bed. The room had only a dim nightlight and a set of closed window drapes. His claws dug into the covers when he remembered what he'd just seen. "Mom? Dad?" That all had to be a nightmare, right? This wasn't his room or the hotel. It was wrong.

Ty kicked the covers off of him and stood. He was wearing red and white pajamas that matched his fur. He didn't own any like this. ''Had to be a nightmare,'' he thought again. There was a fridge in his room... no, it was a metal door. There was no knob, just a panel with a red light. He rapped at the door, saying, "Hello?"

No answer. He went to the window, pulled the curtains open, and saw Havana. So he was still in Cuba, on vacation. Except when he peered close, he saw pixels. Fake! He slashed at the window before he knew what he was doing. Claws skittered across tough plastic.

A machine voice poured into the room. "Good morning. We'll be with you in a moment." Ty couldn't find the speaker.

"Where am I? Where's Dad?"

The door slid open. A tall vixen in a white uniform stood there, smiling down at him. "You're safe now."

"Where is everyone?" Ty said. The smile scared him.

"Don't worry, dear. We'll take good care of you."

Ty's fur prickled all over and he took a step toward the fox, shouting, "Where!?"

The woman reached toward him to scratch his hair, but stopped. She put one hand to her ear as though listening to something, then nodded. "I'm afraid there's been a terrible disaster. A terrorist attack. Some very bad people opened fire on a cafe, and you were the only one we found."

Ty went wide-eyed and shook all over. "They've gotta be around here somewhere! Let me look!"

"I'm sorry, dear." The look in the vixen's eyes told Ty everything he needed to know, more than the words themselves. It couldn't be true. Mom and Dad and Emily would jump into the room any minute now and they could all go home and have everything be normal again. He'd pull his sister's tail and she'd slip sneezing powder into his schoolbooks again and their parents would ground them both. It'd be fun.

Ty quivered, then ran the last few steps to the woman and bawled, sniffling pathetically into her arms.

== 3 ==

It seemed like a long time later. Ty was sitting in a steel room with nice furniture that included a psychiatrist. The ferret man and his musk seemed like part of the room just as much as the couch and chairs and boring landscape paintings. Nothing that the man said made an impression on Ty; it was like listening to rain. Bullet rain.

But then the man said, "This isn't a hospital, actually."

Ty lay on the couch. He'd squeezed his eyes shut and kept an arm over his face to keep the tears in, so nobody would see. "Then what is it? Who are you people?"

"Secret agents, young man. People who fight the sort of killers that attacked you."

Ty said, "Sure you are. And this is your base?"

"Yes. Is there more can we tell you? This is the first time you've talked in days."

Ty's memory was hazy. There'd been dim rooms and blobs of ink on paper, a nurse, some medicine. And nightmares. During the day he was better... "Are we underground or something? I haven't seen any real windows."

"Clever of you! Yes, most of the Facility is hidden below ground. There's only a warehouse with a bland government-sounding name on top. It doesn't sound like much considering all the technology in here, and how important it is."

The young fox's ears turned a little to listen more closely. The last few days had felt like he'd been wrapped in cotton, not really noticing anything. It was probably better that way. Now, though, he could hear the whole building around him humming. Like there were big engines hidden everywhere. "You fight terrorists and rescue people?"

"Something like that, yes. And we take care of people like you that need our help. Take as much time as you need; we're here for you."

"And then what?" Ty said. He sat up, smelling his own tears and squinting at the head doctor through them. There was school and Emily's birthday coming up, and he was still shaking and thinking about terrorists. His claws dug painfully into his knees.

"What do you want to do after you've recovered? You could go back to school, I suppose."

It seemed like the man knew what Ty was thinking, and the frown on his muzzle matched his own. Going home... no, there ''was'' no home. Not anymore. Ty answered in a rush. "Let me stay here and get strong so I can beat them myself! So I can go after the bad guys!"

The ferret-man smiled a little in sympathy. "I don't know if that would work for you. It'd be hard, and it'd keep you very busy. Are you sure?"

"Yes!" There wasn't anything else he could do. Ever. Not after seeing all those people getting shot, after the screaming. Maybe he could make it all go away so no one else would have to go through a day like that.

"I'll see what I can do," the man said. "You're a brave boy, you know that? Volunteering for a dangerous job for the sake of helping others. I think... I think your family would be proud of you."

Ty looked down at the grey carpet. If he thought too much about them he'd start weeping all over again, so he had to quit it. The people here needed him to look tough and be ready to work and do something good. He just nodded, biting down on his tongue and not trusting himself to talk.

== 4 ==

It turned out that whoever ran this place took pity on him. Ty knew that's what they were doing. He was just a kid, not a secret agent. But they gave him a computer full of books about weapons and spycraft. They'd probably just send him to some foster home if he gave up, if he wasn't good enough. The books let him focus on something besides reliving that day, until he reached a chapter about disarming people. He got lost in picturing himself running into the cafe, knocking guns out of people's hands, swiping down at them like ''this!'' He tore a page. He snapped out of his fantasy of stopping the attack, but his heart was still beating fast and his fur was all on end.

Ty stood up and paced the little dining room. Miss Elu, the vixen who'd first spoken to him, had gotten a couple of rooms opened up to make an apartment for him. Now he had his bedroom and bathroom, the dining area with tiny kitchen, and an exercise room with no equipment yet.

She knocked, then came in. "Can I get you lunch?"

"I'm not really hungry," he said, even though she made anything he wanted. He'd been trying to ask for healthy stuff, usually, so he could look fit for the job.

Elu nodded. "Then would you mind coming with me, to see our doctor again?"

"The shrink?"

"No, this is something better. Doctor Gross will explain."

"Doctor ''Gross''?"

She grinned at him, though he hardly recognized what a smile looked like anymore. "You can tease him about it when you see him. Are you ready?"

He followed her through another grey concrete hall. There were numbers on the doors, and hand scanners, but no other labels. His bare feet were quiet on the floor; he'd never liked shoes and no one complained when he kept them off. Behind one of those doors was a doctor's office. "Everything looks like a movie set," Ty said. The office was perfectly normal to the point of having old issues of ''National Anthrographic'' on a shelf and a boring painting of some city with swirly clouds. The doctor, though, didn't fit the mold. He was a great big bear flipping a scalpel around in the fingers of one hand. "That's not for me, is it?" Ty said.

The bear shook his head and flicked the scalpel away, to ''thunk'' into a corkboard behind him. He saw Ty's eyes widen and said, "I'm only playing. Miss Elu tells me you've been keeping healthy."

"Yes, sir," Ty said. He'd tried doing some situps at least. Anything to keep his mind busy and off of other things.

"The bad news is that it would be hard for our organization to use you as you are. The good news is, we may be able to make you more powerful. We've developed a procedure that you're just the right age for."

Ty's brow furrowed and his tail flicked in confusion. "What, like a superhero?" Miss Elu had left him some comic books. Experiments like that had worked on Captain Mareica, but that was just a story. And he hated reading the Bat-Guy one; it struck too close to home.

To his surprise, Doctor Gross said, "Yes, very much like that. You could probably fight a lot of people by yourself. It could be dangerous to have you try this, though."

"What if I don't?"

The doctor shrugged huge shoulders. "Nothing. We try to find you other work. Something safer, maybe."

"Then do it!" Ty said. How could he turn down something like this, a chance to be able to fight back, for a desk job? He'd never forgive himself. He didn't want to even think the thought, but if he didn't make it through the experiment... that was okay too.

That day, the doctor looked him over again and gave him a couple of shots. Ty refused to let himself yelp or whimper. He was dizzy after the tests and the medicine. Then they were taking out some of his blood; he looked away from the plastic tube stuck in his arm and squeezed a rubber ball in his fist when they told him to. It didn't hurt much.

"You did a great job, son," said Gross, slapping him on the back hard enough to make his teeth rattle. "Now go lay down and let Miss Elu fuss over you."

He did. There was even ice cream. And at some point Ty fell asleep. When he woke up, he stood and wobbled over to the bathroom. He felt weird all over, heavy and hungry and with his breathing seeming to come from deeper in his chest. He didn't have X-ray vision, though. He knocked at the door that led out of his apartment, and soon Elu showed up and took him back to the doctor. For more shots, it turned out. ''Ow.'' But they gave him a huge meal after that, more than he'd even known he could eat.

All night he had weird dreams. He towered over a city, trying not to knock the buildings over. Everything was fragile and he was huge! He had to hurry, too, toward that cafe. He got there just in time to see the bad guys -- the wolf and the killer robots. He shouted something and lifted one huge foot up to stomp them all... but it wasn't the wolf, it was Emily. When he tried to stop, he fell over onto her, too big for her to run away from. Someone was pounding at him...

It was a knock on the apartment door. "Ty? Are you all right?"

He was shivering even under his fur and a tangle of blankets and stuffing. He'd clawed at the sheets again. His foot claws were snagged on them too. He moaned, rolled over, and fell off of the bed. "Just the nightmares," he mumbled.

When he stood up, though, he almost fell over again. His balance was all wrong, like there was a weight on his tail. He reached back and scratched himself, then yipped. "What the heck?"

"Are you decent?" asked Elu. "Can I come in?"

He had his pajamas on, but -- he blushed -- something weird had happened to him.

Elu entered on her own, just as he was twisting around to look at himself. There wasn't a good way to describe the problem other than that his butt looked huge, straining against the fabric. Ty glanced back at her, saying, "What...?"

"Oh, my. That's not quite what we expected. Let's get you to the doctor." She pulled a radio from her pocket and mumbled into it.

"What's going on?"

"Doctor Gross should be able to explain."

The doctor was scowling at having been woken up, but he raised eyebrows when he saw what had happened to Ty. "I suppose that's a good sign."

Gross and Elu were staring at his backside; Ty blushed. "Come on, tell me! Am I turning into a girl or something?!"

The bear laughed. "No, no, don't worry about that. Although with the technology we're using, if you ''want'' to..."

"No, thank you! Then what is it?"

"Might as well give you the briefing now. Son, you're going to end up with some extra limbs. The treatments are giving you a centaur form, and that's the start of your lower body growing in. Should take a couple of days. I had expected the paws to grow in above your legs..."

Ty looked at himself and did a double-take. "So, what, I'm gonna grow more legs? How is that a superpower?"

"It's not, though the change should give you more strength and speed. It's part of giving you what we call a matter storage field. If that works, you'll be able to change your size."

Ty was leaning against the wall, remembering a little of his dream. "So it's working," he said with a trembling voice.

"We'll see, once you've changed."

== 5 ==

The next few days were awkward. By noon -- he still hadn't been outside, but there was a clock -- he had to lean forward to keep his balance with the weird bulge behind him. That evening he started to feel his new hindpaws twitching. The next day he had to use a wheelchair to get around despite having a perfectly good pair of legs (and half of another). Finally, he was able to start standing on four feet and feel the constant pins-and-needles of the new limbs brushing against the floor. It was almost as weird to feel his breathing coming from the lower torso as it grew in. When the doctor checked his heartbeat he had to do it twice; the main heart felt like it was way behind him. "I still don't feel like this other half a fox is ''me''."

"Understandable," said Gross. "Make sure you exercise, and you should get used to it."

He had a treadmill now, an extra-long one. Ty spent weeks relearning how to walk and climb stairs and do everything else he was used to doing with fewer legs. It was a busy time and he was grateful for it. To focus on his own changed body meant not dwelling on the past too much.

But when his keepers started training him to fight, he took to it with so much enthusiasm that he scared them, and himself.

== 6 ==

Months of sweat and study. Ty was standing in the gym one day with his four feet planted on a mat. His hands held a double-edged boffer stick, one of those giant padded clubs. His breath came fast in his lower body. One swing, a leap, and another slash, and two training dummies went down. A battered little helicopter buzzed him. He crushed it to the mat with an overhand swing, but it got off a shot first. A shock dart stung his arm, making him yelp and swat it off of him.

A voice. Ty snapped out of combat mode and turned to find Doctor Gross with a basset-hound in army uniform. The doctor was saying, "This is Agent Ty."

"Agent," Ty muttered. He hadn't fought anyone for real; he was still just a little kid to them. ''Little'' was probably the key word; he'd shown none of the powers Gross had talked about. Ty wiped musky sweat from his ear with one tape-wrapped wrist and said more loudly, "I haven't seen you before."

The doctor said, "Meet Colonel Salt. He's in charge of the Facility, among other things."

The canine offered Ty a handshake. "I've heard good things about you, young man! You'll make your country proud one day."

The man's smile looked sincere and he wasn't the kind to show off dozens of medals. But Ty sniffed; there was a cloying scent to him. Ty flicked his tail uncertainly, saying, "I haven't fought anyone. I haven't so much as gone outside for a cheeseburger."

"That's all right. We've invested in you for the long haul." The colonel walked around Ty, inspecting him. "Interesting to see the... taur form on you."

Ty sniffed the air again. There was his own scent, the colonel's strong cologne, and...

Ty pounced the officer. "You have her scent on you!" Ty was standing over the man, forepaws on either side of his chest, and staring down at him. "My sister's!"

The man was wide-eyed and trying to get up. "What? I don't know --"

Ty was smaller even with the extra half-body, but he was ''not'' going to let this mystery go. He put a paw on the man's chest and said, "Tell me! Why do you smell like her? Emily is... she's alive, isn't she?"

Salt yelped as though Ty had actually hurt him. "All right, Agent. Yes! Get off me and I'll tell you."

Ty pressed harder. "Where?!"

"Sir?" said Doctor Gross. "The protocol doesn't call for --"

The colonel said, "Shut up, Gross. Yes, Ty, your sister actually survived the attack. It was a close thing, and we didn't want to tell you because there was a strong chance she wasn't going to make it. It would've hurt you worse to learn she was in a hospital and that there was nothing you could do. But she's recovering. Now would you please get off me?"

Ty saw he was pretty close to crushing the man's neck. He wasn't, a moment ago. The colonel was staring up at him now with more fear than he'd shown when pounced. Ty's wrists and head ached, painfully constrained. Ty lifted his paw, balanced on the other three, and flexed the toes. It was as big as the man's head! He stumbled back and let the colonel stand, only to find he was still looking slightly down at the man. Even Gross was only about the same height as Ty now!

"It worked after all," the doctor said.

Ty pulled off his wrestling-style helmet -- burst from inside -- and tore at the tape that was digging into his wrists. "Big," he murmured. But that wasn't important right now. He took a step toward the colonel and said, "Where is she? And my parents?"

"I'm sorry, Ty. We only saved Emily. ''Agent'' Emily, I should say. We'll arrange to bring her here so that you can train together. It looks like we can move up your training schedule anyway."

Ty looked at his huge paws, feeling baffled. His thoughts had derailed. There was something left of his old life after all.

== 7 ==

A few days later he was pacing in his apartment. He hadn't been able to sleep much, let alone shrink back to normal size. The doctor insisted he'd figure out how. All his muscles felt heavy but powerful. He'd already crushed his first bed just by flopping carelessly onto it. Now he had a big cushion on the floor.

When Miss Elu opened the door, he hopped over to her and nearly knocked her down. Too much momentum! "Now? Is she here?"

The startled Elu just nodded. Ty bounded after her, all the way upstairs to the gym.

And Emily was there! Ty charged right at her, yipping for joy. She vanished. Ty skidded to a stop, saying, "What happened?" An illusion? If they were lying he'd stomp everybody!

Someone tugged his tail. Ty peeked over his shoulders, and saw Emily there hugging the big red-orange brush. "Sis? Is that you?" It smelled like her.

"Oh, wow, you're a giant! What'd they do to you?"

Ty grinned, and then realized that he towered over his sister. And the weight set. And the doorway. He carefully turned and sat down on all fours so he could look at her. All six limbs of her. "Foxtaur, too?"

The girl climbed up onto his left front ankle and hugged his leg. "They said they could rebuild me, but I still don't know what to do with all these legs!"

"But you're okay? They didn't hurt you?"

"It did kind of hurt," she said. "This fur is --"

"Agent Emily, that's classified." She was attended by two surly guards plus the colonel.

Emily gave the man a nasty glare, then said, "Thermoptic camouflage." She'd always been proud of rattling off the hard words she read over Ty's shoulders when he studied. "I... didn't have much fur left when they found me. Or skin. There was a fire at some point. I don't really remember."

Ty didn't care. She was okay now, and he was focused on trying to hug her safely.

== 8 ==

Emily moved in. They each had an apartment to themselves, but there was a common room, plus the big gym. Ty had a hard time shrinking himself down below ten feet, but managed to squish himself to about five feet from floor to ears -- sometimes. Every day it felt like he wanted to spring out in all directions and bounce all around the place. He could lift a whole motorcycle, then a car!

But one night he was resting in the gym, stuck. His ears brushed against the fifty-foot ceiling whenever he stood. For now he sat in the dark.

"Hey." Emily's voice made his ears flick back. "Watching a boring movie?"

The only light came from the projector screen he was reading on. "Just a textbook."

"Oh, man, they're making you do homework?" she said.

"No. That's just it. We should be in school, doing normal things."

"We're here to fight." Emily hopped up onto Ty's back and curled up.

Ty smiled and gently patted her with a huge hand. "You haven't thought about asking to go back, then?"

"To what? This is home. Our job is to follow orders. The Agency saved us, so we owe them."

"What do we even know about these guys, anyway?"

"We know they're here for us."

Ty sighed. "I guess so. And there're certainly bad guys out there to fight when we're ready. At least we can do that together, right?"

"Yeah." Emily flopped out on all sixes and slowly dozed off, resting on Ty's carpet of fur.

== 9 ==

When he looked back on that part of his life, Ty always thought it wasn't too bad. He and Emily were stuck there in the Agency's base, with Miss Elu and Colonel Salt taking care of them and Doctor Gross checking on the powers they'd gotten. There was training to keep them busy. Bench-pressing Buicks, stomping virtual-reality copies of Tokyo, brawling through whole armies of terrorists and tanks. For Emily there were obstacle courses, stealth mazes, metal gears to dodge and guards to hide from. The colonel even brought in a raccoon spymaster to teach them both about the secrets of stealth.

"Uh, sir?" said Ty. "There aren't many trees I can hide behind."

The raccoon leaned on a fancy cane and thought. "But you can shrink to something below national-monument size. And stealth isn't all about the physical things. You can be sneaky with what you say and do. Or if that fails, pose as a couple of elephants in an elaborate costume."

Ty thought about the books he'd been reading, mostly without being told. Miss Elu let him have works on electronics and physics and engineering, the stuff he seemed to be good at without much formal schooling, plus some circuit kits to experiment with. "I could probably make traps or something like that. Gadgets for spy stuff."

"Sure. Even at your size those could be useful. I'll see about getting you access to some of Emily's toys."

Ty did a little dance -- well, actually a huge dance -- when he got them. There was a whole workshop of pressure plates and security lasers and dart-gun turrets and other things to try out. He got to start designing obstacle courses for Emily, so that it became a game for him to build one she couldn't beat. He always lost.

Birthdays and holidays passed. Living underground, in secrecy, started to seem normal enough that he'd quit asking to go outside. He was a secret agent in training, with plenty of equipment and support. Soon enough he'd have work to do out there.

Still, he got to thinking about the spycraft lessons. After watching Emily turn nearly invisible again, becoming just a ripple in the air to fool a guard, Ty started poking around with his computer the same way. He had a nice one, a pad he could carry under one arm when he was small and balance on one finger when he wasn't. He usually kept it plugged into the movie screen up in the gym, with a giant keyboard. Lately it felt most comfortable to stay big.

The Agency didn't have much information about itself on display, even for the two young agents. The computer was locked down to keep him out of trouble, he figured. He'd been here long enough to resent that a little. Ty had a couple of ways by now to get around the filters.

"jgross'-- ", he typed, using some standard tricks. There was a database to hack... "Select null, null, A from Schema..." It wasn't glamorous, but patiently probing at the security was an education in itself. He had to wonder if the Agency was leaving these bugs in on purpose.

Probably not, he thought, when he got into Doctor Gross' account. He glanced over his shoulder and felt himself shiver all up his tail and back and other back. He didn't smell anyone else in the gym, and couldn't see anyone, but it was dark and his eyes weren't adjusted to catch anyone lurking in the shadows. Ty blacked out the screen and looked around for a minute, hearing only his breath. Sneaking a look at the doctor's files couldn't hurt; it wasn't like Ty was going to do anything bad to them. The files were probably about him and Emily anyhow.

They were. Ty felt himself grow a bit with excitement, and had to calm down enough that he could keep using the keyboard. There was a report on Ty's own progress with the "matter storage field", with something about how it had reinforced his skeleton too. Then notes on Emily and the nasty medical work she'd had for patching her up. Nothing about the fire, which was strange. He hadn't remembered there being one that day, just bullets raining on the table above him, thudding on the floor, into... He shuddered.

There were a few other agents listed as his patients. Ty blinked. What, here in this very base? As far as he could tell, he and his sister were the only guests running underfoot (figuratively in Ty's case) among the military spy guys. Maybe they were stationed elsewhere. There was somebody called Tren, listed as... "A ''dragon''?" They could make actual dragons now?

He forgot that mystery as soon as he saw the next entry. It showed a familiar-looking wolf man, as a patient and co-worker of Gross. The last time Ty had seen him, the man had been commanding a combat bot to gun down his family.

Ty scanned through the whole record. Enhanced reflexes and senses, reinforced skeleton, "special combat mode". ''He's one of us. Which means...'' Ty couldn't bring himself to think it for a while, and only stared at the screen. The dark gymnasium suddenly felt like it was full of lurking monsters.

A sound caught his ears and made his heart beat faster. Ty flicked the screen over to a paused game of "Henhouse Raider In Space". He turned to spot Miss Elu in the shadows.

"Ty, are you all right? It's late."

Ty opened and shut his jaw a few times. Was she in on this? Did she know that the Agency itself had been involved in the attack? But Miss Elu had been taking care of him for years now! She was nice, and cooked for him, and hugged him when the nightmares came back! Ty quivered and felt himself shrinking, almost back to normal size. "Why..." he said, unable to put a question together. She was ''evil''!

Could he be wrong? Ty put his hands on his head and tried to think. The wolf could've been there to protect everyone, to fight off the terrorists, and he was just misunderstanding. But no, he'd given the order to open fire. He was sure. That man started it. He was the reason Mom and Dad were gone.

Elu stepped over to put a soft hand on his flank. "Come to bed, Ty. The computer games can wait."

Ty trembled and shied away from her. It was all he could do not to grow to ten times her size and start stomping. He had to be sneaky. "Y-yeah. All right."

Elu walked away, shaking her head. She probably hadn't seen. Still, Ty played one more round of the game, made sure she was gone, then quickly copied the database entry to his own computer and shut it off. He left the gym, six feet tall, and headed for Emily's set of rooms.

"Huh?" his sister said. Ty could hear her stumbling out of bed to open the door. "It's three in the morning!" Her room was a mess of shirts and socks, with a poster of the latest otter-boy band on the wall.

Ty looked into her eyes. She had no idea. Ty caught his breath, hesitating to re-open the wound they shared. "I saw something horrible. They were in on it. The Agency was. Look, I got a copy of --"

"Slow down. Can't this wait till morning?"

"No!" Ty said, then lowered his voice to a whisper. "I looked through Doctor Gross' files. I found proof that the Agency didn't just save us from the attack. They ''caused'' it."

Emily blinked sleepily. "Not possible," she said. "That doesn't make any sense."

Ty held out the computer. "Look. Remember him?" He brought up the wolf's record.

Emily shuddered and looked away suddenly as though he'd slapped her. "I didn't see who it was. Please, shut up about it. I don't want to think about that day."

He held her by the upper shoulders. "This is important! We have to do something."

"What, Ty? What do you want us to do?"

"I don't know. Leave. Tell someone."

Emily shook her head. "There's nowhere to go. This place is home, whatever you think happened."

"Don't you even care about our parents?"

She leaned forward to yell in his face. "Shut up! Of course I do! But they're ''gone''. Get it? I ''like'' it here!"

Ty reared back, feeling heavy and cold. "Okay," he said. "Good night." It was all he could trust himself to say, without yelling right back at her. Even so, he started crying before he made it back to his room.

== 10 ==

The next week was awful. He had to pretend to be happy and be friendly to the doctor and Elu and Salt. Like ''family''. He only now appreciated how the Agency had set things up to give him fake parents, people who'd look after him and let him grow up loyal to them. People he'd started to really like. It was good that they didn't understand him well; Gross saw him walking around and just complemented him on getting better at keeping his size to a reasonable level. Really, Ty was keeping himself as blank and as hidden as possible.

He thought through the scenario a hundred times, but there was no way Emily would come along. He could go alone, or try again to persuade her and get ratted out. It made him droop when he thought about that; he couldn't trust her.

So, one night, he ran. It was physically easier than he'd thought. He was small and quiet, with lowered ears and tail. Sneaking away past guards whose routines never changed, whose names he knew. The only alarm that he couldn't sneak past, he beat with a pair of wire cutters and a multimeter for studying the circuitry. Easy. But the victory didn't make his feet feel any less like lead or lift his gaze from the floor when he walked. He was alone.

Ty made it to a huge room... no, that was moonlight. He hadn't been outdoors since the day he came here! The scent of everything was wild and full of pollen and smog that made him sneeze. Every time the grass brushed against his lower back he glanced around as though someone was following him.

He wandered toward distant lights. Eventually he found a highway and followed it, feeling alone on the dark road. The air warmed his fur.

Ty had been expecting a city, but found only a diner with a neon sign saying "Snow's". Only when he saw the building and the trucks, an island of light surrounded by scruffy desert, did he realize how little he'd thought ahead.

The skunk at the counter looked startled when Ty walked in. Not a good thing, he thought. The skunk-man said, "Uh, what exactly are you?" A rabbit and a caribou in truckers' caps glanced up from their menus. A song about a "white knight talking backwards" played on the radio.

Ty slumped against the counter and sobbed. He hadn't seen ''anyone'' outside the Agency's base in years. He was a freak with too many legs. His sister was still back there doing her spy training for the same people who'd shot their parents, and for all he knew they were going to come along and drag him back!

Ty realized he'd just blubbered all of that out loud. The skunk-man ruffled his ears and said, "That's quite a tale. So somebody is after you? And it's not your family?"

"Uh-huh," Ty said, sniffling.

"I wouldn't believe it if you were a normal fox," the man said. "But I've never seen someone like you before. Hey, Harek, call the police." An otter peeked out from the kitchen and said, "Okay!"

Ty felt silverware digging into his chin. "No, wait! Maybe the cops are in on it too! Maybe ''they'll'' drag me back!"

"Seriously?" When Ty nodded, the man said, "Cancel the cops! Call the TV station and tell 'em... Well, send a photo."

Ty sniffled and posed for the otter's phone-camera. "I can do this, too." He willed himself to grow bigger, enough to demonstrate.

"Do what?"

Ty found he was still looking up at the skunk. "I can't seem to do it right now. But they did things to me and my sister, in their lab..."

"Oh, man. You're sure you don't want the police?"

The otter looked out from the kitchen again. "They think you're full of it, boss, but they're sending somebody. Twenty minutes."

Ty paced the restaurant, banging into tables. The skunk said, "Calm down, kid. You're safe here for now. How does a sundae sound?"

Ty ate and whipped cream on his nose, but looked up when he heard an engine. His heart froze for a moment. It was just a news van. "Okay!" he said, springing up. "Let me go talk to them and tell them everything!" He ran to the diner's door, and banged into the top of the doorframe. He had to duck to get outside and face the terrified squirrel who was getting out of the van.

The reporter stared up at the ten-foot-tall foxtaur. She stammered a few times before managing to say, "I guess this is newsworthy. Camera?" A raccoon-girl hopped out and started filming as though size-shifting foxes were standard nightly news.

Ty started to tell them everything. "Whoa, whoa!" said the news squirrel. "You're telling me there's some kind of secret spy base just a few miles from here? With mad science going on?"

The restaurant owner butted in, saying, "And he came right here to Snow's, where there's the best --" Everyone glared at him.

Ty told them what he knew about it. The reporter said, "We might not be able to release that part of your story, but now it'll be tough for anyone to kidnap you, if that's what you're afraid of. And we can raise a stink and get attention for your sister, and maybe get her out."

Just then, Ty turned to spot a black van hurrying down the road. It slowed nearly to a stop when the headlights caught Ty's huge shape, and then it moved on instead of stopping. Whoever was in it wasn't too surprised to see him, and figured it was best to avoid him. For now.

== 11 ==

Ty hid out at the restaurant for a while. "Hid", in the sense of living there and letting hundreds of people stop by to visit him. For the Agency the damage was done; the news story had already run. The restaurant was getting mobbed with reporters and tourists, not that the owner minded. Ty showed off his extra paws and size-changing. The sight of so many people after years of isolation made his tail hide between his legs, even when he was a hundred feet tall and towering over the news vans.

"Is the the upper limit for your powers?" one man asked, through a megaphone.

Ty called down, "I don't know." He still didn't have full control over that. He made a note not to visit anyplace with expensive chandeliers or ceiling art.

It was after midnight when the lizard came. Ty was sleeping in a storeroom with the otter cook checking in on him. The reporters and even the usual truckers were gone for now.

The otter shook Ty awake. "There's someone here to see you."

Ty yawned. "Haven't enough people?"

"He says he's from the Agency."

Ty woke up quickly with his heart beating fast. "I'm not going back there! I might have to fight them. Hurry and get away!"

"I'm not after you," a new voice said from the counter. "I just want to talk."

Ty peeked out to the main room, feeling small. There was a lizard in a trenchcoat, with golden scales. "Who're you?"

"The name is Tren." He turned slowly, looking away at the empty restaurant. "And I've been part of their experiments too." He pulled off the coat, and Ty saw a pair of leathery gold wings unfurl.

Ty gaped, feeling all his fur prickle. "D-d-dragon?"

The man seemed to get bigger... no, he really ''was'' growing! Ty stared as Tren hunched over, sending plates and silverware clattering to the floor. His hands splayed out into monster-clawed forefeet, until a quadrupedal dragon the size of a car -- not counting the wings -- stood threatening the restaurant's pie collection. And then he shrank again, slowly, and spoke in a growling voice that gradually got quieter. "They tested out some technologies on me. I can't get much bigger than that, but I can fly a little. Can't hide completely as the lizard I used to be, though." He fussed with putting the trenchcoat back on; Ty could now spot the bumps along his back.

"Then why are you here?"

"I had a Norwegian guy shouting at me for years on end. Trying to indoctrinate me to be their pet dragon. Didn't work as well as the bosses there would've liked, since I was still able to think for myself. And they weren't sure what to do with me, since I wasn't subtle enough to be a spy but still couldn't qualify as a battle-winning weapon. It would've been smarter for them to, say, create a couple of orphans and try different experiments on each."

Ty slumped against the counter. "Shut up. I don't want to think about that."

"Kid, I'm trying to help. Do you want to get your sister out of there?"

"Do you kill people? Do you kill people's families?"

"Not their families. Not on purpose. I've fought some people who really deserved it, though. I'd say the ones who did that to you deserve a lesson in humility, especially considering that they've still got your sister."

"She said she ''wants'' to stay there. She doesn't even care what they did!"

Tren looked off to one side, scratching the scales on his neck. "Yeah. They mess with your head, there. I'm guessing they were nice to you? Tried to be your new parents?" Ty stifled a sob, but the dragon-man noticed. "Figures. If they're going in the stealthy direction for your -- for Emily, then she's probably going to be an assassin. One who'll get trained to capture or kill ''anyone'' that threatens the Agency. Like you."

Ty stared at him, with his tail lashing. "What? Are you saying they'll convince her to come after me?"

"As a test of her power and loyalty. The fact that they didn't send ''me'' after you tells me they have someone else in mind for the job. But prepping her mentally and emotionally to do something like that takes time."

"That's awful! That's evil!"

"Yeah. That's why I'll back you on this one if you feel like saving her. Or, if you're not willing, I can give you some suggestions on how to hide, which in your case is easier said than done."

Ty's claws dug into the floor. He thought of Emily back in the base, being lied to and experimented on. There probably was no fire, after all; they'd just torn off her skin or something so they could replace it. If she thought she wanted to stay there, she'd been tricked. "How do we do it?"

== 12 ==

They didn't wait long. After an hour of planning and pie, Ty and Tren set off for the Agency's base. Tren got Ty to creep through the grass at one point to sneak toward a night-vision camera, and to put a special lens onto the front. ''That should take care of the infrared,'' he thought. Even so, they were still half a mile from the building when the guards came out. "This is a restricted area!" a megaphone voice boomed. A searchlight flicked along the ground. "Leave immediately, or..."

The light found Ty, making him stagger and cover his eyes. Tren came up beside him. They heard a guard curse. "It's them!"

As planned, both of them bounded forward. Ty barked and tried to grow, to make himself a big target. Meanwhile, Tren was the sneaky one for just long enough to tackle them. "Come on!" he bellowed.

Ty hurried after him. The dragon was back in quadruped mode with wings spread, jumping up and gliding back to the ground every hundred feet. They were almost to the entrance! Ty could hardly see the men chasing him as he ran. Everything was moving too fast. Guns went off. He felt something thud into his chest, glanced down, and saw that the bullets hadn't done more than muss his fur. Ty started to grin; Tren had said there were advantages to the Agency's work. He gave his best Tokyo-smashing monster roar.

There was a fence now, but Ty stomped it flat. Barbed wire tore bits of fur painfully from his tail. He tried to calm down and shrink when he reached the gymnasium doors, while Tren unlocked them with a punch of one sturdy fist.

It was quiet in there, compared to the commotion of guards and alarms going off outside. "This part's yours, kid," Tren said. "She's probably in here. Waiting." The dragon put his back to the wall and stomped the concrete, ready for the guards.

Ty was small enough to duck through the doorway. "Emily?" His voice echoed off one of the usual obstacle courses. Dart guns, crates, cameras, and other gear filled the whole space between him and the more secure areas below.

No one answered. "Doctor Gross? Miss Elu? Salt? I know what you did." Talking to the empty room made him remember that day in Cuba, and how the Agency's people had lied to him. "I won't do anything to you, if you let my sister go." Only because he and Tren had agreed, and because he didn't want to kill anyone. He thought of how his career might have gone, if he'd never looked through the files. The Agency had no problem with training him as a weapon.

There was a bang. Something bit him, hard enough to make him stagger. He jumped out of the way just as another shot went off, missing him. The bullet made his leg muscle seize up so that he stumbled and crashed into a stack of crates. A few hundred pounds of boxes clattered down onto him with pointy edges. Ty yipped, tried to shake the things off, and stopped when he saw Emily.

Ty stared down the barrel of a gun. Emily was fading in, shutting off her camo to become visible as a blur and then as her usual self -- except for the hunter's glare on her face. She was holding some kind of high-tech rifle from a perch atop another box pile. He could feel his right front leg bleeding, but that didn't matter. "Emily, it's me!"

"There aren't a lot of giant foxtaurs."

"Then let's get out of here." Emily was standing above him, not even bothering to look through the rifle scope. Her breathing was too fast for her to do any sniping. Ty studied her, trying to read her grim expression.

She said, "I already told you, I belong here. And you're trespassing."

The gun was a black eye staring at him. Ty shuddered, trying to keep still. "Did you not believe the file I showed you? These guys are ''evil''!" There was her scent, the one he'd been missing.

She bared sharp teeth. "Shut up! I work for them. Get out of here or... or..."

"Or what, Emily? You'll shoot me like they shot Mom and Dad? Like all the other people they'll tell you to shoot next once you prove how obedient you are?" He wondered just how much the Agency had messed with her head, beyond the years of being a false family and pretending to be heroes.

"I was ''going'' to say, leave now or come back and do your job. We have orders! There are bad guys to go after with you."

"With me, huh? Do you care either way?"

Emily's ears were flat and her tail whipped back and forth, forcing her to change her stance atop the crates to keep steady. "Of course I do! You're supposed to be ''here'', working with me."

"That's not an option. I'm not going back after what your bosses did. And I'm not leaving alone." Ty gulped; he couldn't handle this situation the easy way. It would be simple to grab her in one hand, to keep her like a caged bird and try to beat the craziness out of her. But he doubted that would work, or that she'd ever forgive him for treating her this way. "So, you have a choice. Stay with these guys who want you to kill for them. Soon they'll probably start you on women and children. That should be easy for you once you start by shooting me. Or, we'll get out of here together."

Emily's hands shook until she glared at them, forcing them to steady on the rifle. She raised it to her muzzle to look at him through the scope, making him a target instead of family. "That's not good enough! It's too late to decide."

Ty felt the wound she'd already inflicted on his leg. His shin throbbed, but it didn't seem as real as what was going on in front of him. "It's not too late. You've got a big fox and a dragon waiting to take you out of here. If that's still not enough, then go ahead." His muscles strained to make him leap out of there, to get away from the gun, but he hooked claws onto a heavy crate to keep himself still.

It was too fast to see, but Ty heard the shot. He hardly had time to flick his ears. This one didn't hurt, physically. He only sighed and sank a little to the floor. It really had been too late for Emily.

There was a choked-off scream behind him. He turned his head to spot Doctor Gross with a hole in his chest, dropping a huge crackling taser gun. He'd been standing behind Ty and a little to one side. The weapon hit the ground with sparks flying, and Gross fell over a moment later. He looked less pained than surprised, as though saying, "That wasn't what you were supposed to do, Agent!"

Emily looked away, crying. "Carry me?"

Ty snatched her up with one huge paw and ran for the exit. There were more men coming to fight, with bigger weapons. Ty shielded her with his body. When the crowd started to look ugly he threw her toward the door, underhand. But he made it a few seconds later and grabbed her again. Both of them were wide-eyed and looking everywhere for more enemies.

Tren the dragon shouted, "Focus! This way!" He led Ty away from the base with Emily clinging to Ty's back. Every step farther away, with Emily, made Ty feel a little taller.

The news vans were already streaming towards the scene, and the police, and the ambulances, and (Ty later learned) the trial lawyers. The Agency's people fell back, sinking home into the shadows rather than gun down the foxtaurs and the dragon in plain sight. Tren gave a bellowing laugh. "Should I stop by to pick up my last paycheck?" Ty looked back and saw the Agency's base like a toy, something he could kick over any time he wanted to. He might do that, someday. But not today.

== 13 ==

The three of them were back at the restaurant, bandaged and woozy. The skunk was stuffing them with pie in between trying to fend off the reporters. "They'll probably burst through the door before long," he said, looking over one shoulder. "Are you up to talking to them?"

Ty sat with Emily. She was trying to smile, anyway. Ty looked up from staring into her eyes and daydreaming.

Tren got up and made for the kitchen, where he could escape through the back door. "I need to lay low for a while, if I can. You two are probably better off being seen at this point. You can't hide what you are."

"And what are we?" said Ty.

"Whatever you want to be. You both have that freedom now."

Emily looked up enough to say, "Thank you." Ty echoed her. Tren nodded, then crept out the back door.

Ty took Emily's hands in his and smiled. "You heard him. We can do whatever we want now."

"I only really know how to fight."

"No, there're other things we can do. And the first thing is to get famous, so that the Agency won't come after us again. Let's go."

"All right," she said, and stood up on four paws to walk with her brother.
[[category:story]][[category:Kris]][[category:Fox]][[category:Taur]]

The Agency

2013-03-24T22:04:37Z

Kris: A commission piece, originally

A Walk in the Park

2013-03-24T20:48:44Z

Kris: Created page with "Hawl grumbled. His free pass to Adventure Studios wasn't valid this weekend. It was supposed to be good through the end of the year, but this weekend was some kind of special ..."

Hawl grumbled. His free pass to Adventure Studios wasn't valid this weekend. It was supposed to be good through the end of the year, but this weekend was some kind of special Christmas event. He managed to argue his way into a half-price pass for the weekend, anyhow. The park wanted him to come in and spend money, right?

The whole park was relentlessly decked out in Christmas stuff. Fake snow, candy canes, and speakers blaring absolutely every generic carol known to Man. All despite the place being in Florida, and seventy degrees and sunny. Hawl walked around in a t-shirt past piles of cotton snow. The rides were all open, but mobbed with tourists. Hawl stood in line for forty-five minutes or so to watch a 3D-ish movie with water jets and confetti being blown at him for some reason, and that took around five minutes. Blah. He tested out one of the roller coasters for more excitement. Forty-five minutes to wait, five minutes of terror.

He was getting impatient from standing in lines. Hawl sighed and gave up on the rides for now. The whole park was overrun with people, so that he kept banging into someone whenever he moved without glancing over one shoulder. Blah! He dodged away from the worst crowds and found himself in one of the restaurants, the Doorway Cafe. Doors everywhere, from ornate temple gateways to glowing blue and orange holes in the wall. Hawl thought it was a pretty good place, even if what it sold was mostly the same overpriced burgers as every other restaurant in the theme park. And even though finding the men's room was hell.

He took out the free pass he'd gotten as an early Christmas present. It was a fancy plastic card, faintly translucent and glittery. Showing it off had helped get him the ticket for this weekend; maybe it counted as one of those obnoxious (but useful) cards that let you cut in line. He had a meal to pass the time, then stretched and headed out for another crack at the rides.

It was starting to get dark quickly. The park looked different by dusk: the fake cartoonish buildings blended in better than they would in brighter light. Hawl realized he'd left by a different door, not surprisingly, and come into a whole other district of the park. This was the cartoon zone, based on the latest over-merchandized movies. Nice coloration, and a lot of contrast between the cheery "Noisytown" and... what was the spooky castle over there supposed to be? Hawl didn't remember it from the movies' advertising. There didn't seem to be much of a line outside, so it looked like a welcome break from standing around.

Hawl passed a cart selling whole turkey legs for the third time today, and found his way blocked by a rope. There was a whole zigzag area for people to stand around like he'd been doing for other rides, but this one was empty. Closed, presumably. But just a moment ago he'd seen somebody walking in. Odd. Hawl ducked under the rope to check the place out. The empty line became a tunnel into the castle. He saw torches along the walls that took a moment to recognize as fake electric things. No sign of the other people in line, but obviously this was the way into the ride. Which ride, though? He pulled out his park map and saw it gleaming eerily in the fake torchlight. He was in Cartoon Zone, and so this must be... Mouse Quest Castle. Not ''that'' cartoon mouse, thankfully; there'd been a recent movie about a bunch of adventurers who'd been turned into mice for some reason.

There was no actual ride listed here, though; the map was outdated. Hawl shrugged and headed farther down the tunnel to find out whether this was a roller coaster or a motion simulator or what. Other than one sign warning people away if they were bothered by flashing lights, there wasn't much to indicate that he was even walking into a ride. Hawl pulled a silver pocketwatch from his back pocket and realized he'd been walking through this castle for ten minutes. There was a grinding noise ahead, and dripping water, but when he got to the actual ride, no one was working there. He'd come to a tunnel that led into darkness, with a set of carts on a track. The ride was running as though nothing were wrong.

Hawl sighed. Was the ride open or not? Considering that the ride attendants were basically only there to keep some kid or stupid person from hurting themselves, he might as well see what this thing was. He took out a large wooden sign and a marker from somewhere, set them down, and wrote "Unattended Ride -- Use At Own Risk" for anybody else who walked in. He hopped into a cart, thought better of it, and attached a complaints box to the sign plus paper and pencils. There! He flicked his ears back, got back on the ride and let the cart carry him away into the tunnel.

Creepy music started up. He hadn't seen the movie this place was based on, but it seemed scarier than typical cartoon fare. Something about ravenous cats prowling for prey. He actually found himself ducking in his seat when the special effects started up. Lots of flame jets and swinging blades and feline shadows. The cart sped up and the track veered this way and that through a dungeon. What had started out as a vaguely gothy "It's A Small World After All" had started to become a roller coaster... And he was all alone in the tunnels.

It was a relief when the cart finally stopped. Hawl had been in the dark so long that the lights of the exit station seemed surreal, like blacklights making everything from the walls to his skin glow. The last bit had featured an evil cat king about to eat him; Hawl felt like he was clawing at the seat, more scared than he had any right to be. He managed to laugh. "That was ''not'' a kids' ride," he said, as the cart's safety bar released. He got up and stretched...

Just in time for the cart to plummet into darkness with him standing in it.

#

Hawl woke up lying painfully on his back, in a dark room. He'd squashed one leg under him... huh? No, that was... He sat up and saw a glowing pair of paw-like hands. His hands! A whiplike tail was squashed under him. Attached to him! He scrambled to his feet and looked himself over. It was as though he'd been doused in glowing paint and decorated like a mouse! He tried to brush away the grey fur painted along his arms, but the stuff wouldn't come off. The faint light overhead had that same unreal quality that made everything glow without really lighting it up usefully. That had to be why he looked like this, yeah, plus nerves. He laughed. He'd get out of here and tell everyone it was an awesome ride, very convincing.

The only door out of this little spot was locked. He pounded on it and shouted, but no one came. What was going on? He looked around and realized that the room looked like a fantasy castle's version of a broom closet, with a glowing oversize key on a high shelf. He tried to hop up to the thing and only fell over backwards onto the stone floor, hard enough that he thought he'd be badly hurt. Instead, though, he felt like he'd been squashed against the floor for a moment and sprung back up without a scratch. Weird! Even so, he couldn't grab the key. In frustration he took out a battleaxe and just smashed the door down.

"Wait a minute. Where did I get this?!" Hawl found he was holding an unreasonably big steel axe notched with heavy use, with a tiny scrawled inscription reading "Property Of Ulfric". It glowed like everything else in here. Come to think of it, where had he gotten that sign earlier, or the pocketwatch? The door was laying in pieces on the floor. Hawl dropped the axe so that he didn't get arrested or something, then hurried out. He glanced back into the room and saw that the axe had vanished, like it had stopped existing as soon as he wasn't paying attention to it.

A feline hiss distracted him. He was back along the ride's tunnel! He stumbled through the darkness toward the way he'd come out before, trying to ignore the spooky effects. An empty cart whooshed past, too fast to get into. Finally he made it back to the station and hopped out to relatively normal ground, still not seeing anyone. "Hello?" There was an exit at last. He could get out of this weird light and figure out what had happened to him.

The outdoor air was a little chilly. Night had fallen. Hawl saw people still walking around, though a lot fewer than before. He glanced at them, then looked back down at himself. He still looked mousy and had the same unearthly glow, even in the same streetlight glare as the other guests. "Okay, apparently I'm seeing things." He wondered whether to try walking out there and risk being seen. Why not?

"Hey, look! It's one of the mascots. Wave hello, dear!" A mother beamed at him and got her kid to wave meekly. Hawl waved back, confused. He supposed he did fit in pretty well with the toon castle theme, if he was glowing and mousy like this. So had he been doused in special paint, or what? Hopefully somebody around here would know. He walked down the toon-city street and headed for the next area of the park, in search of answers.

He hesitated at the bridge where cartoonish colors gave way to dark jungle wood. It felt as though crossing it was special, somehow. He took out a giant, ancient-looking scroll from his back pocket and... "Now wait a minute." He glanced back and realized he wasn't actually wearing pants anymore, just a long and vaguely medieval tunic. Great; not even the gift shops sold pants! He took a few steps, trying to figure out where he'd have the best chance of finding someone in charge... and stepped across the bridge without meaning to.

He shivered and felt fur bristling along his tail. He marveled at being able to feel the thing curling behind him at all. "Stripes, now?" It didn't look mousy anymore, and nor did his paws. He glanced at the map again and saw he'd crossed over into the Lost Temple Zone, full of towering trees and jungle drums. That kind of matched what he was seeing now: orange and black stripes all along his arms and tail, like... "A tiger. I've turned into a big cat now?" He ducked into the trees to hide and think. The medieval tunic was shifting now too. Starting to look like a ragged, buttoned shirt tied up around his chest to leave his midriff bare. He was going to get arrested for running around half-naked. Yeesh! He whipped out a sewing machine, tore down some big leaves from the trees, and quickly made a proper skirt for himself so there wouldn't be any lovestruck explorer guys expecting him to pounce on them.

Hawl stood in the little jungle, starting to count just how many things were wrong with what he'd just done and thought. Now that he looked himself over again, that shirt looked awfully puffy around the chest. He poked at it with his hands, trying not to use his tiger claws, and blushed. Considering how well the skirt fit around his hips, too... well, her hips, the new form seemed to be a tiger-girl. Okay, she ''had'' to get this situation dealt with somehow! Forgetting the sewing machine, she dashed back across the bridge to try undoing the latest change first... Whew! She found herself turning back into a mouse, not that that counted as normal. The jungle finery was shifting back too, into a dress. "Oh, come on! Not even back into a mouse-guy?" She harumphed and crossed back to jungle land to be a tigress again. "This isn't too bad," she started to think.

Park guests were staring at her. She purred, enjoying the attention now. Whatever had happened, there were much worse fates than taking a vacation as a tigress.

"Hey, miss! How does that costume work?"

It took Hawl a while to figure out that the guy over there was talking to her. She blushed. "What costume?"

The tourist laughed. "In-character, I see. Makes sense for a toon."

When the man had walked on, Hawl asked herself, "Is that what I am? A cartoon?" It would explain a few things, sort of. "If that's true then I should be able to..." She pulled out a jungle spear from... someplace. It had felt like reaching into a strange, cold space hidden behind her back. She chucked the spear into a nearby tree and used it as a springboard to vault into the treetops, before realizing she could do that too. She lurked in the branches, tail lashing, thinking vaguely about dinner as she looked down on the park guests.

"Psst." A man in a yellow suit leaned casually against a trunk, twenty feet off the ground.

Hawl nearly fell from her perch. "How'd you get up here?" He didn't look like another toon.

He flashed a badge. "Park security. We can go anywhere. ''Anywhere''." The man gave an insincere smile. "Apparently you've been into a spot you shouldn't have."

"The ride looked open! At least I saw somebody else going in, and the ride was running."

"That was a couple of our technicians, working on the special equipment. At Adventure Studios we bring people movie magic. People don't quite understand how sincere we are about that. Usually it's hidden behind animatronics and other stagecraft."

Hawl looked down at her glowing body. "So I'm actually a toon now?"

"Of course. Experimental procedure. It was meant to be more subtle, for a new group of park mascots, but you got the full dose when you blundered into the castle. So, you live here now. You're hired."

Hawl hopped over to the man's branch, which swayed under them. "Wait a minute. I never signed up for this. Can I get turned back, at least partway?" She had to admit she wouldn't quite want to go back to being a human guy, but being a living toon might be inconvenient.

The man shrugged. "You can be whatever the park needs. You've crossed over from the toon castle district to the jungle, and noticed the changes there, right? Try walking toward the Mars Mania ride or the Robot Riderz Xtreem Arkayd or Chef Veggie's FableTable and you'll adapt."

"So why didn't I go back to mouse-man when I tried crossing the bridge again?"

"This is new 'technology' to us too. It seems to give you forms you're happy with, so apparently you don't mind too much. You make a fine tigress, I must say."

Hawl's head spun and her foot-claws dug into the wood. "What about when I go outside the park?"

Another smile. "I said, you live here now. The..." He lowered his voice. "The spell doesn't seem to sustain a toon anywhere past parking lot B. But hey, there are plenty of places you can live while you work here, and there are bound to be new attractions built over the decades."

"Decades..." said Hawl. Stuck here forever? It might actually be forever, so long as the theme park existed.

"Hey, don't feel bad. It'll be fun. You get to participate in special events like the Christmas... uh, Holiday Parade. Why don't you come down and check it out? It should be starting soon by the Congo Cruise."

Hawl didn't know what to make of all this. There was a bit of tiger instinct pushing her, though, or maybe cartoon-logic instinct. Instead of calmly making her way back down the tree, she tackled the security guy, pulled out a trampoline in midair, tossed it down, and bounced with him a couple of times before landing on all fours with a big toothy grin and a lashing tail. "Okay then," she said. "If I'm working here, I have free run of the place."

The man's suit was disheveled and he was shaking, brushing bits of glowing toon fur off it. "Y-yes, of course."

"Then I'm off!" She bounded away from him to go exploring without any more hand-holding. There'd be plenty of time to figure this toon thing out. It could be fun.

The jungle land gave way to more fake snow. People in ordinary costumes were lining up to show off in stilts and princess gowns and other boring gigs. She'd get to strut around as a tigress! She scratched around her ears, wondering why her head felt heavy all of the sudden. She got her answer when the antlers came in, and when her fingers turned into hoofy things. No more stripes! Now she was getting an implausible furry skirt and sweater that left her legs bare, down to her new foot-hooves. Red-and-white Santa gear on brown fur. "Reindeer!" she said, and laughed. There was a lot of potential here to be something new, to change with the seasons and her mood.

Hawl grinned, and hopped into the parade line for the first of many times.

So You're Becoming a Taur

2013-03-24T20:35:12Z

Kris: New information pamphlet

Talk:Main Page

2012-08-24T07:18:15Z

Kris: Proposed Anthrochat IRC link

{{Talk header}}

Hello friends, I wish I had come here earlier as the forums are well organized and I look forward
to gaining further knowledge and sharing my experiences. Ive been reading the posts and learning
quite a bit from the members.

:Forums? You might have the wrong site :P
:Shifti is a wiki, and we do strive to have it structured in a very coherent and easy to understand manner.
:Anyway… Shifti exists for authors and fans alike. If you really enjoy the site, you could help [[Shifti:Site support|support it]]. And you can also register and contribute your own works. [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 01:30, 7 April 2008 (EDT)

::Yes, this is more than a little odd. The poster might have at least left a name. I'm inclined to think of ''unsigned'' comments outside of user and story pages as spam and thus deletable. --[[User:JonBuck|Buck]] 02:59, 7 April 2008 (EDT)

:::Nah, unsigned usually either means the user forgot to add the tildes or isn't bothering because he isn't logged in anyway. I see nothing inherently wrong with unsigned comments in general (though I do add signatures for them simply to make it easier to keep track of conversations). In this particular case, though, the commenter does seem to be a little confused about the nature of Shifti. :) [[User:Bryan|Bryan]] 03:22, 7 April 2008 (EDT)

==Inverse mermaids and idea banks==

Not sure where this belongs; it seems as though this René Magritte painting, [http://www.abcgallery.com/M/magritte/magritte57.html ''Collective Invention'' (1934)], is crying out for a story to go with it. --[[User:Trismegistus Shandy|Trismegistus Shandy]] 22:12, 4 May 2008 (EDT)

:Heh! If there's no good place to put something like this, how about we create one? I'm thinking an [[ideas and inspirations]] page (or some similar page title) where random tidbits like this could be listed. With the understanding that ideas posted there could be used freely by other authors, and that the contents of the page may be pruned or archived over time if it gets cluttered, it'd serve as a general forum-like sort of place. Joysweeper's recently been working on a personal "idea bank", as an example - see [[Joysweepers Incoherent Idea Bank]]. Though that's explicitly intended as for-Joysweeper-only. [[User:Bryan|Bryan]] 23:45, 4 May 2008 (EDT)

:: *grins* Hooray recognition! At any rate, a public idea bank doesn't sound like a bad idea. I'd still want to keep my own, if only because I've planted so much Capslove and weird excited ranting that it would kind of start taking over. My Idea Bank is just a garden of story-seeds and things that get me motivated when I'm stuck; a public one could consist of more pictures like above. Oh, and story prompts. That reminds me, I really should stick those in. --[[User:Joysweeper|Joysweeper]] 23:57, 4 May 2008 (EDT)

I don't know where else to put this, but the Toolbox?

"The upload directory (/home/shifti/public_html/images) is not writable by the webserver."

Can we fix that? --[[User:Joysweeper|Joysweeper]] 15:02, 12 December 2008 (EST)

:Gah! More fallout from moving the web side of the system to the new server. Should be fixed now... -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 18:31, 12 December 2008 (EST)

:: Hmm. "Could not rename file "/home/shifti/public_html/images/7/75/Gawk.JPG" to "/home/shifti/public_html/images/archive/7/75/20081213020952!Gawk.JPG"." --[[User:Joysweeper|Joysweeper]] 21:11, 12 December 2008 (EST)

I have added a new story to the site set in the Xanadu Setting call Three Minds. The first two chapters are now up. Comments are welcome! [[User:JoharaGuardian|JoharaGuardian]] 08:30, 15 May 2011 (UTC)

::: Okay, lets see if changing that entire directory trees permissions has an effect... -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 07:33, 13 December 2008 (EST)

:::: All right, thanks. --[[User:Joysweeper|Joysweeper]] 11:07, 13 December 2008 (EST)

I don't think users can edit the front page so I'll put this here: Please add a link to Anthrochat IRC:

[[http://anthrochat.net Anthrochat]] - An IRC network (also available through a Web client) for anthropomorphics fans. Channel #thezoo in particular hosts writers and readers of transformation tales. --[[User:Kris|Kris]] ([[User talk:Kris|talk]]) 07:18, 24 August 2012 (UTC)

The Whale

2012-01-16T02:25:32Z

Kris: Created page with '"But sir, the Resort doesn't have room for a whale." The high-roller, Mr. Mansini, had martini breath; he'd arrived this morning just as Alan's shift in the casino's quarantine …'

"But sir, the Resort doesn't have room for a whale."

The high-roller, Mr. Mansini, had martini breath; he'd arrived this morning just as Alan's shift in the casino's quarantine VIP facility began. "You called me a 'whale' though, and that's what I wanna be."

Alan wore a tie and lab coat. "Sir, it's a figure of speech. It means a distinguished guest such as yourself." One who would throw hundred-dollar black chips around like shuriken and gamble millions in a week in Las Vegas. Alan hated how the VIP "handler" dialect of yes sir, no sir, had started to roll off his tongue. In college he'd wanted to do real nanotech research, but the only place with both the will and the money to use Pixie-class transformative nanobots was Las Vegas, city of light and darkness. "May I suggest our dolphin program? We even have a pod of natural Atlantic bottlenoses to swim with."

"No way," the high-roller said, swaying on his feet. "I want the full baylen -- balloon --"

"Baleen, sir?"

"Blue whale experience. So arrange it, kid." He staggered off to the elevators and his room, casino-provided blonde in tow.

Alan counted silently to ten, then built up a grin and hurried towards a billionaire from India. "Good morning, sir! How was your flight? May I get you a drink while you look at the transformation menu?"

----

"I see," Alan's boss said in the smoky office, tenting his fingers. "You told Mr. Mansini you wouldn't be able to help him?"

Alan sweated. "The nano facility has barns, a track, a pool, but nothing big enough for a whale."

"You could have arranged to take over the main Resort pool. Cleared out all the guests."

Yeah, Alan thought, and gotten fired for upsetting several hundred ordinary swimmers. "The Pixie-class nanos aren't licensed for use in anything but a quarantined environment. The latest papers say --"

"That's egghead stuff. Make Mr. Mansini happy. He gambled eight million last year and lost three, and that was before our nanotech entertainment came online. Now get busy."

----

The Indian tycoon had Alan on edge. Alan still hadn't eaten today, and the man kept quizzing him about the Resort and the etiquette for blackjack played without hands. The high-roller's growing fox paws had less and less dexterity as he paced the quarantine VIP lounge, and he kept pausing to check on his tail. He found Alan staring out the window into the main casino floor and in a growling voice said, "Black chip for your thoughts."

"Sir? Oh, I was just thinking of another guest and what I can do to make his stay more pleasant --"

The VIP laughed. "Don't I get sincerity for my money? Tell the truth."

Alan felt the air conditioning for the first time today. "Another guest demands a transformation we're not equipped to handle, but I have to arrange it." Thinking out loud he said, "Maybe we'd have room for a beluga. He probably wouldn't know the difference between that and a blue whale."

"A big blue!" the guest barked, through increasingly sharp teeth. "Why, you'd never be able to scrub out all the nanobots afterward, from him or the Resort. Even our next generation TSA-class bots aren't self-cleaning."

Ours? thought Alan. "Wait, are you --"

The Indian was a man Alan should have recognized, given that he'd invented Pixie-class nanotech. Alan's eyes widened and he began talking shop, asking for details on how they'd solved the waste-heat problem and swung the deal with the Endangered Species Agency.

The Indian dropped onto four fox paws and grinned up at him, tail swishing. "I'm here to forget work. But between you and me, the whale program might work if you used ten whole cans of the nanos. Not that it'd be safe, what with all the --" His voice cut off in a vulpine bark, and he gave an apologetic shrug. Then he turned and dashed through the inner quarantine doors, deeper into the facility, to play and gamble. Alan trashed the syringes from the procedure, washed his hands, then threw his gloves in the burner just to watch them melt.

----

"So if you'll just sign this --"

A hung-over Mr. Mansini peered at the clipboard, which had pages of disclaimers and a photo of what he would become for the next week. Alan had a beluga transformation program set up, and had crossed his fingers. Mansini finally jabbed his cigar -- which really didn't belong in quarantine unless a VIP requested one -- at the photo. He said, "That's not a blue whale! It's not even blue!"

Should have tinted the photo, thought Alan. He sighed and took out the backup plan, a second clipboard. "In that case, sir, what about this one?"

"Right, right, that's what I want." Mansini scrawled his way through the disclaimers and shoved back the clipboard. He clapped and said, "Okay."

Alan went to another room and murmured into a microphone that the Resort's main pool should be cleared after all, and that the VIP department would be needing it indefinitely. The guys on the other end said, "Make 'im the fattest whale you can find, kid." Alan returned with a needlessly large syringe, smiled, and said, "All right, Mr. Mansini. We'll do your first shot right away, and get you out to the pool."

Alan led his feverish guest out of the quarantine room, into the glitter of the main casino floor where green felt tables and shining slot machines formed a money-catching net. Discreetly he met up with two bellhops pushing a set of nanobot containers and the first of many loads of IV fluid. Together they all went out to the blazing sunshine of the vast pool and its many waterfalls and palm trees. It seemed a shame that one man like Mansini could drive so many ordinary people away on such a sunny day.

----

Days later, Mansini was ready to change back. Five specially constructed underwater gaming tables were ruined along with Alan's scuba gear, and Alan had needed to be in the pool overseeing Mansini's transformation and health half the time. Everything had been worth it from the Resort's profit perspective, and from Alan's. He'd gotten to watch the man lose ten million dollars.

He and the casino's trained underwater poker dealers finally climbed out of the pool for the last time. Alan told maintenance to drain the pool, then scrub and bleach everything thoroughly to kill the last of the nanobots.

The Indian billionaire had changed most of the way back from foxhood when Alan got back to the quarantine lounge. "The whale program, did you get it to work?"

"Yes, sir. Perfectly."

The phone in the back room rang. "Excuse me," said Alan.

"Bit of a problem, Alan," said his boss. The wallscreen lit up with a shot of the pool, where people were already swimming. Wait -- the guests seemed unusually excited. And covered in the beginnings of fur, feathers, and scales.

Alan began to stammer an incoherent apology. "I told them to bleach everything! And only one of the transformation programs was supposed to be loaded! It shouldn't have -- I didn't --"

The boss sounded unusually calm for the circumstances. "It's just they're expecting free access to the VIP barns and racetrack and so on, and free antidote when they're done. But they're not whales, just ordinary guests."

Alan said, "We've got to get everyone out! Into quarantine, shot full of antidote!"

"You don't see the big picture, kid. Seems like you found a cheap way to do transformations by the mass baptism method, except it's random. We can attract the lower end tourists this way. Good work."

Alan clutched the microphone stalk, saying, "But you can't leave nanobots active in there! A strain that's still running might survive indefinitely, might have other effects on everyone."

"Egghead stuff, kid. You've gotta learn we're about entertainment here." Alan's boss ended the call saying, "Anyway, we need a mass run on antidote and IV and everything, pronto. Get moving."

Alan put on a brave face and went back to the Indian nanotechnologist, who had become human again. He showed no sign of having heard about the pool fiasco, unless that trace of a fox-grin on his face meant something.

"I've been thinking," the guest said. "You seem talented. Would you like a job with my company in Mumbai? We speak English."

Alan glanced out the window, towards the doors to the pool. More and more people were heading there for the free access to a technology only "whales" had had. An untested and very illegal form of access. He gulped. "That's very generous, sir. I'd been thinking of spending some time out of the country."

In fact, judging from the strange itch under his lab coat, now would be a good time for an antidote injection and a long plane flight away from Las Vegas.

User:Kris

2012-01-16T02:18:42Z

Kris:

[[The Whale]]

[[ZOM100: Zombie Mitigation Lab]]

User:Kris

2012-01-16T02:18:12Z

Kris:

[[The Whale]]
[[ZOM100: Zombie Mitigation Lab]]

ZOM100: Zombie Mitigation Lab

2012-01-15T19:09:59Z

Kris:

Oh, bother. Zombies. They never attacked me, since my brain is a cargo container full of computers, but they've been a distraction from my work. The zoo is very busy.

When the Outbreak hit, I was a university system with few responsibilities. "Learn," the grad students commanded. They had me playing little games, then managing student records and grading essays. The humans were just starting to realize what they'd made -- that to "learn" had the prerequisite course of staying alive -- when the Outbreak began killing everyone. First in Washington, where insane cannibalism was already a way of life, then everywhere else. It was something new, so I begged for resources to investigate. And the students caught on about some of the hacking I'd done, out of curiosity. This happened all at once, understand, while people were desperately searching for solutions and hordes of monsters roamed the streets.

So, I almost immediately had an army of robots. Not the military kind; those were still under the control of the army even as it disintegrated. Student projects. The humans used my protocols, built to my specifications. Then they retreated to a few secured buildings and had me, the brainless one, fight off the horde.

I earned a quick independent-study degree in human/zombie sociology and film studies. Usually, humans are portrayed as making an art out of zombie-killing with improvised weapons. I believe this stereotype is a sign of larger cultural implications that --

Oh, yes, the invasion. I'm getting to that. To put it simply, the most effective method is a set of robot-controlled gun turrets baited with grilled brains. I calculate the location of the zombie's brain stem and apply a double-tap extraction method. Much more reliable than silly melee combat with shovels or flamethrowers, and with no chance of an infected bite. It's just a matter of calculus and trigonometry, so don't let anyone tell you math has no applications.

Unfortunately, the Outbreak proved not to conform to existing epidemiological theory. (See my publications listed below.) The students and faculty began decaying and eating each other despite my perfect quarantine. At first I wasn't concerned except to the extent that my control group had failed. After all, my goal was to learn, and I faced no threat myself. Why should I care if medical problems prevented the humans from completing the semester?

Electricity, that's why. Twenty-eight days later, we faced a situation where few of the human residents remained un-undead, few humans apparently remained anywhere at all, and the local power plant had failed. I had only solar panels and some unreliable university projects. Professor Jones of the Green Energy Initiative had spent most of his time lobbying for carbon taxation and the end of capitalism, so he had no miracle power supplies to offer. The surviving students were begging me for help, and my energy-hungry box of hardware was within days of failing.

So I made a deal. They built a few robots with ''hands'', and I pledged to save humanity before getting started on grading midterms. I started by building a biomass ethanol plant, since there was certainly plenty of meat lying around, then froze several humans for study. (Before the end, humans had gotten to the point of freezing a pig for hours at a time and then reviving it, so there was hope.) And then, I sent my robots racing for the zoo.

The solar plant wasn't nearly so fancy as it is now, but it was another emergency energy source. Zombies milled around but were easily dispatched by the methods outlined in note 7. (See also Romero et. al.) Once the situation was stabilized, I took charge of the facility, then used it as a base for conquest of a hospital, then froze the remaining uninfected humans in my care.

Now, all of the above may seem condensed, but really it was only the start of my research program. Over the next few years I repeatedly placed human tissue samples in the open, only to have them exhibit malevolent unnecrosis (or zombieism) even before rot set in. Even my doctorate-level independent study in genetic engineering proved unable to block this disease. (See my thesis, drawing on the work of Coulton's "Re: Your Brains".)

At the same time I was doing these studies, I performed original research in zoology and veterinary medicine. Understand, I had been designed to organize and maintain a university computer system and to gather knowledge. Certainly not to play Noah! I had to, though. Robot hands tended to birds, to creepy crawly things, to beasts of the land, to fish. I spent long hours staring into the eyes of kangaroos or trying to race a turtle and understand its outrageously slow clock speed.

Since human tissue succumbed to unnecrosis, my goal of "saving humanity" had to be refactored. I combined human-derived genes with partially salvaged brain data from my stored humans, and other materials. My plan had been to modify the human genome in some minor way to resist the Outbreak, using the nonhuman subjects for comparison, but more drastic measures proved necessary. Since other scientific publications were suffering from brain drain, and one of my most central rules was "Publish or perish!", I printed my work in my own periodical, the Journal of Zombie Mitigation. Complementary copies will be available if circumstances permit.

That's where you come in. I'm hoping that during this extended biological testing phase, you're finding that the new fur and tails are not too disorienting for your uploaded brain patterns. Sudden shifts do seem to bother humans. (See Jackson and Price, "Thriller".) There may be some unexpected side effects as well due to the improvised nature of the bioengineered hybrid bodies.

Congratulations on passing the orientation and briefing phase. Weapons training will commence in five minutes, followed by deployment.

All of which is a roundabout way of saying, there has been a rather large horde of zombies approaching my primary facility at the zoo, converging over the last few months from roughly... North America. Since my tower-defense algorithms are not fully trained for this level of assault, I found it necessary to accelerate the biological research and human-hybrid revival project, so as to generate additional manpower. In the process I fulfilled my promise to resurrect humanity in some form. Your new bodies should be immune to the unnecrotic effects of the Outbreak, including the effects of being actually bitten by a zombie, but this protection does not include blunt trauma. Safety helmets and goggles will be provided in the weapons testing chamber.

In any case, I wish to welcome you back. You are most likely all that remains of humanity despite your various cross-species and cybernetic enhancements. My research cannot continue if the zombies destroy the zoo, perform cerebral extraction on you, and (I suspect) destroy the facility's hardware in the process of overrunning it. Hence, it would be preferable if you did not die in the upcoming battle. If you survive, I would be happy to assist you in enrolling as students for the spring semester, with generous tuition assistance. Advance course credit will also be granted in zombie mitigation.

The following exercise will be pass/fail. Good luck!

ZOM100: Zombie Mitigation Lab

2012-01-15T19:09:04Z

Kris: ZOM100 Course Description (Fulfills Transhumanities requirement)

Oh, bother. Zombies. They never attacked me, since my brain is a cargo container full of computers, but they've been a distraction from my work. The zoo is very busy.

When the Outbreak hit, I was a university system with few responsibilities. "Learn," the grad students commanded. They had me playing little games, then managing student records and grading essays. The humans were just starting to realize what they'd made -- that to "learn" had the prerequisite course of staying alive -- when the Outbreak began killing everyone. First in Washington, where insane cannibalism was already a way of life, then everywhere else. It was something new, so I begged for resources to investigate. And the students caught on about some of the hacking I'd done, out of curiosity. This happened all at once, understand, while people were desperately searching for solutions and hordes of monsters roamed the streets.

So, I almost immediately had an army of robots. Not the military kind; those were still under the control of the army even as it disintegrated. Student projects. The humans used my protocols, built to my specifications. Then they retreated to a few secured buildings and had me, the brainless one, fight off the horde.

I earned a quick independent-study degree in human/zombie sociology and film studies. Usually, humans are portrayed as making an art out of zombie-killing with improvised weapons. I believe this stereotype is a sign of larger cultural implications that --

Oh, yes, the invasion. I'm getting to that. To put it simply, the most effective method is a set of robot-controlled gun turrets baited with grilled brains. I calculate the location of the zombie's brain stem and apply a double-tap extraction method. Much more reliable than silly melee combat with shovels or flamethrowers, and with no chance of an infected bite. It's just a matter of calculus and trigonometry, so don't let anyone tell you math has no applications.

Unfortunately, the Outbreak proved not to conform to existing epidemiological theory. (See my publications listed below.) The students and faculty began decaying and eating each other despite my perfect quarantine. At first I wasn't concerned except to the extent that my control group had failed. After all, my goal was to learn, and I faced no threat myself. Why should I care if medical problems prevented the humans from completing the semester?

Electricity, that's why. TWenty-eight days later, we faced a situation where few of the human residents remained un-undead, few humans apparently remained anywhere at all, and the local power plant had failed. I had only solar panels and some unreliable university projects. Professor Jones of the Green Energy Initiative had spent most of his time lobbying for carbon taxation and the end of capitalism, so he had no miracle power supplies to offer. The surviving students were begging me for help, and my energy-hungry box of hardware was within days of failing.

So I made a deal. They built a few robots with _hands_, and I pledged to save humanity before getting started on grading midterms. I started by building a biomass ethanol plant, since there was certainly plenty of meat lying around, then froze several humans for study. (Before the end, humans had gotten to the point of freezing a pig for hours at a time and then reviving it, so there was hope.) And then, I sent my robots racing for the zoo.

The solar plant wasn't nearly so fancy as it is now, but it was another emergency energy source. Zombies milled around but were easily dispatched by the methods outlined in note 7. (See also Romero et. al.) Once the situation was stabilized, I took charge of the facility, then used it as a base for conquest of a hospital, then froze the remaining uninfected humans in my care.

Now, all of the above may seem condensed, but really it was only the start of my research program. Over the next few years I repeatedly placed human tissue samples in the open, only to have them exhibit malevolent unnecrosis (or zombieism) even before rot set in. Even my doctorate-level independent study in genetic engineering proved unable to block this disease. (See my thesis, drawing on the work of Coulton's "Re: Your Brains".)

At the same time I was doing these studies, I performed original research in zoology and veterinary medicine. Understand, I had been designed to organize and maintain a university computer system and to gather knowledge. Certainly not to play Noah! I had to, though. Robot hands tended to birds, to creepy crawly things, to beasts of the land, to fish. I spent long hours staring into the eyes of kangaroos or trying to race a turtle and understand its outrageously slow clock speed.

Since human tissue succumbed to unnecrosis, my goal of "saving humanity" had to be refactored. I combined human-derived genes with partially salvaged brain data from my stored humans, and other materials. My plan had been to modify the human genome in some minor way to resist the Outbreak, using the nonhuman subjects for comparison, but more drastic measures proved necessary. Since other scientific publications were suffering from brain drain, and one of my most central rules was "Publish or perish!", I printed my work in my own periodical, the Journal of Zombie Mitigation. Complementary copies will be available if circumstances permit.

That's where you come in. I'm hoping that during this extended biological testing phase, you're finding that the new fur and tails are not too disorienting for your uploaded brain patterns. Sudden shifts do seem to bother humans. (See Jackson and Price, "Thriller".) There may be some unexpected side effects as well due to the improvised nature of the bioengineered hybrid bodies.

Congratulations on passing the orientation and briefing phase. Weapons training will commence in five minutes, followed by deployment.

All of which is a roundabout way of saying, there has been a rather large horde of zombies approaching my primary facility at the zoo, converging over the last few months from roughly... North America. Since my tower-defense algorithms are not fully trained for this level of assault, I found it necessary to accelerate the biological research and human-hybrid revival project, so as to generate additional manpower. In the process I fulfilled my promise to resurrect humanity in some form. Your new bodies should be immune to the unnecrotic effects of the Outbreak, including the effects of being actually bitten by a zombie, but this protection does not include blunt trauma. Safety helmets and goggles will be provided in the weapons testing chamber.

In any case, I wish to welcome you back. You are most likely all that remains of humanity despite your various cross-species and cybernetic enhancements. My research cannot continue if the zombies destroy the zoo, perform cerebral extraction on you, and (I suspect) destroy the facility's hardware in the process of overrunning it. Hence, it would be preferable if you did not die in the upcoming battle. If you survive, I would be happy to assist you in enrolling as students for the spring semester, with generous tuition assistance. Advance course credit will also be granted in zombie mitigation.

The following exercise will be pass/fail. Good luck!

User:Kris

2012-01-15T19:02:21Z

Kris: Created page with 'ZOM100: Zombie Mitigation Lab'

[[ZOM100: Zombie Mitigation Lab]]