The Tower in the Torch

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December 19th, 2027, 18:21

I leaned forwards over my desk, examining the strange object in my hands. It was an early Christmas present from Dad: one of the new prototypes his company had come up with. He would sometimes bring one home from work and let me fiddle with it; I’d try and figure out what it was and, on rare occasion, try to improve it. Ostensibly it was market research—if someone could figure the product out without needing to be told it meant that it was more accessible to the consumer—but we both knew it was because I loved to tinker with things and that—as much as he would go on about ‘finding your own path’—Dad was more than happy encouraging me to follow in his footsteps as an inventor. Not that I needed much persuasion.

The prototype I had been given this time was one of the weirdest I had ever seen. It was a strap of leather with a series of Plexiglas bubbles on the end. Guessing from the drawstring, this was supposed to be wrapped around part of the body, but it was too long to be for an arm and too short to go around the waist.

I was feeling lightheaded so I rubbed my forehead to clear my thoughts. The cold must be messing with me—I’d been feeling off all day and the dizzy spells weren’t helping any. Grabbing a sweater from my dresser I returned to my desk and re-examined the leather strap. I could easily imagine it as some kind of belt, but that didn’t make much sense—Albion wasn’t about weird fashion accessories, it made teefer adapted technology.

A light bulb went off in my head as the obvious solution came into focus. The strap was a TAT, which meant that I would know what it was if I figured out which species morph it was meant to help. I flipped the strap over and examined the three slit openings beneath where the glass bubbles were on the other side. Gills came to mind, maybe this was meant to go around the user’s neck? I tried tying it around my own neck—it seemed to fit and the bubbles were where a teefer’s gills would be, though I had some trouble tightening it without choking myself. So I knew where it went—around the neck of a fish morph—but not what it did. The openings ruled out some type of ballast tank or swim-bladder substitute, but maybe the bubbles had to be filled with something…

I grinned as the answer came to me—water, obviously! I ran to the bathroom and opened one of the bubbles to fill it with water in order to test my theory. As I closed the bubbles and retied it around my neck and chill ran down my spine as the water began to seep through the openings onto my skin. It was a gradual, but small flow—there must be a pressure seal inside the leather itself to control the release rate. I untied the strap and headed back to my desk. Now that I knew what it was, it was time to start fiddling—my favorite part. I took out my tools and went to work.

Ten minutes later I leaned back in my chair, smiling at the finished product. I was a little disappointed that there wasn’t much I could change about the strap other than replacing the drawstring with a clasp, but it still felt good to be able to improve something Dad’s R&D department came up with.

A light from the window caught my eye and I looked out through the frosted glass over the yard. Christmas lights had just flickered on across the trees—probably Sam’s doing. I grinned at the thought; my sister may have been three years my senior but she was the youngest at heart and would make it her personal mission each year to decorate the house for the holidays. After admiring the coloured display my thoughts returned to the TAT lying on my desk. I grabbed the strap and ran downstairs to show off what I had done.

Dad was in his office—or rather, his workshop. Scraps of paper lined the room and the floor was covered with discarded blueprints, cables, and various bits of failed inventions. Mom always nagged him about the mess but he never listened. “Albion wasn’t founded on brooms and mops.” He’d say, and I was inclined to agree; clutter sparked the creative mind more than cleanliness.

For once, Dad wasn’t pouring over his workbench when I entered—he was at the desk doing paperwork.

“Ah, Johannes,” he beamed as I stepped over some loose cables, “out of your room so soon? Don’t tell me you’re stumped already.”

I grinned, showing him the strap. “Sorry, not this time. It’s a lubrication device, meant to prevent gills on fish morphs from drying out.”

He chuckled. “And here I was thinking you wouldn’t figure it out until New Year’s. Oh well, it’s the thought that counts.”

I nodded and placed the strap in front of him. Dad immediately picked it up and examined the ends where I replaced the drawstring.

“Clasps?” He inquired.

I nodded again. “The string was good but I almost choked myself trying to tighten it. Besides, knots can get loose over time or become almost impossible to undo. This way the user can tighten it easier and it won’t be hard to undo.”

“Wonderful!” He enthused. “I can’t wait to bring this in to the office. There was a pool going around on whether you’d be able to do anything with this one, and I daresay—Dr. Sauls is going to be out quite the penny.”

He patted me on the head, then frowned. “You’re feeling a bit warm, everything all right?”

I blinked. “Yea, I’m fine. The cold’s just getting to my head.”

“Fair enough.” Dad said, adding, “You may want to go help Samantha set up the rest of the lights by the way; trees are all well and good but your mother would kill us both if she fell off the roof again.” “Ah, right.” I replied hastily. I ran to the hall closet and threw on my winter jacket, scarf and boots before darting out the door. Sure enough, when I reached the front yard my sister was already leaning the ladder up against the garage door.

“Hey, Sam!” I called out.

She turned, beaming when she saw me. “Oh, Johannes! Let me guess, Mom sent you out to help me?”

“Dad.” I corrected when I reached her.

Sam made a pouting look. “One time! One time I mess up—”

“You fell off the roof for the fifth time in three years.” I interrupted. “You’re not very co-ordinated.”

I held out a hand. “Let me do the lights, you can hold the ladder.”

She sighed. “Fine. But make sure to do it right!”

“Yea, yea.”

Sam gave me the lights and held the base of the ladder as I climbed on to the overhang above the garage. Stringing the lights wasn’t that hard—Sam had stuck holders on the rain ducts a few years back so all I had to do was feed the cable through the little hooks. I had finished setting up about half of them when I started to feel dizzy again. I was also starting to feel hot so I unbuttoned my coat.

“You ok up there?” Sam called from the ground.

“Yea… it’s nothing.” I called back. I was starting to feel weak so I hurried to finish the rest of the lights. As I leaned over to hook in the last one my head suddenly felt like it had caught fire. I dropped the lights and immediately pulled off my scarf but it didn’t help, the heat just continued to build and spread across my body as my vision blurred. Everything lost focus and I keeled over, blacking out as I fell from the roof. The last thing I heard was my sister’s panicked yells.

December 19th, 2027, 20:57

I woke up in a hospital bed. Mom, Dad, and Sam were sitting across from me against the wall. There was something heavy on top of me, I tried to move it but couldn’t muster the strength. Sam raised her head at the sound of my rustlings.

“He’s awake!” She exclaimed. Immediately my family jumped up and rushed to my bedside, all talking at once. “Oh thank God you’re alright!”

“I’m so sorry; I shouldn’t have let you go up.”

“The snow broke your fall—you don’t even have a sprain.”

“Not so… loud.” I managed to say weakly as I rubbed my head. “Head… hurts.”

When they fell silent I turned to Sam. “I fell… off the roof?”

She nodded. “You just swayed, sort of, and then keeled over. You hit the snow and I let go of the ladder and ran over to you.” Blushing, she added, “It almost hit you when it fell over actually.”

“Samantha ran and got your father and me and we drove you to the emergency room.” Mom continued. “You didn’t seem to be hurt but you were burning up and wouldn’t respond to anything.”

I suddenly clued in to why I was in the hospital bed. “So I’m sick?”

“Blowtorch Fever.” Dad answered solemnly. “You were peaking 120 degrees when the doctors got to you. So far they’re keeping your temperature down with the ice blanket—” He gestured to the heavy quilt covering me, “—and you’re being kept under observation until it goes back to normal.”

“Lovely.”

Mom patted my head. “We’ll visit you every day until you get released, but for now the doctors say that you need to get some rest.”

I nodded absently, already feeling tired. I rested my head against the hospital pillow and my family filed out of the room. As the last one flicked off the light switch, I was already fast asleep.

???

I’m not sure how long I was asleep, or even if I woke up; I felt separated from my body, passing fevered dreams and drained consciousness and back again without registering anything around me. My whole body was burning and sore, it felt like my insides—heck, even my bones—were squirming. Voices floated vaguely through my ears but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Eventually the heat and pain faded, and the weight of the ice blanket was removed. I curled into a ball and rested my head on my pillow… it was so warm and fuzzy…

December 22nd, 2027, 12:00

Slowly, I opened my eyes. I was still in a hospital room, but it was different than the one I was in when I first woke up. It was… fresher, somehow. I couldn’t smell any of the antiseptic or medicine that usually filled hospitals, just clean air. It was nice.

I lay there on the bed, absently listening to the *whump* *whump* *whump* of the fan and the *whirr* *whirr* *whirr* of an air purifier as I enjoyed the moment. I wasn’t hot, and no part of my body was sore, which meant the Torch must have passed. It was actually kind of funny, I had just gotten over one of the most dangerous diseases in modern history and now I felt more rested and better than I ever did in my life—it was like I was a new person.

Despite my current feeling of serenity, I had a weird feeling. I could feel my head lying on part of my body, but my arms and legs were both beneath me. I raised my head from my pillow curiously and looked down—then froze at what I saw. What I had thought was a pillow was actually a long, bushy, furry… thing. After a few seconds my mind unfroze and a single word came to mind: Tail.

I stared at it, unwilling to believe what it was. It couldn’t be mine, it just couldn’t! But I had felt it—felt with it. Immediately I sat up and grabbed my backside, my eyes pressed shut and praying not to find what intellectually I knew was there. It was no use—instantly my hands found the spot where the tail… my tail…. met my own, furry back.

I took deep breaths, trying to calm myself. Still keeping my eyes closed I ran my hands over my body, feeling the thick fur that now covered my skin. Just a tail and some fur, I thought, nothing I couldn’t deal with. But as my hands reach my head I felt my heart race as it felt peaked ears at the top of my head, and a long, narrow muzzle topped with a cold, wet, and whiskered nose. It was still all right though, I could handle—owch!

I had cut myself! Pulling my hand away from my muzzle I finally opened my eyes and saw what had done the deed. My nails were thick, black, and elongated into sharp claws; I tried making a fist and watched with a sort of morbid fascination as they partially retracted into my… my….

My throat tightened as I registered the rest of my hand—or what used to be my hand. Leathery pads covered my palm, surrounded by light brown fur—the same shade my hair used to be. It was unmistakably a paw and—as I realized with horror—completely thumbless. I quickly looked down and found that my feet had met with the same change; they were now the limbs of an animal—elongated, heelless, and covered with brown fur that gave way to bright orange halfway up my leg.

I looked around desperately for my family, a doctor, anyone, but all I found was an empty room. Even worse, everything past the cabinet next to my bed was a complete blur, and when I tried to call out a high-pitched yelp left my throat—was there any human left in me? I had to find out, even though I was scared to know the answer.

There was a small hand mirror—or what I could make out as a hand mirror—lying on a table sitting against the wall at the far end of the room. Without thinking I pushed myself off the bed and onto my legs as I had always done—then promptly lost balance and fell over onto the floor. Swearing internally, I tried to pull myself onto my hands and knees. It took a moment to register that my legs weren’t long enough to bend that way anymore, and that when I stretched my legs my toes met the ground perfectly. Tenitavely, I tried something similar with my hands; I pressed my padded fingers against the ground and placed my weight on them. Since standing on all fours didn’t result in my falling over, it would have to do for now—I could learn how to walk properly later, the mirror took priority.

My first few steps were awkward and stumbling until my tail began to twitch and angle itself reflexively to counterweight my balance. Slowly, I made my way across the floor to the table, the linoleum feeling cold—but distant—beneath my paws. As I reached the table, a sinking feeling was beginning to grow in my stomach as I realized just how big everything in the room was—how small had I become? Rearing back onto my legs, I tried to grab the mirror but my thumbless hands couldn’t get a grip—I only succeeded in knocking it to the floor before losing my balance again. Pushing myself back onto all fours, I approached the mirror, took a deep breath, and looked.

Time froze when I saw my reflection, and whatever hope I still carried died. I searched vainly for some sign of humanity, but there was none to be found. Even my eyes had been altered—their pupils were vertical and their irises were a pale gold. All I could see, and all the doctors saw when they finally arrived, was a small, scared-looking fox, looking desperately at the mirror’s cold, uncaring glass.

December 22nd, 2027, 13:08

“God, I’m so sorry you had to wake up alone.” Sam said as she sat next to me on the bed. “We were getting lunch in the cafeteria and the doctors were rushing to deal with a code.”

I growled an acknowledgement and she rubbed my head. It felt nice—but I hated myself for enjoying it.

“I can’t imagine what it must have been like.” Mom said, “Having to wake up all alone in a new body. If it had been me I’d have—”

“Mom…” Sam said sternly, and she stopped talking. I wasn’t paying attention though, I was looking at Dad. He was just… standing there, a few feet from the bed, staring at the wall just above my head. He had a strange look on his face; I couldn’t tell what he was thinking—even his scent was ambiguous. But why wasn’t he looking at me?

A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts and we all turned to see a doctor enter.

“Hello. I’m here to do a physical on Johannes Belford. Is this a bad time?” He asked mechanically.

My family turned to me, I shook my head; may as well get this over with. Sam hopped off the bed and took a seat next to my parents as the doctor approached and began the physical. I mutely followed his commands as the doctor looked over every part of my body. He took my hands and spread out their fingers as much as possible before examining my claws then doing the same with my feet. He felt up my tail, testing my muscle control in the new limb. The doctor pushed my lips away and looked over my teeth—“All canines.” he joked—before taking out a pocket light and shining it down my throat.

After putting the light back in his pocket, the doctor turned to my family. “Well, there isn’t much I can say that you don’t already know. Johannes caught TFOR and has been thoroughly blended with vulpes vulpes—the red fox.”

“A little more tact might be appreciated.” Sam said coolly.

The doctor gave her a condescending look. “Forgive me ma’am, but it is best to be frank with situations like this. Your brother is a class 3 animorph—fullmorph to use the common nomenclature—and there isn’t any point in dancing around that fact. Mentally speaking he seems to be all there since he recognizes you and can answer basic questions, but we can’t know for sure until he starts talking.”

“He can talk?” Mom asked hopefully.

“Yes, he should be able to.” The doctor replied. “There was nothing in his throat examination that would suggest he can’t—though it may take a few days for his body to get used to the new vocal chords. In any case, Johannes is perfectly healthy from a medical perspective so you’re free to take him home.”

“Do you hear that?” Sam asked me happily. “You can go home!”

I nodded, feeling a little better for the first time that day. This was short lived, however. I wasn’t co-ordinated enough on four legs yet to keep any reasonable speed, so Sam had to carry me out of the hospital and into the car, not to mention buckle my seatbelt for me. It was necessary, but made me feel like an infant not to be able to perform such a basic action. Sam kept up a stream of encouragement throughout the car ride home, but I wasn’t listening to her. My attention was focused on Dad as he drove the car, eyes fixed on the road.

“Don’t worry.” Sam whispered to me when she saw who I was looking at. “He’s just dealing with this in his own way—you know how he is. Just give it a day or two and he’ll be back to normal.”

I didn’t respond. Eventually we pulled into the driveway and Sam carried me through the snow to the front door. The second she walked inside the house I jumped out my sister’s arms and ran as best I could up to my room. Pushing the door closed, I tried to climb into my bed, but it was too high up for me to get into. Looking around, I found my toolbox and pushed it against the bed to use as a stepping stone. When I was finally on my bed, I keeled over, the day’s exhaustion taking its toll.

Lying there, I thought over the day’s events—waking up alone to find myself not even human, seeing myself in the mirror, the doctor examining me like a lab rat, and Dad… Dad refusing to even look at me. A tear rolled down my muzzle and I realized I was crying. I don’t know how long I lay there, quietly sobbing away my pain, but eventually I heard the door to Dad’s office close, and I wondered if he was doing the same thing.

December 23rd, 2027, 9:09

A delicious aroma wafted into my room from the hallway. As it floated past my nose, my whiskers twitched excitedly, rousing me from my sleep. I was entranced by the smell—I had never experienced anything like it before. Even though it was just pancakes—a common breakfast dish in my family—the scent was so much richer than I could ever remember! Everything about it—the eggs, the butter, even a bit of the flour seemed to dance before my nose; I could practically taste it...

A knock at the door brought me out of my stomach. “Johannes? Are you up?” Came my sister’s voice. I barked an affirmative and the door opened as the smell of pancakes intensified. I suddenly realized that I was panting and made myself stop just as Sam entered carrying a tray.

“I, uh, brought you some breakfast.” She said. “Hungry?”

A growl from my stomach answered the question. Sam sat the tray down on my bed and took a seat next to me. She watched silently as I fumbled trying to get a grip on the knife and fork, my thumbless hands eventually finding their place. I awkwardly cut a piece of the pancake and put it into my mouth—almost poking myself in the face as I forgot how long my muzzle was. The taste was... unbelievable. Just like with the scent, each ingredient seemed to dance across my tongue and combine together in a rich taste I never knew was possible. I was actually overwhelmed a bit.

“Mrrr.” I growled contentedly—it was almost a purr.

“You like it, huh?” Sam asked, smiling. “I read that you’d have a better sense of taste.”

My ears twitched and swivelled towards her, read?

“I, uh, did some research last night after we got back from the hospital.” She said a little sheepishly.

As much as I wanted to know what Sam had found out, my hunger took priority. My sister waited patiently as I finished the pancakes—I had to chew slowly since I wasn’t used to such a large mouth yet. When I eventually finished I started to pant again—my throat was completely parched. I scanned the tray for a glass of water but Sam must have forgotten to bring one up—aside from the now-empty plate of pancakes there was just a bowl of water.

Something clicked in my head and I stared at the bowl. Intellectually I had expected this—my muzzle wouldn’t be able to form a proper seal around a cup—but I still got a sinking feeling when I realized I would have to drink from a bowl from now on. I cupped my hands and tried to scoop up some of the water but it drained back into the bowl before I could drink it up. Sam opened her mouth to say something but she quickly closed it, seeming to think better of it. I considered going without drinking for now but my throat was so dry—I couldn’t ignore it.

With a dejected sigh I began to lower my head towards the bowl—then stopped a few centimetres away. I glanced towards Sam, who politely turned away; I was grateful for this—it was one thing to have to drink like an animal but I couldn’t take someone watching me. Feeling as if I were betraying myself, I started to lap at the water.

It was harder than I’d thought—my first few attempts just splashed water into my face—but eventually I managed to sort of curl my tongue to catch the water. It was humiliating to have to do this, but the refreshing cool of a drink against my throat made me feel slightly better. Slightly.

I drank no more than I needed to sate my thirst and pushed the bowl away as soon as I was done. As Sam turned back around to face me, I tried to thank her for the breakfast but all I could manage was a mangled “Eiin”. Strangely, she smiled at this.

“It’s all right, Johannes.” She said. “Just keep trying and you’ll be able to talk again.” I nodded, and she continued. “I know you’ve just gone through a lot and I can’t imagine what it must be like for you, but I’ve been doing some thinking and I think that doctor who did your physical yesterday might be right.”

“Wa?” I asked, staring at her.

Sam shrugged. “I know he didn’t exactly have the best bedside manner but he did sorta have a point.” She took a deep breath. “You’re a fox, Johannes, and you probably will be for the rest of your life. The sooner you adapt means the sooner things can get back to normal.”

I scoffed—which came out as a strange yipping snort—was she serious?

“I am serious, Johannes.” She said, accurately guessing what I was thinking. Like I was saying, I did some research last night and they say that the worst thing a new teefer can do is wallow in self-pity. You just have to power through this as best you can.”

I pondered this. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, my sister did have a point. Reluctantly, I nodded. Sam beamed. “Great! Now, I already did a bit of research of red foxes and—hold on...” She took out a folded piece of paper from her pocket and spread it out in front of us. “Here we go. I printed this off from TeeferWiki so I’m not sure how accurate it is, but the sources seemed to check out.”

I looked over the page—it was a list of fox traits commonly inherited by teefers. Digestion was a top one—it recommended avoiding anything that’s been heavily processed or fried, but since foxes are omnivorous my diet shouldn’t have to change that much, though I’d have a smaller appetite due to having a smaller stomach and lower energy requirements. The word “smaller” jumped out at me, but I ignored it. Sam was right—I’d just have to power through.

“It says that your tail is really flexible but you should just let reflexes take care of most of its movement.” Sam chimed in. I nodded and continued to read. I skipped over a bit related to hormonal cycles for vixens and arrived at a section labelled “Senses”:

Foxes have extremely acute hearing and are capable of picking out minute sounds with just a flick of their ears. Due to the way their ears are structure, a fox morph—and most candid morphs for that matter—are able to either block or magnify certain sounds depending on how their ears are angled. It is recommended to lower one’s ears when traversing areas such as a city block, as the sheer number and volume of sounds can easily overwhelm fresh teefers. Scent is also commonly magnified in approximately 98.7% of fox teefers, a result of the nasal extension present within the muzzle. The teefer will find that his or her sense of smell is greatly magnified, able to pick up the scents of each individual object around them rather than the overall effect that humans experience. A common example of this is a pizza—humans smell the general scent of a pizza while teefers are capable of picking out each ingredient individually as well as the combined aroma.

One area in which foxes, and other candid morphs are considered disadvantaged in is sight—though this is a matter of some debate. Fox teefers have excellent low-light vision and enjoy a great level of detail at close range, though their ability to see is limited to a few feet in front of them. Like most canine morphs, green colour-blindness is common.

The sinking feeling returned as I read the last line. “Green colour-blindness is common”. I quickly looked towards my desk at the scattered tools that lay across it. My eyes found my screwdriver with the green handle—except that it wasn’t green anymore, but a pale, brownish yellow. My ears sank as I realized another lost bit of humanity.

Sam, who had been reading along with me, sensed my despair. “I know it must come as a shock, but how often did you need to see green anyway? It’s not even your favourite colour. I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but you shouldn’t get caught up in something so minor.”

There was something refreshing about the raw sensibility in the way she said that; and oddly enough it made me feel better. “eioiry” I mumbled, trying to apologize.

She waved aside my apology. “It’s alright, just try not to get depressed over every little thing. It’s going to be tough getting through this, but we’re all here for you.” Sam picked up the tray and stood up. “Now come on, I’ve got an idea how to help you get through this.” I followed her downstairs and waited as she put the tray and dishes away. When that was finished she led me into the living room where there were boxes of decorations scattered about.

“I know the lights didn’t go exactly as planned,” Sam said with a grin, “but I’m still going to need help decorating the rest of the house. Mom’s out running errands and Dad’s at the office so it’s you or no-one.”

I looked up at her with disbelief—there was no way she could be serious!