User:Phaedrus/A Trickster's Tail

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Copyright 1996-1998 Phaedrus

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Icon	This story contains adult content.

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Author's Comments

This story series is unfinished, and at this point it looks unlikely that it will ever be finished. Still, there's some good stuff in here. The story contains foul language; and part 10, in particular, contains some quite adult material. This story was originally in the No More Fakes universe, but it never really intersected with the other stories, and diverged rather sharply at the end.

Part 1 (Oct. 31; written 1996/12/17)

Keith was so nervous, he was afraid he might need to pee. Which would be more than a bit inconvenient right now.

He was not the sort of person that you would expect to see walking down the street in a coyote suit. But then again, that was probably why he was doing it.

---

Keith had first heard about the Raucous Chicken Club party back in mid-September; and as soon as he heard about it, he knew it was something that he needed to see--badly enough to extend his stay for two weeks. Not that that was a big deal; he hadn't accepted any new offers yet. (There were plenty of offers; Microsoft and IBM were in a full hiring swing; and no small number of his fellow contractors had felt the call of a guaranteed paycheck, thinning out the field somewhat--but he had been there, done that, thank you very much. Besides, he wasn't exactly hurting for funds; 30000 shares of Microsoft doesn't make you Bill Gates, but it does make your travel plans a lot more flexible.)

Ever since drama class in high school, he had always had an interest in costuming. He was glad he hadn't made a career of it, but he still remembered enough to win most of the costume contests at the holiday office parties he wound up at--and the ones he lost were usually because the boss had showed up in costume. Still, from what he had heard, the Raucous Chicken was two or three orders of magnitude above the average party; some truly unique creations showed up there.

Since this was a special occasion, and since he had plenty of time to kill, he decided to try a full-body animal costume, something he hadn't done since college. A wolf? A lion? No, those would be done to death. Something really exotic, like a dragon? No, he'd never be able to pull it off. Something in between; close enough to the standard dogs and cats that he'd have some hope of putting the head together right, but something that hadn't been done more than a couple of million times before. A coyote-morph? Yes, that might be worth going with as a starting point. He had always liked the Coyote myths; maybe he could do something with that.

But he couldn't go in a coyote costume and nothing else; not only would that be boring, but it would make it that much harder to deal with hiding the seams. He needed something to dress up the concept with, literally and figuratively. He thought about putting some Native American garb together and going as the Coyote, but that seemed awfully dangerous--someone might think he was being disrespectful of other cultures, and he certainly couldn't risk that these days. A fantasy theme? A coyote mage? Promising. Very promising. A tricksterish character, definitely; uses magic for practical jokes, manages to get himself in trouble a lot, and somehow always manages to get back out of it. Since he's an animal morph, he's probably in tune with nature and all that; so maybe he gets his power from natural areas, and can't recharge in a city. Gets around a lot, and has a lot of experience, but not enough of an attention span to put a lot of effort into any one subject; so he can do a lot of different things, but spells cast on anything other than himself tend to wear off after a few hours, or maybe a few days if he's really pushing it--and of course, they don't always do just what he wants. Probably good at sneaking around and hiding, since that's the only way he'd survive more than three months. Good. Good enough for a start, anyway...

So he went out and rented a good sewing machine. Getting the other supplies he needed was going to be a problem--the other partygoers had obviously hit the stores long before him--but a Gold MasterCard can solve a surprising array of problems, once you find the right person to read the numbers to. And Keith knew just the man for the job--an old college theater-major friend, who had gone to Hollywood to pursue The Dream of a show-biz career, and actually managed to pull it off. Three days, some long phone calls and a few frantic email exchanges later, the four boxes from Sony Pictures Studios showed up. Opening them up was like Christmas morning, especially the big roll of wonderful fake fur in just the right shade of golden brown. There was a note attached to the stack of diagrams and photos: "I always knew you were just a lonesome ol' coyote at heart, man. Just remember, if anyone at that party asks where you got this stuff, you never heard of me. And send me a snapshot; this I gotta see. --Jack"

The rest was relatively straightforward; there were mistakes and false starts, and some terrible moments with the muzzle and the ears, but the suit was ready with just over a week to spare. It certainly wouldn't win any awards at the Raucous Chicken, but Keith was pretty sure that it wouldn't embarrass him either. The claws on hands and feet were shorter than a werewolf's, functional rather than frightening. The tail was a bit over two feet long, long enough to be convincing but without the risk of getting it stepped on. He was particularly proud of the head; the pointy ears and the long muzzle were perfect, though they made him sound like he was talking from inside a long train tunnel. For the mage's outfit, he whipped up a green hooded cloak, with trim and assorted mystic sigils in a slightly darker green; it would cover him pretty thoroughly if he so chose, but he planned on wearing it loosely and with the hood down, to show off the suit. (He decided to pass on anatomical correctness--he had never done it before, and he wasn't quite sure what the room was ready for.) With four days to go, everything was ready; he started wearing it around his apartment, getting used to the feel and the heat. He found himself liking it more and more. If this Raucous Chicken thing doesn't work out, he mused, I'll be the hit of the office-party circuit for years...

Now for a name and a bit more of a background story. After some digging around at the library, he decided that "Kickaha" had a nice ring to it. Now, what was he doing on Earth? Some self-created magical accident, obviously, had thrown his life-force across the cosmos and into the body of some human, which he had reshaped into something more "suitable." When his magical power was high, he was in control, and the human personality was pretty much along for the ride; when his power was low, it was the other way around. Hmm. That might be a bit wordy for a costume party, but at least it wasn't cliched. What was he doing at a costume party? Well, having fun, obviously; what else would Kickaha be doing? Keith grinned at that; if anyone pressed him at the party for a detail he'd left out, he could make it up as he went along with a clear conscience--after all, Kickaha certainly wouldn't feel the need to tell the truth about himself...

---

And so it came to pass that a slightly sweaty human in a golden-colored fursuit pulled his rental car into a lot two blocks from the Raucous Chicken, silently cursing the traffic that had held him up. He adjusted his cloak, donned his Kickaha head, gave himself one last once-over in the mirror, gulped once, and headed for the club, shifting from his usual walk into the confident saunter he'd been practicing.

When he got inside, his nervousness eased a little. Yes, there were some truly impressive costumes here--there was an impressive minotaur, and that donkey over in the corner was extraordinary--but there were also some much more amateurish efforts; when he saw the guy with the sheet over his head, he knew that he wasn't going to get laughed out of the room. He didn't know anyone here, but on the bright side, that meant that he couldn't embarrass himself too much in a full-body costume. So he quickly found himself relaxing, and slipping more fully into the Kickaha persona he had practiced. He compared notes with a barbarian and a knight in shining armor, to see if they were "from the same plane"; when the barbarian jokingly asked him why the mighty Kickaha seemed to have a speech impediment, he replied, "My telepathy is on the fritz again." I should have thought of that earlier, he thought; I could have put a speaker at the top of the head or something. Oh, well; live and learn.

A fellow in a somewhat clumsily-done French poodle costume blundered into him from behind. "Have you no respect for your elders, dog?", Keith said jokingly. "Perhaps this will teach you!" With that, he started an elaborate windup for a spell, streaming nonsense syllables; the poodle cowered in terror and tried to scramble away on all fours, but Keith was hot on the trail. Just after he finished his incantation and thrust both his arms at the fleeing poodle, he suddenly felt queasy. He held his head for a moment to clear it, then looked up.

A large French poodle stood shakily where the man had been. It looked at him, and yipped plaintively.

Around the rest of the room, shouts and screams rang out. The minotaur bellowed, clearly no longer in costume. Something exploded across the room. People started running.

<<Oops,>> Kickaha thought. <<Talk about overdoing it...>>

He quickly looked around the room again, trying to figure out whether there was some way to bring things back to some semblance of what they were. <<Not a chance,>> he realized. <<Anyway, this should all wear off pretty soon. Which means that I should probably be going; someone's bound to not be too pleased about this, and this party is a total loss anyway...>>

As he joined the crowd running for the exit, he looked down to see if he had been caught in the backlash. <<Oh, shit,>> he thought, as he noticed the smooth expanse of fur across his crotch; <<That was one of my favorite parts...>>

Outside, he closed his eyes, feeling for someplace quiet and out-of-the-way. A patch of land about a half-mile north called to him; a wooded area, maybe a park. It would have to do, at least until he could catch his bearings. He closed his cloak, pulled his hood over his head, muttered a few words, and started walking. Even though his clawed feet and twitching tail were still clearly visible, nobody noticed him. People had a tendency not to notice Kickaha when he walked that way.

As Kickaha arrived at the park, a man in shabby clothes staggered up. <<Damn drugs,>> Kickaha mused; <<you can't fog the mind of someone who's already fogged beyond recognition.>> "Spare change?" mumbled the man, lurching and grabbing Kickaha's cloak. Kickaha chuckled. "Well, since you asked, I suppose I can spare one more tonight..." The bum's form blurred and shifted; then a large mutt staggered away. It didn't seem to object to the change; it may not have even noticed.

Kickaha, meanwhile, suddenly felt queasy again. <<Then again, maybe I can't,>> he muttered, as he dropped to one knee...

Keith slowly blinked his eyes, staring down at his nose on the tip of his muzzle.

"Holy shit."

Part 2 (Oct. 31/Nov. 1; written 1996/12/19)

Keith stared numbly down at himself. He didn't have to piece together what had happened. He could remember everything; the party, the shock of the aftermath, the strange feeling of the park drawing him in, the irresistible call of the perfect setup line...

The bum! Dreading what he knew he was going to see, Keith slowly looked back up at the dog, lurching off towards the other side of the park. What the hell was he going to do about that? He could remember the feel of the power flowing through him, but he didn't have the foggiest idea of how the thing was done...

Then it hit him, and he almost gasped in relief; Kickaha's spells were temporary. Hopefully, this one would wear off by the end of the night...

At the realization of what he had just thought, his knees went weak, and he gently toppled over backwards onto the grass; the jab of pain from his tail as he landed on it erased any hopes he had that this was all sort of elaborate hallucination.

Kickaha. Somehow, something had happened to make everything in the party real. That meant that, not only was he stuck in the body of a coyote, but that there was a practical joker named Kickaha stuck in his head--and wielding very real magic.

This was all coming too quickly. <Let's come to grips with one impossibility at a time, shall we?,> he told himself firmly.

He started with the basics: his body. As he looked himself over, he found depressingly few surprises, and the surprises were indeed depressing. He was covered from head to foot with golden-brown fur; the only color variations were at the tip of the tail and the end of the muzzle, which he had bleached white. The tail was very real; an experimental twitch confirmed that it was movable. The structure of his limbs was unchanged; his fingers and feet were longer, as they had been on the costume, with short claws. Leathery pads covered the soles of his feet. He couldn't see most of the head, but it felt like the costume's. He was no clearly no longer anatomically correct; not only was his, er, equipment gone, but he could no longer properly be called an asshole either. <Damn,> he thought; <am I not supposed to eat or drink anymore? Does magic take care of this, or am I going to burst in a day or so? Wait a minute; I just turned someone into a dog--why can't I fix this? Hell, why can't I just turn myself back?> But again, that feeling of helplessness came over him; if he could do it, he had no idea how. He tried concentrating, and even nonsense chanting as he had done at the party, but there were no results.

The more he thought about it, the more he was surprised as much by where the changes stopped as by the fact that they had happened at all; it was as if someone had taken his costume and turned it directly into flesh, with no creativity whatsoever. <Don't go there,> he thought to himself, and shuddered; <next thing you know you'll be trying to rip your skin off. Change-of-subject time...>

<Magic. Either it's real, or it's "sufficiently-advanced technology"--and in that case, it's advanced enough that I may as well think of it as magic. I think; therefore I am. I think I am a coyote; therefore, there is magic. And I just turned someone into a dog; therefore, I can use magic. Or at least Kickaha could use magic. Which leads to...

<Kickaha. Okay; if I can accept being a coyote, I can accept having a mage stuck in my head. But what's Kickaha like? Dammit, why didn't I put some details in that background story when I had a chance? He likes jokes, but does he think that dropping a freeway on somebody is a real knee-slapper? Should I just get the heck out of here and hope he can't come back if I never go near a park again?>

He turned it over in his head for several cold minutes. He could go home, and spend the rest of his life as an anatomically-incorrect coyote stuck in a city, assuming he didn't die of kidney failure first. Or he could stay here, and risk spending the rest of his life as an anatomically-incorrect psychotic coyote turning people into newts for recreation. Not a comforting set of choices.

Dammit, if he could just ask a few questions...

Then it hit him. When Kickaha's power was high, Kickaha was in control; the story said so. When it was low, Keith was in control. But what happened in the middle? He had never said. Was there a point where they were both in control? Could he risk finding out?

When he thought about it, there wasn't much of a choice.

He had no idea how Kickaha got his power; if it involved some sort of ritual, he was screwed. Hopefully, just spending some time here would do the trick. But Keith knew one thing for sure; he wasn't going to let the change happen while he was asleep. He might never get control again.

Sighing, he got up, and walked over to a tree. He gathered his cloak around him; he didn't really need it to guard against the cold, but Kickaha seemed to have used it to avoid being seen--it was worth a shot. He sat down, pulled up his hood, and stared off at the city lights in the distance, and the stars above.

His thoughts were not comforting.

Part 3 (Nov. 1; written 1996/12/21)

The sun slowly rose in the east. Keith sat under the tree, staring groggily out at the park. He had never really been into parks, but he had to admit that this one was pretty; simple, but pretty. And relaxing. It might look better in pink.

He blinked. Where the hell did that come from?

He was still Keith--mentally, anyway. There was no question. Physically, nothing had changed. But he felt...different. Now that he concentrated a bit, he could feel a warmth in him. Was this what magic felt like? How to find out? Well, if Kickaha was a nature mage, then nature magic ought to be easiest, right?

He looked down, picked out a small patch of grass on the ground. He tried to picture it a bit larger, a bit more fully grown. He stared at it. Nothing happened.

He heard footsteps. Looking up, he was relieved and horrified all at once; the bum from last night was back. On two legs. And, judging from his walk, apparently sober--or as close as he was ever going to get. But what did he remember? He looked around the park, and Keith shivered as the bum looked right at him--then past him as if he wasn't there. Shrugging, the bum turned and walked away. <Why didn't he see me?>, thought Keith, then remembered that the cloak was still wrapped around him--and how people didn't seem to spot Kickaha when he was like that. So there was something magic about it.

The thought of magic reminded Keith what he was up to; he thought a bit more about the party last night. He focused on the grass again. Carefully, he waved an arm, then pointed a claw at the grass. As he completed the motion, he could feel a bit of warmth shoot down his arm and through his outstretched finger.

The patch of grass seemed to shudder. Then, slowly, it started to grow. Ten seconds later, it finally stopped, after reaching about double its previous height. Keith could only stare at it.

<So it does work,> he thought numbly. <Well, if that works, can I change myself back?>

Closing his eyes, he tried to picture himself as he was now. Then he pictured himself changing into his real self; 6'3" (a bit shorter than he was now, he thought), white and furless, brown hair, blue eyes, good complexion. He chanted a few nonsense syllables, waved his arms, and pointed them at his chest.

He opened his eyes.

Nothing happened.

<Shit. Maybe I don't have the power, or maybe there's just rules to this that I don't know about. Well, there's only one way to find out, and I guess it's now or never...>

Carefully, he tried to mentally picture Kickaha, somewhere in his mind, with himself in there separately, still in control. When he thought he had that, he cautiously pictured a link in between them. He closed his eyes, gulped once, pointed a claw at his head, and flicked it.

<<And the crowd goes wild,>> came a clear voice from inside his head.

<Kickaha, I presume?>, he tentatively thought back, trying to settle his nerves.

<<You were expecting maybe Uri Geller?>> The "voice" was mocking, but in a friendly sort of way, like a coworker trading Monday-morning barbs on the way in the office. Back when Keith had an office.

<I've got some questions for you.>

<<So I gathered. Mind if I sneak one in first?>>

<Go ahead.>

<<What's the big deal here? I mean, sure, I goofed, but it's happened before. I thought we had an understanding about that. Everybody's fine by now. Why the righteous indignation all of a sudden?>>

<Huh? How can we have an understanding when you didn't even exist before last night?>

<<You're sitting there in a coyote's body watching grass grow, and you think I didn't exist until last night? Boy, I must be one helluva fast learner...>>

<Look, it doesn't make any sense to me either. All I know is, one minute I'm at a costume party having a good time in my coyote outfit, and the next minute all hell breaks loose.>

<<That's the best kind of party, isn't it? But that's not the way it happened. We were at the party having a good time with the mundanes, I... goof, and the next thing you know everybody turns into their costume. Good thing we didn't go as a goat or something. So all we wound up short of is a few key pieces of equipment, and apparently your brain as well. And speaking of key pieces of equipment, mind if I fix things up a bit?>>

<No changing the subject. Does that story make sense to you?>

<<As much sense as anything ever makes.>>

<Look, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but that's not the way it happened. I came to the party in a coyote costume. You're a... character I invented. The next thing I know, everybody's changed, and you're there, just the way the story said.>

<<Oh, of course. That makes so much more sense. Something just arbitrarily transformed a whole party and brought your charming little story to life. However could I have missed that?>>

<But what about the costume we--I was wearing. You remember that, right?>

<<Well, duh.>>

<So what does a wizard need with a costume?>

<<If I didn't think you were crazy I'd be insulted. You can't go to a costume party without a costume. It's cheating.>>

Keith tried to bury his head in his hands, and nearly succeeded in poking his right eye out with a claw. <If you're the one responsible for all these changes, and your magic wears off in a few hours, then how come I'm still a coyote?>

<<Aha! If I just showed up last night, then how do you know when my magic wears off?>>

<It was in the story.>

<<Oh. Of course. The stooooory. How conveeeeenient. Well, of course it doesn't wear off. How many times do I need to explain it to you?>>

<Once would be nice.>

<<No respect. Typical. Okay, I'll explain it; maybe it'll jar some sense back into that muddled head of yours. Magic is chaos. When you cast a spell on something, you're concentrating chaos in one place. It doesn't like that. Eventually it sulks and goes away. But it doesn't go away from someone with the Gift; if it did, they couldn't work magic in the first place. Are you remembering any of this now?>>

Keith wanted to groan. This was getting too weird; and the more they "talked," the weirder it got. <Remember when I told you it was fine to sneak in a question before mine?>

<<Of course.>>

<I take it back.>

<<Testy, aren't we?>>

<You have no idea. Anyway->

<<Shit.>>

<Huh?>

<<Look.>>

A car was driving by outside the park. It was being driven by a goblin. A very authentic goblin.

<<He was at the party, right?>> Kickaha actually sounded almost distraught.

<I wouldn't be surprised.>

<<But my stuff would have worn off by now; I wasn't trying that hard. That means... that I didn't do it.>>

<That's what I've been trying to tell you.>

<<And you really were just there in a coyote costume.>>

<Absolutely.>

<<Do you realize what this means? This means... that none of this is my fault!>> Kickaha's tone abruptly went back to its normal cheer. <<Well. I'm glad that's settled. Now, what was the question?>>

Keith was nearly in shock. <That's all this means to you?>

<<Oh, of course not. I'm sorry. It means we haven't been properly introduced. Kickaha at your service. A Master of the Art of no small repute, now sadly cast adrift through the multiverse without so much as a body to my name. And you are?>>

<Thoroughly confused.>

<<Nice to meet you, Mr. Confused, even under such awkward circumstances. But I thought your name was Keith something-or-other?>>

Keith found himself chuckling despite himself. <I guess this is why I'm a contractor and not a manager. I've never been good at running interviews. Yes, it's Keith. Keith Dorner. Master of Science, of reasonable repute, I guess. Money in the bank, condo on Mercer Island. Now a coyote sitting in a park hearing voices in my head and hoping a certain bum doesn't decide to come back and kick my ass.>

This drew a mental belly-laugh, a disturbing thing to have in your head when you're not used to it. <<So at least the big things I'm remembering are right; it's just the details that got fucked somewhere. And there is a sense of humor in there. There's hope yet. Don't worry, though. Sure, he remembers everything that happened last night, very clearly. And the night before that, he remembers the magic beavers that came out to play with him. A fascinating mind, really.>>

<How do you know?>

<<Because I'm a Master of the Art. Shall we go through the introductions again?>>

<Once was fine, thanks. Can I ask the questions now?>

<<Gee, you've got a one-track mind.>

<Obviously not, or we wouldn't be having this conversation.>

<<And a man who knows a straight line when he hears it! Oh, it would warm my heart to hear that if I only had one. What's the question?>>

<What do you want?>

<<I want to fix up this body. This is humiliating.>>

<I won't argue. But I was thinking more in the long term. What do you want?>

<<Well, I want to help all life forms throughout the cosmos achieve a higher state of consciousness and a universal brotherhood. But that's not gonna happen, so I'll settle for having a good time before I die. How about you?>>

Keith was a bit stunned, both at the answer and the question. <Well, I like what I'm doing, even if I don't always like the projects. I guess I just want to get enough money in the bank that I can afford to do it just for fun and not for work. And I like helping people out; I'd like to be able to do that more.>

<<Maybe my memories are whacked here again, but don't you already have more money than one human being should be allowed to have?>>

<Well, I've got about five million, but just about all of it is on paper. I could live on it, sure, as long as the market doesn't crash, but it's not enough to do anything really important with...>

Keith got the distinct impression of Kickaha shaking his head. <<Still a ways to go here, I see. Look. Let's cut right to the chase. You're worried about loosing the horrible force that is me on the world, right?>>

<Well, yeah.>

<<And you know that all I'd have to do is be careful with my magic, and there wouldn't be a thing you could do about it.>>

<And all I'd have to do is stay in a city somewhere, and there wouldn't be a thing you could do about it.>

<<More or less. Any wagers on which of us would be more miserable?>>

Keith tried to picture himself, stuck in this body, scared to go near a park. Then he tried to picture someone like Kickaha, carefully measuring every bit of magic he used. <I think I'd be more miserable. But I don't think you could do it at all.>

<<I'd resent that if it weren't true. Now, can I have the body for a second? I need to show you something.>>

<What?>

<<Something that will answer your questions.>>

<What?>

<<That would be telling.>>

Keith sighed. <Go ahead.>

<<I thought you'd never ask.>>

Keith suddenly felt dizzy for a moment. When his mind cleared, he found himself still looking out through his eyes and ears, but he knew that he was no longer in control.

Kickaha got up, stretched. This was going to be fun. He closed his eyes, stretched out his arms, and started the Song, reaching out to the trees, to the grass, to the world. There were a few seconds of hesitation, of questioning, as there always was when the Song was first sung. Then he felt the contact, the rush of acceptance. He could feel the wind rippling through the grass, the sun's early rays reaching the trees. He could feel the power flow, slowly at first, then in a rush. In a few more seconds, he could feel himself complete, the delicious warmth of his whole body flushed with power. He Sang his thanks, and the world returned his Song. Then he opened his eyes.

<What... was... that?>

<<That's what magic feels like. My kind of magic, anyway. Not bad, huh?>>

Keith tried to shake his head; it took him a couple of seconds to remember that he couldn't. <Wow,> he managed silently. A pause. <So you're charged up all the way?>

<<You could put it that way, yes.>>

<Then why am I still here?>

<<Because that spell you did is still there; we just swapped ends. I like it; I should have thought of it before--but then again, I guess I didn't get a chance to think of it before. So, are you ready to see something?>>

<That wasn't it?>

<<That wasn't the half of it.>>

<Go for it.>

<<Don't mind if I do.>>

Kickaha gathered his power, pictured the Change. The gestures helped, but they weren't necessary, not when you were doing something easy. And this was easy. He felt his fur ripple and condense into black feathers, felt his muzzle shift into a beak, felt his cloak vanish to wherever the heck it went when he did this. The world seemed to expand as he shrank; the ground rushed up at his eyes. With the change complete, he hopped off the ground, beat his wings, and rose into the sky.

<<This is a raven. I've always liked them.>>

Keith was at a loss for words; he could only watch as the cars and buildings of the town passed beneath them, feel the wind rush past. He had never liked flying; he knew people who loved it, but to him it was just two or three hours locked up in a little seat in a little box. But this...

Kickaha calmly pictured the link, made a little adjustment.

<<Your turn.>>

Keith felt a brief stab of pure terror as he went into a dive. Then he flapped his wings, tentatively at first, then with confidence as he felt them catch the air; he rose back into the sky. He folded his wings for a moment, dove again, then pulled up into a majestic climb. He leveled off, tried a few turns, did a barrel roll; giddy, he tried for a loop, lost his speed halfway through the climb, stalled, dove again, then pulled out, swooping just over a roof. God, it was glorious. He climbed again, until the city was spread out under him; he could see every detail. He could see...

...a parking lot.

The parking lot of Belchard CyberSystems, Inc.

And in that parking lot, a red BMW 328is coupe, parked in the "Reserved" space.

The property of one Joseph Belchard, Jr.

One of the hazards of contract work is not getting paid. Sometimes it's because there's a genuine problem; sometimes the client goes bankrupt on you. Sometimes the client just figures that, if the contract is small enough, it will cost you more to fight it in court than it would to eat the loss; so they manufacture a problem. And they're right; it does cost more to fight it than to eat it. But you have to fight it anyway. Because if you eat it, and word gets out, someone else will try it. And then someone else.

That's why Keith kept George Gallardo, Esq., on retainer. And Dorner v. Belchard, Jr., d.b.a. Belchard Cybersystems, Inc., was on track, and scheduled for trial on September 12, 1997.

Keith thought of something. It was absolutely nonproductive. It was juvenile. It was infantile. It would accomplish nothing.

And it had to be done.

<<Oh, good. Let me help.>>

Suddenly, Keith was no longer in control.

Kickaha wheeled merrily away. He swooped down low, over the city. And he Called.

From below, a pigeon flew up towards them. Then another. Then a bluebird. They climbed, following the raven.

Kickaha swooped to and fro, over the buildings, the streets, the trees. Again and again, he Called. And from everywhere, birds came, flying up to meet the flock.

Kickaha surveyed the situation. At least fifty; close to a hundred. The lot was only a couple of blocks away.

<<This should do.>>

Keith found himself in control again. He knew his mission. He flew straight for the target, his army in ragged formation behind him.

At the proper moment, he folded his wings, and dove. He lined up his shot carefully, making a few minor adjustments. Behind him, he could hear the whoosh of wings. The car rushed up at him; he aimed for the center of the hood. At the last moment, he stretched his wings and arced, releasing his missile as he rose back into the sky.

From the ground, the sound was like a wave coming in from the sky; the impossible cloud of birds shooting down, reaching the target, then suddenly exploding, birds banking away in every possible direction. And the steady splutsplutsplut of each shot hitting home.

Kickaha took control again, sent his thanks to the birds as they dispersed. Reaching the park took only a minute or so; it was occupied, so he flew on, towards a forest a few miles away. Swooping in for a landing, he Changed just as he reached the ground; he landed on clawed feet, back in the coyote form, cloak rippling behind him.

<<So, what do you think?>>

Keith was too lost in his thoughts to answer for a few seconds. <Amazing,> he managed finally. <I can see how you manage to make your way out of trouble.>

<<It helps, yes,>> Kickaha agreed, smiling. <<But that's not what you were thinking while you were doing it, was it?>>

<No,> Keith thought, seeing where this was going, knowing that he was beaten, and not caring in the slightest.

<<And what were you thinking?>>

Keith tried to shake his head, found that he could. <God, that was fun.>

<<So, do you still think we're so different, you and I?>>

<I think we can work something out.>

<<I thought we might.>>

Part 4 (Nov. 1; written 1996/12/23)

<How do you walk on these things?>

<<Quickly. It comes in handy.>>

<Don't remind me. You really expect me to look like this?>

<<Oh, come on. You'll love it when you get used to it. And besides, we made a deal. When we're out in public, you can use yours. Anyway, we look great where I come from. Stylish, even.>>

<We are not where you come from.>

<<And whose fault is that, Mister Needs-A-Life-Story-For-A-Simple-Costume-Party?>>

Keith was at a loss for a comeback on that one, so he just sighed, and went back to the present problem: learning to walk. At least there was nobody else in the forest to witness his embarrassment.

The next time Keith agreed to let someone "fix up" his body, he was going to be more specific. What he had in mind was being his old self, or at least human. Instead, he was, well...

He had to admit that the fur--his fur, he told himself firmly, at least for the time being--was much nicer now. Instead of the flat golden-brown of the costume, it tapered off to a lighter tan at the chest and the tail, with white patches at the hands and feet, as well as at the face and the tip of the tail. The fur was finer, with a white undercoat underneath; it was also quite a bit cooler, which was a relief--he could get used to a lot of things, but he wasn't sure that panting was one of them. He had no problem inspecting his back, because his spine now bent in ways he found vaguely disconcerting; but he supposed that could come in handy.

He could deal with his arms and hands. The shoulders felt different somehow, and the fingers were shorter, and the pads on the soles of his hands and fingers were still a bit off-putting; but at least everything seemed to bend the way it was supposed to. The head was okay too, he guessed. He still couldn't quite get used to having that long muzzle in his field of vision, but having smell and hearing this good had a lot to recommend it. His vocal chords could produce a good rendition of his old voice, though Kickaha also demonstrated a distressingly realistic set of howls. The eyes had disconcerted him when he first saw them in the pond; they were green with flecks of gold, with no trace of humanity in them--mirth, yes, but not really human mirth. But oh, Grandma, what good eyes he had. (<I thought dogs couldn't see in color.> <<Who are you going to believe, me or some book?>> <The book.> <<Smart man. There's a certain line at which realism stops being fun...>>) And he had to hand it to Kickaha; he imagined that very few people could have made a muzzle that could still manage a grin.

And he was actually starting to think that the tail was kind of neat. It still seemed a bit long to him--almost brushing the ground--but once he'd gotten used to the idea of using it for balance, he could see where it would come in handy.

And he could use all the help with balance he could get.

He was still a long way from convincing himself that his new legs were an improvement. He stood on the tips of his feet--well, "paws" would be a better description now, he supposed. What used to be his ankles had moved to what used to be halfway up his lower legs; his knees had moved up as well, leaving him in what felt like a permanent squat... though at least he had successfully reached the point where he could squat, and even walk a bit, rather than just fall down repeatedly. Kickaha's repeated assurances of the virtues of this arrangement had so far failed to win a convert.

And then there was, well... The good news was that he was now, again, anatomically correct. The bad news was that he was now anatomically correct for a coyote... a rather large coyote. (<What am I going to do with this???> <<If you can't think of anything, I'd be happy to make suggestions.>> <That's what I was afraid of... What happened to the line where realism stopped being fun?> <<We all draw our lines differently...>>) That had been perilously close to a dealbreaker; but at least the fur and the sheath managed to hide things from casual inspection.

<Well, at least I'm not menacing,> Keith mused. <Not exactly ugly, either; kinda cute, actually, in a primal-homely-kinda way... I just can't shake the feeling that I'd be as good on four legs as on two in this.>

<<Oh, damn. And I was hoping to save that for a surprise.>>

<Great. Any other surprises I should be aware of?>

<<Then they wouldn't be surprises, would they?>>

<Sorry I asked... Wait a minute. Shit. What time is it?>

<<Oh, midafternoonish.>>

<Shit. They'll have towed my car hours ago!>

<<You know, a car isn't exactly on your list of must-haves at this point.>>

<Yeah, but if that gets on my credit record, it'll...>

<<You know, credit isn't exactly on your list of must-haves either.>>

Keith wanted to scream, but he was afraid he'd wind up howling instead. <Look... Kickaha. Today has been really... incredible. I can honestly say that I'm glad this happened; I'm not sure how, but I can. But I have a life, too, and I'd really like not to completely mess it up just yet... okay? All we have to do is get the car and the hotel straightened out and catch my flight back home, and then you can magic us right back here and watch all the 'fun' if you want to. Okay?>

Keith was expecting a <<You know, airplanes aren't exactly...>> Instead, he was somewhat surprised to get an almost apologetic: <<Hey, no problem. This is gonna take a little getting used to, for both of us. Besides, I've showed you my place; it's about time you showed me mine. And do they really give you all the drinks you want in these airplane things?>>

<Only in first class.>

<<Well, what other class would the two of us be going in?>>

<I can't argue with that, I guess. Just be quiet, if they figure out there's two of us in here, they'll find some way to charge me for an extra seat...>

<<Some things are constant, no matter what the world.>>

---

A few minutes later, they were flying over the city. More specifically, Keith was flying; he was remembering the good points of this arrangement.

<<Hold it,>> Kickaha said, but Keith was already on the way down.

In an alley below, a rabbitmorph was down in a heap.

Keith looked around quickly; nobody nearby. He swooped down, mentally handing off to Kickaha as they neared the ground. The raven rippled, expanded, became a coyote as it hit the ground. The rabbit didn't move.

Kickaha surveyed the damage; a few blows to the back and legs, one to the back of the head, all with blunt objects. A broken leg; a minor skull fracture. Figured. Not even enough guts to attack a rabbit from the front. Some things are constant, no matter what the world. Not fatal, but needing treatment, treatment he couldn't give. Not permanently, anyway.

He took a few extra seconds to scan the rabbit's mind. As he had figured, the attack had been from behind--and the rabbit's flight reflexes had kicked in as soon as it started--but he had still gotten a clear look at his attackers as he ran. Four of them; big, with short haircuts and thick wooden sticks. Laughter as the blows came down. Some things are constant.

Kickaha concentrated, shaped the magic, and slowly applied it.

A few seconds passed; then the rabbit stirred, groaned, tried to stand. He looked up from hands and knees, saw the coyote standing over him, and squealed...

<<Paul, it's all right,>> Kickaha thought softly.

The rabbit blinked, at the shock of the voice in his head, and the fact that the voice knew his name. He finally gathered the nerve to speak, in a high thin voice. "What happened? Who are you? There were..."

<<A friend. Don't worry about that right now. You need to get to a... hospital. To a hospital. Right away.>>

"But I feel... okay. How do I feel okay?"

<<Trust me. You need to get to a hospital. Tell them you need observation overnight. They'll figure out what's wrong. But it's very important that you go.>>

"Uh... all right. Thank you, Mister..."

<<You're welcome. And when they ask you about this part, you're a little vague about the details, okay?>>

"Uhhh... Okay. Thank you..."

Slowly at first, then more quickly, the rabbit walked away. The coyote watched him go, waited for him to round a corner, then leaped, rippled back into a raven, and climbed into the sky.

<<Still want to catch that flight?>>

<I can get the red-eye; it'll leave a bit after midnight.>

<<Perfect. That'll give us some time. I take it that we're agreed? Something must be done?>>

<Yes. What do you have in mind?>

<<While you were practicing, I was going through your history a bit. You know, there's some fascinating parallels between your mythology and ours.>>

<Somehow, that's not surprising. Anything interest you in particular?>

Kickaha told him.

<Interesting. Poetic justice, I must admit. Isn't it a little too violent, though? Even for this?>

<<Ohhh, we can fix that.>>

<Hmmm. You're right. I must admit, I like it. What gave you the idea?>

<<Well, it's perfect, isn't it? Besides, it's early in the alphabet. As good a place to start as any, right?>>

<I was afraid you were going to say that. When we get to Lycaon, I'm out of here.>

<<Nag, nag, nag. Still think we're so different, you and I?>>

Keith didn't answer. He was busy flying. And thinking.

---

From a window several blocks away, a figure watched the raven fly away, through a very impressive-looking pair of binoculars. He spoke clearly into his recorder, taking careful notes...

---

Getting checked out of the hotel was no problem; the desk clerk wasn't in the mood for small talk, and for once Keith was glad about that. He was just glad to be on his own legs again, though for some reason they were itching a bit. A generous tip to the doorman got him a quick cab to the airport. He calmly changed his reservation to the later flight--using some frequent flier miles to upgrade to first class, and stoically ignoring Kickaha's chuckles in the background. Checking in his bags, he finally approached the rental counter; this was going to be the tricky part. He mentally rehearsed his lines, waited until nobody was in line, then walked up and slapped his membership card down in front of 'Kelly'.

"I'm here about my car," he said, in a quietly menacing voice.

"Certainly, Mister... Dorner," Kelly replied, with a forced-Christmas-cheer kind of smile. Her fingers flew over the keyboard; then her face fell into a oh-you-HAVE-been-naughty look. "According to this, Mr. Dorner, the car was towed in late this morning..."

"Yes, it was," Keith interrupted, in a no-longer-quietly menacing voice. "I was working LATE last night, trying to get MY BUSINESS done, so I could get OUT of this two-bit town. The next thing I know, there's POLICE everywhere, and NOBODY knows what's going on, and they won't even let ME get to MY CAR! And THEN, when I call YOU this morning to find out what WE are going to do about that, you put ME on HOLD for FIVE MINUTES! Now, am I going to see a MANAGER here, or am I going to take THIS CARD and make FRENCH FRIES out of it?"

"Yes, sir; just a moment, sir," Kelly replied, and ducked for the back. Keith heard the faint voices, and the sound of keys tapping; he could imagine the manager scrolling through his record, seeing the number of rentals listed there. <Five, four, three...>

'Lisa - Floor Manager' came out, zeroed in on Keith; she was clearly in Full Contrition Mode. "Mr. Dorner, I've just heard what's happened, and I want you to know that we're truly sorry about all this. There was an... incident... downtown last night, and we're still trying to figure out how to get things straightened out today. But let me assure you that I will personally see to it that all of this is taken care of, and of course we'll handle those towing charges. Now I know how upsetting all this must be to you, Mr. Dorner, and we'd like to make up for the inconvenience you must have suffered; would a week's free rental next time be all right?"

Keith grumbled, quickly allowed himself to be 'talked into it,' settled the bill, and walked away, finally allowing himself a smirk.

<<Where did that come from?>>, Kickaha said, a mixture of amusement and amazement in his 'voice'. <<Are you keeping other personalities in here that you haven't told me about?>>

<One of the perks of frequent flying is the occasional right to be an asshole.>

<<Speaking of assholes, we have a few hours, right?>>

<Right. A-hunting we will go?>

<<The park first, I think; a quick recharge wouldn't hurt.>>

<You should have thought of that before we left,> Keith thought, in his best fatherly voice.

<<But I didn't neeeeeed to go theeennn...>>

<One more word like that, and I'm turning this body right around...>

---

Bags streamed down the conveyor belts in the airport's service corridors. A uniformed guard checked his list once again, grabbed a few bags as they passed, and loaded them onto a cart, which was wheeled off to a door marked "AIRPORT SECURITY"...

---

Night was falling over the city, and with all the confusion still in the air, few people had made plans for the evening; the streets emptied out rapidly... except for the people with nowhere to go. Which was just the way Spike and his friends liked it.

"Let's go play some hardball, right, guys?", Spike laughed.

"We're gonna hit one outta the park tonight!"

"Who, us, Officer? We were just out playing..."

"Gonna cite us for cruelty to animals, Officer Friendly?"

"Cool it, guys."

"Okay, Spike."

The park was the first place to check, Spike thought. These freaks always seem to stop at the park. Then maybe down by the shelter...

But the park was clear. Damn.

"Hey, gimme a minute, guys, okay? I need to pee."

"Sure thing, Spike."

Spike went behind the racquetball wall, leaned his Louisville Slugger up against it, and started unbuttoning.

From a rooftop two blocks away, a coyote watched. He pointed, aimed, gestured a bit.

<<Just a little farther, a little farther... yes, right there... yes. Now.>>

The magic flowed.

Spike suddenly leaned against the tree. Dammit, he hadn't had anything to drink tonight... had he?

Then he felt the pressure. He looked down just in time for his pants to start to split.

The change was so fast, he barely had a chance to realize what was happening before it was complete. His legs grew, twisted; his feet and hands rippled, condensed into hooves. A stab of agony hit him, as the antlers sprouted from his head; he never noticed his shirt disappear, or the remains of his pants. He tried to shout, but all that came out was a low moan.

He staggered out from behind the wall...

"There's one!"

"Get it!"

Spike looked up, saw them coming. He thrust his arms out in front of him, shook his antlered head wildly, moaned again; then he saw that it was hopeless, and turned to run on unfamiliar legs. That was hopeless too.

He could hear them closing in.

Then he felt the blow, in the small of his back.

Then another, in the leg.

He went down.

<<And now.>>

Spike looked hopelessly up, saw the leering faces above him, surrounding him. Another blow hit, then another... a bit weaker.

Then the bat slipped from one of their hands.

Another screamed. Then the scream turned into a howl...

As Spike looked on, he saw their faces lengthen, saw the fur sprout, saw them fall to their hands... to their front paws. He heard the howls of fear.

Then the three hounds, still barely recognizable as human, turned and ran--haltingly at first, then gaining speed and rhythm.

After a minute or so, Spike uncertainly got up, and headed in the same direction.

Kickaha brought his finger to his muzzle, blew over it.

<So, what happens when they get to the hospital?>

<<That won't wear off for a couple of days. In the meantime, they'll have spilled; they don't have the brains to keep their story straight as humans, much less this way. So hopefully the police will take care of things. And if not... well, now that they're convinced that it's contagious, I don't think they'll find their little game nearly so entertaining.>>

<I can imagine. But how long will they go on thinking that?>

<<Sometimes, you don't have to change people's minds; sometimes you just have to reinforce what they already suspect, and they'll go right on thinking that on their own.>>

<How conveeeeeenient.>

<<Quite. Well, shall we catch this airplane of yours?>>

<Don't you need a recharge first?>

<<We've barely known each other a day, and already you care about me. It's so... touching... I may weep.>>

<Care, schmare. I just don't want to turn into a coyote at 26000 feet.>

<<That's your own brand of caring.>>

---

From a window several blocks away, a figure in a black suit watched the grainy red images through his viewfinder. The camera shutter clicked, clicked again.

He tongued the push-to-send on his headset.

"We have a situation here."

---

Flight 804 to Seattle-Tacoma sped through the night. Kickaha found it all fascinating. Keith was glad it was a nonstop... the itching was killing him.

<Kickaha, what the hell's wrong?>

<<I don't know. It's like something is fighting this form.>>

<Well, what do we do about it? I don't know if I can take this all the way to Seattle.>

<<I don't know if we can do this all the way to Seattle.>>

<Shit. What's the alternative?>

<<Well, we could try a partial change and see if that relaxes the pressure.>>

<Shitshitshit. Wait a minute.>

Keith went to the first-class bathroom. He felt the fur sprout under his jeans, and almost gasped in relief as the itching subsided. He went back to his seat; was it his imagination, or was the lady in 3A staring at him?

<<I already told you; nobody's watching. Don't be so paranoid.>>

<I've earned the right to be paranoid.>

<<In that case, can we be paranoid with some more of those peanuts?>>

---

Keith had never been so glad to be in his condo. He quickly took off his clothes, then collapsed into coyote form with an almost audible pop.

<<You've gotta be kidding me. This isn't a home; this isn't even a house. This is a box. There's not even a potted plant in this place!>>

<Can we just save the decor tips for a minute? What's happening here?>

<<I don't know.>>

<What you mean, you don't know?>

<<Which word do I need to explain? You think I enjoy hearing you gripe about it? Mr. Dorrrner can't get what he wants, so nobody else can have a good time, huh? Can't we just get a good night's sleep, and we can work this out in the morning?>>

<Kickaha, I ought to... I don't know. You know what? A night's sleep is a fine idea.>

<<I'm glad I thought of it.>>

For some reason, the mattress wasn't particularly comfortable for Keith's new form. Kickaha apparently managed to get to sleep right away anyway. Keith took a bit longer.

---

(November 2; 10:00 am)

Kickaha had assured Keith that he was working on the problem. He hadn't needed to leave to recharge; apparently the nearby greenbelt was close enough for some spillover. Meanwhile, Keith was grimly practicing on his new legs, and had at least reached the point where he could walk with some semblance of dignity.

There was a knock at the door.

<<Oh, this should be interesting,>> Kickaha said.

"Mister Dorner? We need to have a word with you..."