User:Phaedrus/A Trickster's Tail
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Copyright 1996-1998 Phaedrus
{{#if:Triple X.png|}} | This story contains adult content. |
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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.>>