Difference between revisions of "Naturalization"

Revision as of 19:47, 8 February 2008

This story is a work in progress.

Part 1: Emmigration

From an external vantage point in the rolling hills of the French-Swiss border the mightiest engine of physics experimentation on the planet was hardly visible. The 27-km circle traced out on the surface was merely a marker, a remnant of the construction of the tunnel a hundred meters below. The Large Hadron Collider threaded through that, a pipe jacketed in superconducting magnets that channeled particles pumped up to the highest energy man could yet manage.

About the same energy as a baseball pitch, Reynard Cramer reflected as he swiped his passcard through the reader to summon one of the service elevators. Cramer had been an electrical engineer for many long years and had plenty of experience with high-energy systems. Million-volt main lines at power plants, laser capacitors at the National Ignition Facility with enough stored power to rival dynamite should something go wrong. Yet it never ceased to amuse him how much effort it took to funnel just that seemingly trivial amount down into the small handful of particles circulating through that ring.

The whole process was on hold right now and it was up to him to get it back online. The accelerator was fine, but just getting particles up to speed wasn't the end goal of research here; in order to do an experiment the particles had to smash into a target, the spray of fragments being recorded by detectors arrayed around the impact point. There were seven targets distributed around the circle with seven different detector arrays, each designed to probe a different aspect of the microscopic realm's physics. Most were gigantic behemoths, thousands and thousands of tons of magnets and circuitry. Leave it to the inherent perversity of the universe that the one he was heading down to service was BOLIDE, the smallest of the lot at barely the size of a train locomotive.

His job at CERN was plum, the top of his field. Reynard wished he'd landed it years ago. At the age of forty-nine, his career was now clearly past its peak and on the final run toward retirement. The stereotype of distinguished elderly scientists with long white beards and accumulated wisdom creasing their features was largely a myth; with the rapid pace of change these days physics was a young person's game. Reynard was overweight, beardless and balding, and most of the time when he tried to follow the papers being generated by the researchers here he felt more confused than wise.

But engineering, that he understood. BOLIDE was the newest of the detector arrays, hurriedly added to the LHC's design when new principles and areas of knowledge had popped up during construction. The target suspended in its center was a Bose-Einstein condensate, a tiny knot of ultra-cold matter. Isolation from external perturbations was essential to keep it preserved in that delicate state. Not easy considering the sorts of magnetic fields the rest of the system was tossing wantonly about...

Reynard climbed into one of the small electric service vehicles and set off down the gently curving track toward BOLIDE, his laptop and toolkit stowed on the seat beside him. Something was introducing a 71 Hz oscillation into the target's containment fields. He wasn't sure, but it was probably a misaligned filter in the power system. Should be easy enough to fix if that were the case.

Small though it was compared to the other detectors, BOLIDE hulked in its subterranean chamber, almost completely filling it and leaving only a narrow space beyond the path of the service vehicle's tracks. This was the main reason Reynard didn't like the beast; its hurried design phase and construction had left a lot of cut corners and ragged edges. The other chambers had a lot more room, and were frankly just more impressive to be inside. Reynard grunted as he squeezed through to the nearest access panel where he could get at the power system's readouts.

He got in place and pulled out his radio. "I'm at the detector, what's the stats?"

"1746 électroaimants supraconducteurs, dont 1232 aimant dipolaires de courbure sont répartis autour des deux anneaux accélérateurs lovés l'un dans l'autre." Reynard sighed. The interference from the electrical systems and the thick layers of earth made communication hard enough as it was, but even though he'd been living on site for over a year now he'd made little headway in learning the local language. Yet since his name was of French origin, most people assumed he had native fluency.

"Well, keep the beam out of the chamber. I'm on this."

Reynard got to work. He was able to detect the 71 Hz signal just fine, it was indeed in the power system, but the trick was figuring out which feeder was the problem one. He had to deactivate them one at a time to check. The system could remain running okay with one feeder down, but more than that and he'd lose the condensate that had been established. With the system currently primed for a shot he'd rather not do that; they'd have to power everything down and start from scratch again the next day. The hotshot physicists who'd designed today's run and probably spent the past few months of their lives working on getting grant approval for it would not be happy.

Fortunately he found the problem quite quickly. A filter on feeder line seventeen was wonky, just as he'd expected. He turmed off the feeder and pulled out the radio. "I've got it, I'll see if I can get this to work without having to dig for spares."

"Doté d'un canon court et d'un barillet de 5 coups seulement."

Reynard sighed again, the signal even more distorted. That makes two signals now... He pulsed the power through the feeder, trying to reset the filter. It didn't fix it, though the frequency increased it to 76 Hz. Whatever that meant. The spurious signal was causing the condensate to oscillate inside its chamber in the bore of the accelerator, though, and it was supposed to be held rock-solid in the middle of the beam.

He dreaded having to physically pull modules out while any part of the system was still hot so he spent a few more minutes tinkering with settings in an attempt to clear the area. Something started buzzing in the tunnel outside. Clear the area... It took a few more minutes for the thought to work its way through Reynard's concentration. Oh shit!

The boys in the control room must have been having as much trouble with the radio as he was. When he'd turned off the feeder and the oscillation had temporarily stopped, they'd thought he'd fixed the problem. They were gearing up for a beam shot.

Reynard grabbed for his radio while scrambling to squeeze back out of the narrow passage. Idiots! Check your screens, I turned the faulty feeder back on! "Arret! Arret!"

But evidently nobody was listening at the other end at that moment, or perhaps they were just too slow. Indicator lights on the accelerator tube flickered just as he got out from behind BOLIDE's bulk, signaling the arrival of the packet of high-speed particles. They slammed into the oscillating condensate deep inside its core and Reynard winced. Even though the screwup was harmless, it meant a wasted day for sure now.

It should have been harmless, at any rate. Reynard caught his breath in surprise and cringed when, a moment later, a blue nimbus crackled over the surface of BOLIDE. Thank god I got out from there...

He had just enough time for that thought before the world exploded in a brilliant flare of light around him and then both the world and his thoughts plunged into darkness.

Reynard groaned, then coughed. The air was laden with dust and he was lying on his back on hard concrete.

It was still dark, there wasn't even emergency lighting. What had happened? BOLIDE exploded. But that didn't make any sense... I'm lying here, aren't I?

Don't panic. Don't move. I could be hurt. Reynard closed his eyes and breathed through his nose, hoping the dust would settle quickly, and tried to think things through calmly. He didn't smell smoke, just powdered concrete or rock, so that was good. He didn't hear any creaking of the roof about to cave in. There was a distant sound of wind... No immediate concern.

He felt no pain. But he did feel very strange. He lifted his hand, clenching it in the darkness and feeling the grit on his palm. The other hand performed likewise. Okay, that works. Now legs... woah. They flexed, but they didn't flex quite right. His knees didn't straighten easily, his feet felt strangely heavy and his ankles stiff. But again, there didn't seem to be anything injured. There was no debris lying on him.

"Hello?" Reynard called out, his voice pitched high and tight with more fear than he'd realized. Okay, shit, calm down. So BOLIDE exploded. They'll send help for sure.

The dust was indeed settling, enough for Reynard to take some deep breaths. That didn't feel right either. There was a sense of weight on his chest but not nearly enough on his stomach. He moved his hands to his midsection and stifled an alarmed gasp.

I'm thin. What the hell? His fingers found other strangenesses - his shirt seemed to disintegrate at his touch, the fabric turned into a loose mat of fibers somehow, and beneath it was a layer of short, dense hair. But that all seemed like trivial details. His abdomen was slim and firm, the spare tire he'd been carrying gone without a trace.

I have a concussion. That made sense, explaining away all of the other things that didn't in one fell swoop. I must have hit the back of my head when I fell and now my brain's swelling and screwing up my body image. Reynard sighed and tried to relax again, holding still while he tried to remember what to do about that. Stay awake. Get medical help. "Hey, help! Where is everybody! I'm hurt, damn it!"

Reynard coughed again, unable to get his voice back down into its regular register. Minutes passed. The elevator was nearby, why wasn't anyone coming? Maybe help isn't coming after all? Maybe...

It was quite frustrating. He didn't feel like his thoughts were addled, but at the same time he knew that the situation he was in didn't make any sense. He couldn't trust himself to figure it out. "Damn it," he murmured more softly. "I need to get out of this hole."

He was pretty sure at this point that he didn't have a spinal injury, and he didn't think that moving his head was likely to worsen any brain injury that might be going on in there, so Reynard carefully rolled over and tried to get to his feet. It was an excercise in disorientation. His legs seemed proportionally shorter than they should have been, his feet bigger and clumsier as if he was wearing clown shoes. His body was inexplicably light but a heavy mass of tissue rested on his chest. He managed to get onto his hands and knees and then paused for a moment to pat himself down.

His shirt was sloughing off like shredded kleenex now so he brushed it away. The pelt of short hairs clung more tightly and wouldn't budge. But even that was secondary in Reynard's mind right now as he gingerly hefted and squeezed the breasts hanging on his frame. He didn't believe it, couldn't believe it. What kind of physics experiment gone awry could give a guy breasts?

The next logical question came to mind, and he slid his hand down his fuzzy belly to check between his legs. A tentative touch at first, then a more frantic grope with a bewildered whimper. There was just a pair of fleshy lips down there among the surprisingly thick and curly hairs, fitting in perfectly with the breasts and leaving nowhere for anything else to hide. It seemed hard to ignore the evidence that he'd somehow been turned into a woman.

A very hairy woman with deformed legs. He had been lying next to the wall and he propped himself up against it now as he rose unsteadily to his feet. He felt hopelessly awkward at first, his proportions below his waist all thrown out of whack and his tendons pulling in unfamiliar ways. But then he let his posture adjust naturally and he rose up onto his toes, a strangely comfortable pose.

His pants and shoes had fallen apart along with his shirt and he could feel a much thicker, woolier coat of hair down there than what covered his arms and torso. His bare toes felt numb, not at all uncomfortable from bearing his full weight on the hard concrete, and he gave one foot a ginger tap on the floor. There was a solid clacking sound. Hooves, of course, he thought giddily. A physics experiment that gave him breasts and hooves.

"Will someone please get me out of here!" The shriek echoed through the tunnel, making him cringe and flick his ears at his own desperate high-pitched voice. Flicked my ears... He reluctantly explored further. He had long, pointed, furry ears sticking out from the sides of his head, a scalp full of hair longer and thicker than he'd had even in his youth, and strangest of all a pair of huge curved horns were anchored in his skull high on his forehead. To his immense relief his face still felt human. Though fuzzy and with a broad, flattened nose...

"Get out of here," he reminded himself weakly. Yes, let's do that. Unlike everything else that had happened to him, this was a problem he could deal with.

Reynard groped his way along the wall, the silence broken only by the soft clack of hooves and the distant moan of wind. There should be sirens, it occurred to him. Considering how catastrophic this accident had been, to cut off all power and even kill the emergency lighting, he should have been able to hear them even here. Unless some sort of EMP had fried everything, even on the surface? That didn't make sense.

The concrete wall was rough, the floor uneven. And it was sloping upward. That didn't make sense either, the tunnel curved in a giant circle but should have been level. What could twist it without collapsing it outright? Nothing he could do anything about right now, so he continued onward. Soon he was heartened by the glimmer of light ahead.

The tunnel emerged into sunlight, so blindingly bright after the darkness he'd been stumbling through that Reynard had to screw his eyes shut again for a minute to let them readjust. There was only the wind whistling in his enormous ears, the sound of sand whispering across the ground, the distant cry of what could have been an eagle... it was so vivid that, the irrationality of it all aside, Reynard was hardly surprised when he was finally able to open his eyes and look at the landscape outside.

He wasn't in the alps any more. There were mountains on the horizon but they were low, rounded knobs rather than the snow-capped crags he was used to. Smaller outcrops of orange rock dotted the savannah between here and there, carved by centuries of wind, and the rolling grasslands was interspersed with patches of barren soil and small groves of gnarled gray-barked trees.

Reynard's new legs felt weak. He sank down to sit on the edge of a low boulder at the mouth of the cave, so numb and bewildered that he barely noticed when he pinched his stubby tail under his weight.

There were so many impossible things going on that the fact that he'd developed a tail hardly seemed worthy of note right now.

"Okay," Reynard announced to himself - as far as he could tell he was completely alone right now - "so here's the score. One," he crouched down and scratched a line in the sandy soil with a fingertip, "I'm a girl." His voice caught slightly but he kept it level; he'd never live it down if he lost it on just the first bullet point of his presentation.

"Two, I'm a goat-girl. Or maybe a sheep-girl." He shook his head. The fur covering his body was a muted sepia shade of dark brown, not any color he'd ever associated with sheep before. "A satyr, maybe, assuming there's such a thing as a female satyr." He tugged on one of his horns and sighed. They were big and curved like a ram's horns, but there was no questioning his gender.

"Three, I'm not in Kansas any more." A strained chuckle. "Well, Kansas is actually closer to this than France or Switzerland. Maybe I'm in Arizona."

"Four..." Reynard paused, examining the fourth line he'd drawn in the sand. He actually hadn't thought this far ahead when he'd finally dragged himself out of his daze and decided to get things straight. "I'm not injured," he concluded. "No bumps to the head. Hell, I feel great. For a goat-girl."

He sighed and stood back up, flexing his strange legs. His chest bounced, his gut didn't. He stomped his hoof. "I must be young again, somehow. What a trade-off. Ask me again later if it's worth it."

A long pause, and then he continued without answering. "Five. I've got no clothes, no tools, and no one to help me. Well, maybe I have tools, back in the tunnel. But I'm not sure what good they'll be, and I don't want to go bumbling around back in the dark if I can help it." He looked around at the wasteland he was stranded in. "Six, I have no idea where the nearest help is, or how long it'll take to get here. Seven, I'm already talking to myself."

Would it help if I reminded myself that that's the least worrisome symptom of insanity I've got to deal with right now? Reynard shook his head, ears twitching and suppressing an inappropriate grin. No, I guess not.

So what do I do? He could last days without food, even without the fat reserves he'd spent his life accumulating. Water would be more of a problem; this arid landscape made him thirsty just thinking about it. But he'd grown up part of his childhood in Phoenix, and who didn't spend a lazy weekend or two pondering desert survivalism in a place like that?

Reynard hadn't ventured out from the security of the tunnel mouth yet, but he could nevertheless see a number of clusters of prickly pear cacti within easy reach. He could cut them open and subsist on the juices they'd stored... if I had a knife, he sighed. Basics. I need basics.

This was not the sort of problem he'd been expecting to have to solve when he went down that elevator shaft scant hours ago.

"Wait, hours?" Reynard squinted up at the Sun, then switched to the more practical method of judging its elevation by looking down at the angle of the shadows it cast. "It's almost overhead. It was just three o'clock at CERN, and I wasn't out cold for long or the dust in the tunnel would have settled before I woke up. This can't be anywhere in North America. A desert just a little bit east of CERN... Africa? Swell." On the one hand, that made getting help far less easy; Reynard knew little about Africa. On the other hand, making a useful logical deduction like that made Reynard feel somewhat more confident in his own abilities. He found himself smiling.

Wipe that grin off your face. You've got a lot left to figure out yet, and it's not even your face. Reynard sighed at his own spoilsport attitude, but grudgingly accepted it. It didn't matter where he was right now. If rescue came, it came. He just had to survive until then.

And as for figuring out what exactly had happened to bring him to this situation in the first place... I may not be up on the very latest in particle physics. Quantum teleportation, sure, maybe I can buy that. But why am I a goat-girl?

Better to focus on the more immediate questions, the ones he both stood some chance of solving and the ones that he had to solve.

Learning to walk without a wall for support was one such problem. Reynard killed two birds with one stone by taking a short journey around the rock outcropping the cave was under, getting a full view of the surrounding terrain in the process. There weren't many distinguishing features aside from the distant mountains, he didn't even know yet which direction was north. By the time he got back to the cave mouth he wasn't quite so wobbly on his hooves any more. It was a small accomplishment but he'd take what he could get. And I suppose if I have to walk around here barefoot, having hooves is not so bad...

Tools. He needed to see what was left down in the tunnel, but without a light source he dreaded going back down there. Perhaps if he could make a torch... Need tools for that too. And wood, and rags, and pitch. Or equivalent. Good luck with that. So, lacking any other option, he headed back down into the pitch blackness to feel his way around.

The concrete walls had lost their smoothness and uniformity, but not via conventional damage - the floor was covered in dirt, not debris. If Reynard hadn't known what the place was supposed to be he'd have taken it for a natural cavern. Reynard found the service vehicle parked about where he remembered leaving it. He wouldn't have recognized it otherwise; instead of the smooth metal surface of the machine his fingers found an enormous heap of crumbly powder. From the scent he guessed it was rust. Reynard winced as his hand brushed one of the tires, now just a pool of tar.

There were probably toxic chemicals from the battery in that pile so he quickly moved on. The chamber that had contained BOLIDE was next, and progress beyond was blocked by the sagging heap of what had once been that great engine of physics; now collapsed on its crumbled supports, probably completely oxidized as well. He pawed through it for a few minutes in a vain search for his toolkit, but decided that even if he found it it was probably ruined too. He picked up a piece of debris and returned to the surface to examine it in the sunlight.

It was like everything had been returned to some sort of unfinished state. His clothing had become a pile of unwoven fiber, the tunnel had become a rough cave, the machinery inside had been reduced to ores. The piece of BOLIDE he'd brought with him was now fine green malachite, apparently a fragment of the thousands of tons of magnet but unblemished by any visible flecks of copper metal. "So why the hell am I a goat-girl?" Every time something started to make a little sense, that one question came back and threw it all back into confusion.

Could have been worse. Could have turned me into compost. Would've made sense... Instead he'd been made young and fit, he'd even got back a molar he'd lost years ago. So yes, he decided, it could have been worse. And now at least he knew what he had to work with.

He would have to make everything he needed from scratch. He wished he'd spent more than just one year in the Boy Scouts.

The rest of Reynard's first day was not very productive. He was reluctant to venture far from the cave, and didn't see any particularly favorable directions to try in any event, so his resources were very limited. The rock of the outcropping was something sedimentary; flaky, crumbly, and not very useful for forming tools. There were a few scrawny woody shrubs that resembled sage but weren't quite the same, a few thickets of low-lying cacti, and as much dry grass as he could pick. He'd tried twining together the raw fiber from his clothing into usable string but hadn't had much success.

At least he'd guessed right about the moisture content of the cacti. Peeling one open had been quite tricky without anything sharp and he'd punctured his fingertips quite a bit trying to deal with the spines, but he got enough bitter but palatable juice out of the deal to make up for it. He wouldn't die of thirst in the immediate future.

The Sun set in the direction of the mountains, so that way was west. Reynard marked the direction with a line of rocks for future reference. He'd be able to figure out his latitude soon enough once Polaris became visible, and from there he could start making guesses about exactly where in Africa he was.

The sky reddened and darkened as night fell.

The air had been almost oven-like at the height of the day but now a chill rapidly descended. Reynard found himself actually thankful for his strange coat of fur; it had probably saved him from sunburn during the day and now it served to take the worst of the bite out of the cold. His shaggy legs were just fine, though the thinner fur on his upper body let enough through to trigger a shivver.

His shiver wasn't just from the cold. The chorus of insect noises changed character, the day shift quieting down as the nocturnal creatures roused themselves; off in the distance Reynard heard what he guessed to be coyotes howling. He'd settled into a nook at the mouth of the cave to rest, cloven-hoofed feet pulled in protectively and the most weapon-like rock he'd found close at hand, but he felt far from secure. Wish I had a fire. He kicked himself for putting off thinking about lighting one, even though he knew that he didn't have enough fuel available to keep it burning through the night anyway.

He'd survive. Coyotes didn't bother bigger creatures like him, and he wouldn't freeze to death with this fur. Tomorrow morning he'd be rescued, he assured himself, and all this would be explained.

The stars were coming out. Reynard allowed himself to admire their beauty; even the relatively remote CERN was normally too flooded with light pollution for the full display to be visible like this. Need to find Polaris before I sleep... Reynard frowned. The constellations were unfamiliar. Was he all the way into the southern hemisphere? He wasn't familiar with the constellations down there.

A crescent moon was rising. That would settle it for sure; he remembered an old mnemonic about which side was "up" in which hemisphere. It was just a matter of figuring out if the Man in the Moon was on his head...

There was no Man in that moon. Reynard shook his head, yet another impossibility being added to the pile. The mottled pattern on that moon's disc was not the same as Earth's moon. He was sure of it; there was a bright reddish streak that was as obvious as it was unfamiliar.

Far off in the distance a whistling cry rose up and the coyotes fell silent. It was strangely melodic, almost pleasant, but it wasn't any animal call that Reynard had been familiar with from Earth life. "I suppose I should have guessed sooner," he whispered to himself. "There isn't any life like me on Earth either..."

The accident had sent him farther away than Arizona or Africa. Rescue would probably not be coming the next morning, or any time after that Reynard could hazard to guess. For the first time the true depth of his solitude struck him and Reynard stifled a quiet sob. No matter how impossible his situation seemed he was going to have to deal with it entirely on his own.

Reynard actually did manage to catch a little sleep during the night despite the chill of the air and the fearful strangeness of his situation. Waking up and finding himself still in it was a bit of a shock, but after he took a few minutes to regain his bearings - yeah, still a female satyr - he climbed groggily to his hooves and clopped over to the cave entrance to meet the dawn.

The red light of sunrise tinted the rock and soil of the savannah a deeper shade of orange. Reynard snorted and sat down on a small boulder to think about what to do next, trying not to be distracted by the restless flicking of his ears and tail.

The cave seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. It fit relatively smoothly with the landscape, the walls having been changed from concrete into the native sandstone and reshaped to look naturally carved, but there weren't any traces of other caves visible nearby and there certainly wasn't any sign of flowing water. And there were only so many usable cacti in the vicinity to sustain him... "I'm going to need to get moving," Reynard concluded reluctantly. Southward looked most promising; the sparse dotting of trees seemed denser in that direction. Logically, he should set off that way before his reserves became depleted. But he didn't want to leave the remains of BOLIDE behind, wrecked and useless though it may be.

If there was any home of rescue whatsoever it seemed likely that this would be the place it would happen; it was the only spot where he knew for certain that travel from Earth to wherever he was had occurred. But there was certainly nothing that he could do to effect it by himself, and since the Large Hadron Collider had just had a big bite taken out of it it would be a while before anyone on Earth could try any similar experiments.

Assuming anyone over there had any idea what had happened or what to do. "I have no idea what's happened to me." No idea other than what I can see with my own eyes, that is. Assuming I believe them. Reynard's hand slipping down to his hairy crotch but he quickly pulled it away and hooked his fingers over the tip of one of his horns instead. "Let's limit the numver of impossible things I believe before breakfast, okay?" He nodded to himself and gave a strained chuckle.

Breakfast. Reynard was getting hungry, though not as hungry as he would have expected - the small amount of cactus flesh he'd eaten yesterday for the moisture must have been reasonable fare. Good to know, he'd grab some more before he left. But before then...

Reynard didn't have any good writing implements but the cave wall was soft enough that he could scrape lines in it reasonably well with a pointy rock. He carved crude letters; 'REYNARD CRAMER 30/05/06 FROM EARTH'. After some thought, he added under that; 'BECAME F/SATYR ON ARRIVAL'. It was unlikely that anyone would figure out what that meant without further clues, but his space was limited and he assumed that if anyone were to follow him they'd learn more than just this.

'NO WATER HERE, GOING SOUTH'. That was in case anyone who came through would actively go out in search of him. There was room for one more line and Reynard spent a few minutes pondering what to write. Nothing profound came to mind and so ultimately he just left the pointed rock on the ground in front of the wall. Maybe the next guy will need to add more.

There wasn't much packing to do. Reynard rolled up the frazzled fibers from his old clothing into a ball, figuring he could perhaps make string out of it or if all else failed use it as tinder, and stuffed the piece of BOLIDE's magnet he'd retrieved into it. It didn't seem right to not bring at least some token of it along with him. Tucking the bundle under his arm, Reynard set out to the south.

Morning seemed to be a good time of day to travel. The cold of night dissipated quickly but hadn't yet been replaced with the furnace heat of midday, there didn't seem to be any large predators about, and there was ample light to see where he could place his feet. The sandy soil was tight-packed and his hooves handled the surface well; he made good time.

The cave from CERN soon vanished into the distance behind him. He stopped at the next outcrop, just a small pile of boulders on a low hillock, and hammered a crude arrow into the surface of the rock to make sure he wouldn't lose the trail. He had no idea if he'd be coming back this way but there was no point in burning bridges unnecessarily. Every few miles would probably suffice.

Morning started to edge toward noon, the furnace creeping slowly back across the landscape. Reynard was amazed by his own fitness, he'd been walking for hours without a hint of fatigue in his strange goat legs, but now he was starting to sweat through the thinner patches of fur. He knew he couldn't afford the moisture loss, not without some guarantee of being able to replenish it; the trees were still extremely sparse and the cacti were a literal pain to harvest.

A splintered crag of rock off to the southwest offered the shelter of shade and he made his way there. The outcropping was as old and worn as the others but appeared to have split in relatively recent geologic history, leaving an overhang with just enough headroom for a person to relax in for a while. Or a satyr. Reynard approached cautiously, ears flicking nervously as he checked for any other large animals that might be lurking in the welcoming shadows, then crept out of the scraggly sagebrush when it became apparent he was alone. He sat down on a well-worn rock, set aside his modest bundle of raw materials, and patted dust from his shaggy leg-fur with a sigh.

If there are aboriginals around, this would make a good camp... The thought had crossed Reynard's mind a few times already but this was the first place he'd come to that might have been expected to hold any traces of evidence. There were no obvious markings on the rocks, but the soil did seem unusually gray here and there were a few bits of wood mixed in that looked like they might have been charred. Firepit? If so, the place wasn't very frequently used. There wasn't any soot on the overhang's surface or other such traces. The soil seemed pretty well churned up, though, so perhaps something had obliterated them. Hard to say.

It had been about twenty-four hours now, Reynard reflected as he eyed the angle of the shadows on the ground. He was starting to accept that what had happened, had happened. This was all too real and too long-running to be a psychotic episode. Leaning against the cool stone behind him, careful not to knock his horns against it, he rubbed the back of his neck and sighed.

A quiet hiss echoed his sigh from somewhere nearby. Reynard froze. Was that wind? There was definitely a strong breeze blowing through the desert that day, he'd been caught in the occasional gust of dust while walking, but this had seemed a little too sudden and close by to be sand slithering through the rocks. Maybe something else slithering through the rocks. Reynard picked up his bundle and slowly rose to his hooves again.

There was the sound of something moving in the outcrop overhead, the faint scratching of claw on stone. Reynard's heart was pounding. He had no weapons, there wasn't even a rock nearby... there. He spotted a branch lying half-buried in the dust that looked like a suitable club, a short distance out from the nook he was sheltering in. Should I? He was defenceless where he was, and while the thing in the rocks might not know that right now that didn't guarantee it would keep at bay forever. Staying here would make his shelter into a trap.

Reynard had not yet tried running in his new legs but found that with fear at his heels he picked up the knack quick enough - if anything it was the bouncing of his breasts that threw him off rather than his gait. He didn't have time or the presence of mind to think about that, though. Something leapt down off of the rock onto the sand behind him, he heard the weight of the landing and knew it was at least as big as he was. It emitted a piercingly shrill whistle as Reynard frantically siezed the branch and ripped it from the ground, spinning to face whatever nightmare was pursuing him.

He turned just in time to glimpse it scampering back into the deep shadow of the outcrop's cleft, a limber long-limbed quadruped with black skin and a thin lizardlike tail tipped in russet brown. Reynard was left brandishing the branch and panting somewhere between terror and triumph. Had he scared it off? What was it?

Just when he started edging toward triumph, the creature poked its head back up to peer out of the shadow at him. Its face was eerily humanoid, somewhat like a monkey, but its head was crowned with a strange bony-looking crest and its red eyes were large and luminous with reflected sunlight. It squinted, baring predatory fangs, and gave a whistling chitter. Another pair of luminous eyes appeared deeper in the darkness behind it. There were more of these things.

Reynard stepped slowly and carefully back, keeping the branch raised, suddenly unsteady on his hooves. This was the first identifiably alien animal he had ever seen. Aside from myself, of course, he thought giddily. Some sort of rock monkey things. Why aren't they attacking? If I've stumbled on a bloody pack of these things... He glanced up in sudden insight, momentarily dazzling himself with the brilliance of the desert sun. "Nocturnal, eh? Thank god." The creatures were crouched down in the darkest, coolest nook that was likely to be found within miles of here, and of course he'd gone bumbling right into it. Thank goodness there had been that lesser alcove to draw him away from the main den!

Once he'd established to his satisfaction that they weren't going to brave the light of day coming out after him in the open, Reynard resumed his journey southward with a new sense of urgency. There were dangers out here beyond simple dehydration. He had been lucky twice now - the first night when he'd stayed in the cave without even knowing about these things, and just now - but now he needed to find a place to camp that was a little more secure.

At least he seemed to have picked the right direction. As the miles and hours passed the density of the sage-like plants and dry tufts of grass steadily increased, the land sloping downward slightly toward what seemed like it might be a drainage gully. Just the place to find water. There were clusters of trees visible in the distance that almost warranted the term 'grove'. But despite the boost in fitness his transformation had given him, he was starting to tire; robbed of a midday rest by those shadow-dwelling beasts he'd had to keep moving through the heat of day and it was starting to get to him. The light clop of hooves became a shuffle and he dragged the crude club along behind him more as a totem against danger now than as a usable weapon.

A shallow depression dead ahead was filled with a cluster of scraggly trees, and perhaps more importantly rimmed with a field of prickly pear; Reynard picked up his pace and panted more eagerly at the thought of the bitter liquid refreshment he could squeeze from them. Maybe if he was lucky there might even be a spring of real water in there...

Luck wasn't entirely with him, the patch of cracked, dry mud in the center of the ring of trees indicated open water was seasonal here at best. But the shade of the trees apparently wasn't sufficient to shelter those rock monkey things during the daytime, so Reynard was at last able to take the time to rest and carefully peel the cacti for their moisture with minimal finger-pricking. It wasn't much of a meal but once again his needs were met, enough to keep him alive and kicking for another day.

If he survived the night. Reynard sat on the rim of the dry waterhole pondering what he should do to prepare. Those things looked pretty agile. I bet they can climb trees. Probably better than I can, he sighed, lightly stomping a hoof on the hard-baked mud. His cloven hooves were great for bearing the rough ground, but he was beginning to sorely miss his old toes... among other extremities. "Worry about not being eaten first," he reminded himself firmly.

Nodding and flicking his ears nervously at the thought, he glanced around to take stock of his situation. It wasn't evening yet, but the afternoon was wearing on. He couldn't count on finding a better place; he'd have to make camp here. There were plenty of branches from which to select a better club, and scattered around the edges of the waterhole were a number of small rocks that could be useful. But his most important defence would probably be the single great invention that had separated man from animal - and hopefully would separate satyr from animal now, too. Reynard would have to make a fire.

The principles were easy and obvious. He just hoped he'd be able to put them into practice in the next few hours...

His fingers were already sore enough from dealing with the prickly pear spines, Reynard's efforts at fire starting were pushing his pain threshold to the limit. The traditional bow drill approach didn't work out; he wasn't able to make adequate string from the fibers he had available and there weren't a lot of springy branches available from the half-dead trees. He'd had to resort to rolling the drill stick back and forth between the palms of his hands. His skin was tough and his muscles strong, but by the time he had managed to generate a smoldering ember he felt like his arms were ready to drop off.

Fortunately he had ample tinder. The wadded grass caught with a tiny, intermittent flame at first, and Reynard had to carefully add just the right amount at just the right rate - too much would smother, too little and the ember would die. But his methodical engineer's mindset served him well and soon he'd built the little flame up to the point where it was consuming twigs. Reynard sighed in relief and sat back on his haunches, light-headed from all the blowing he'd done to nurture it this far and from no small amount of relief.

The sun was getting low and night fell quickly in this desert. He would have likely not had time to try again if this attempt had gone badly wrong.

He'd gathered up a large pile of wood before getting started, so Reynard was able to get the fire up to the level of a respectable campfire in short order. He took a few minutes to relax. The wood was dry but resinous, the scent of its smoke quite pungent in his broad nostrils, but it was a welcome smell. The smell of civilization.

A distant whistling cry came out of the deepening twilight and Reynard flicked his ears, nervous again. Just in the nick of time. Those rock-monkey things could have decided to track him down; it had only been a few hours' walk and he had no idea how fast those things could go on open ground. As tired as he was, he had to prepare.

The tip of the strongest, straightest branches he could find went into the fire. They would make for a poor spear but it was the best he could manage; he had no other way to sharpen anything right now. Shorter, stouter branches were set aside as both fuel for the fire and as bludgeons. There weren't a lot of rocks around and he had no way to fasten them to a handle to improve their clubbing potential, so he'd have to serve as thrown weapons.

Reynard pulled out one of his primitive spears and started rubbing the char off the top with the biggest rock, doing his best to make it pointy. "This is pitiful," he murmured to himself. "I've got a PhD in electrical engineering and in physics. If I just had some tools..."

He snorted. Considering what had happened to everything he'd brought with him, perhaps tools weren't even possible. There was no way to tell right now, and no point in pondering it. Less than an hour after nightfall, with the glow of sunset still lingering over the western mountains, the creatures from the rock outcropping arrived.

Reynard was alert, his enhanced senses picking up the sound of their clawed feet even before he caught the reflection of the firelight in their eyes. The creatures evidently recognized his awareness of them immediately, as they ceased all pretense towards stealth and exchanged a warbling whistle. Reynard counted two... no, three. One was smaller than the other two. He allowed himself a small measure of relief; he'd had no idea how big a pack he might be confronting.

One of the creatures skulked up to the edge of the barren water hole and raised up on its haunches to peer over the dry vegetation that formed a modest barrier around the rim. It was harder to making out details in the flickering firelight than it had been in the brief glimpse he'd got back when he first encountered them, but this time at least he had more time. "Rock monkey" wasn't quite so accurate now that the thing was down on flatter terrain, but the limbs certainly didn't look like those of a wolf or a cheetah and they had long fingers and toes. It was a quadruped but not completely optimized for that role. You're a Shadowcrawler, Reynard decided. Somehow the scary-sounding name was reassuring, a definite label with which he could classify this thing.

The Shadowcrawler let out a series of sharp, barking chitters, the whiteness of its teeth flashing out against the black of its skin. The other two Shadowcrawlers were prowling out to the sides, presumably searching for a good direction to lunge from. Reynard figured it would be best not to let them have free reign in planning their assault. Keeping his spear clutched tightly in one hand and his senses alertly focused on the creatures moving to surround him, Reynard crouched to scoop up one of the rocks. Bracing for a counterattack, he hurled it at the Shadowcrawler that was still raised up on its haunches.

He missed. The rock whizzed past the Shadowcrawler and crunched intp the sagebrush somewhere behind it, nowhere near the creature's head. But although Reynard's heart sank he staved off the worst of the disappointment. The Shadowcrawler flinched from the projectile, dropping back down to all fours and twirling in the underbrush to look at where the rock had landed. Reynard crouched to pick up another. These creatures were being quite cautious; the other two had jumped back at his movement rather than lunging to the attack, a heartening sign.

But they weren't intimidated yet. The larger of the other two Shadowcrawlers, apparently deciding to test Reynard's mettle, crept forward onto the open hardscrabble. Its eyes were almost closed, squinting against the brightness of the campfire. Reynard gave silent thanks to his ancestors for its invention and let fly with the second stone. This one hit, glancing off of the Shadowcrawler's back with a surprisingly loud clack - it seemed the creatures had some sort of armor plating there. It was enough to startle the second one off too, though, and for the moment the Shadowcrawlers retreated.

The standoff was still very tentative. Reynard found that he was panting despite the pleasant coolness of the night and tried to calm himself by adding a few more branches to the fire. It was crackling merrily now, the light stretching out to cast skeletal shadows from the surrounding grove of trees.

"I'm not going to die here," Reynard growled under his breath. The Shadowcrawlers chirruped back. It was annoying how such menacing creatures made such inoffensive-sounding vocalizations.

After a brief regrouping in the darkness, the two larger Shadowcrawlers came prowling back toward Reynard's camp side-by-side. Reynard tightened his grip on the spear, gritting his teeth. "Why couldn't I be a predator too?" He mumbled plaintively. "These stupid horns are just decorative at best... Yah!" Reynard let out a frightened bleat as one of the Shadowcrawlers darted forward. He stabbed at it with his spear, but the tip deflected down off the Shadowcrawler's chest and broke against the ground. He jumped back just barely ahead of the grasping swipe of claws, dancing perilously close to the edge of the fire. "Cra-ah-ah-ap!"

But the Shadowcrawler didn't take advantage of Reynard's precarious situation, pausing once again to rise up on its haunches and peer at him through tightly squinted eyelids. In hindsight Reynard would have liked to have claimed that he recognized how much trouble the firelight was giving this thing, but really he just grabbed the nearest vaguely weapon-like object he could get his hands on to replace his broken spear; he yanked one of the burning branches out of the fire and held it out in front of him.

As a torch it wasn't much, but apparently having the hated fire suddenly move closer even in that weak form was enough to spook the Shadowcrawler that had lunged for him. It hopped back, chittering in displeasure, and the one that hadn't tried lunging yet crouched down in a defensive pose.

Reynard was feeling desperate, and so in desperation siezed upon this momentary reversal. "Back! Scat!" He advanced, waving the glowing brand and stomping his hooves vigorously. The Shadowcrawlers really didn't like that, turning and scampering back into the underbrush. "Hah! Fire, eat it!" Reynard shouted, almost verging on hysteria, and hurled the branch after them.

It dawned on him a moment later that he really shouldn't have thrown away his only weapon in hand. But before he could panic too badly, the tinder-dry shrubbery he'd thrown the branch into flickered to life with flames of its own. "Oh..."

The vegetation was too sparse in general to sustain a grass fire, but perhaps for that very reason a lot of fuel had piled up around this dry water hole. Reynard soon found himself having to squint too, and the heat became worse than the height of midday as he crouched in the center of the blaze - the dry mud forming a fireproof "eye" just large enough to make the fire endurable.

By the time the flames finally died down the Shadowcrawlers were nowhere to be seen; they must have had enough and gone off in search of other prey. Considering that Reynard was at wits end himself, he counted himself extremely lucky. The tips of his hair had gone frizzy, his bundle of string-making material had burned with the rest of the flammables, but he himself was unharmed.

Unharmed, but very sore and tired. Reynard's dark hooves were further blackened by charcoal as he trudged through the leftovers to regather fuel for his own small fire, still crackling to itself in its isolated pit after the uncontrolled rush of everything else burning away, and then once he'd collected enough to last the night he lay down half-curled beside it.

Somewhere in the distance, the coyotes - or something that sounded very like coyotes - started up their plaintive howling. Reynard couldn't help but smile and relax at the familiarity. If coyotes are feeling safe right now, maybe I can too.

He slept very lightly, waking every hour or two to startle at some nighttime noise and add a few new branches to the fire, but at least he got some rest. In a way it was better than the first night he'd spent in this world; he'd been tested and had survived.

The next day's dawn revealed the full extent of the mess Reynard had made with last night's fire. The trees had apparently all surivived, but the dry grasses and bushy cover around the edges of the dry hole had gone up like flash paper leaving only bare sticks behind.

Reynard himself was quite the sight for sore eyes; his body hair was singed in a few places and thoroughly darkened all over with soot. Sleeping on the dusty ground again had certainly not helped things. He was dirty and sore, and very hungry and very thirsty.

Cacti weren't going to cut it as sustenance in the long run, he sighed, but that was still all that was available. One pleasant surprise presented itself; a large patch of prickly pear that had been caught in the blaze last night had had all of its spines burnt to stubs, making it easy to deal with for once. I'll have to remember that trick, Reynard thought to himself as he choked down his morning meal.

He had no way to bring the fire with him, but having got it started once from scratch already Reynard decided he could count on being able to do it again should another campsite with adequate fuel present itself. He gathered up a few of the best drill sticks he could find. Other than that... Reynard sighed. He'd lost the remnants of his clothing, his spear had sucked, and a wooden club wasn't much of a possession. All he had left was the bright green chunk of malachite he'd taken from the remnants of BOLIDE. All of his worldly possessions could fit in his own two hands.

Probably for the best since that was all he had to carry them with. It was time to go; there was nothing left here.

Reynard resumed walking south, continuing to follow the rolling contour of the land in what seemed like a descending direction. Despite his light load his hooves were starting to drag, the springiness sapping from his goatlike legs.

Where am I going? The question weighed heavily. He certainly wasn't going to stay where he was, between the heat and the Shadowcrawlers he wouldn't last long, but the lack of a solid goal certainly didn't help his enthusiasm. All he could do was keep moving and hope for... something.

The Sun crept up toward zenith and Reynard found he couldn't pant on account of the dryness of his tongue. He needed to find shade, a safe place to rest. Rock outcroppings were becoming more numerous and dry gullies were starting to become commonplace, but Reynard was wary of such things now. He was too slow to face another Shadowcrawler ambush.

A dark smudge appeared in the shimmering ripples of the horizon ahead. Reynard squinted and angled his shuffling gait in its direction, lacking any other landmark to aim for. There was a speck circling high overhead in the sky, a bird of some sort that emitted an occasional eagle-like cry, and Reynard hoped it was a good sign rather than some local equivalent of a vulture. As the dark smudge grew closer Reynard's spirits started to lift. Maybe it is just an eagle.

The dark smudge was a grove of trees bearing thicker foliage than Reynard had seen yet, a greenish mound poking up over the top of the depression they were growing in. Reynard picked up his pace, trotting along beside a twisting erosion channel that snaked down the orange clay toward it. Shade, and vegetation, and...

Reynard let out a voice-cracking whoop at the reflected glint of sunlight that peeked through the leaves as he topped the last rise. It wasn't much, but there was an actual pool of open water nestled in the shelter. He barely kept from falling as he staggered down the slope, only skidding to a halt right at the edge when caution once again managed to rise to the surface of his mind.

Were there alligators? Desert pirhana? Gourds that spit acid? Reynard tip-toed lightly on his hooves as he made his way through the narrow band of green grass and shrubbery that swaddled the pond. It was little more than a puddle, maybe ten feet by thirty feet and no more than two or three feet deep at its deepest; there didn't seem to be any place for large predators to hide.

It was enough caution to satisfy Reynard. He crouched down at the side of the pond, scooped up double handfuls of water, and drank until he felt bloated.

Reynard sat back on the grass with a relieved sigh. "Made it," he murmured. "Didn't know this was where I was going, but man am I glad to be here." After all the bad spots he'd stumbled into over the past two days perhaps the fates had simply decided to throw him a break for once.

The grove was very small; the pond seemed to be fed primarily by ground water so there were no inlets or outlet streams. Reynard spotted a couple of small lizards living in the undergrowth, and there were smaller sparrow-like birds flitting about, but he seemed to be the largest animal around by far.