tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60957987305319158312023-08-16T21:47:41.507-07:00A Nail From Which To Hang The HeavensFlights of fancy from the digital desk of Kristina TracerKristina Tracerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03511740779372210878noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6095798730531915831.post-53616091897028100002009-07-16T23:32:00.000-07:002009-07-17T01:01:55.840-07:00Beautiful World 10: Homecoming<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">The client-side processing unit was an awkward beige metal box, crammed underneath the massive mahogany desk because it was too large to sit on top. Out of one side, a multitude of colored cables jutted, like party streamers celebrating Expensive and Possibly Illegal Hardware Day. A thick optical lead, the induction rig's data line, fed into the back of my computer. A second massive cable plugged into the surge protector with an unwieldy power brick labeled in Japanese and in just enough English to make me worry about “flaming hazard.” Finally, a collection of plastic rainbow-sheathed wires led up from the ugly tan cube to a flexible nylon helmet dotted with electromagnets along its inner wall and an integrated blindfold and earplugs to help block physical input. This last component hung nonchalantly across the back of my captain's chair, waiting for me to wear it.<br /><br />It had taken me the better part of three hours to get the drivers for the induction rig installed and tested. I'd checked and double-checked the potential throughput of my system's network to make sure I wouldn't have to bypass my security and feed the output line directly into the router just to maintain a connection. I'd validated the integrity of the skullcap itself, reading and inducing a current through every magnet. I'd secured the power lines to ensure the total power drain wasn't going to brown out the building when I ran everything at once. I even ran a successful mock-connection to Tadashiissei's network, aborting the connection right before logging into Irokai. Piecewise and collectively, I'd done everything but actually turn out the lights, put on the helmet, and activate the connection protocols.<br /><br />During the fourth dry run, I consciously realized that I was stalling. I could only validate things in a vacuum so many times before I started second-guessing myself and introducing errors, but </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">something</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> kept me from actually sitting down in the chair and launching. I'd checked and double-checked everything system-related, so it couldn't be the software. The hardware itself was a black box to me, but all the tests I had done against it suggested that it was what Fuki had promised it to be: a hardware component for reading neural impulses and inducing state changes in the brain through electromagnetic resonance. I was as ready for this as I was ever going to get. Why was I still hesitating?<br /><br />I bowed my head, letting out the breath I caught myself holding, forcing air in and out of my lungs. I didn't trust Fuki. That was at least part of it. She'd contacted me out of nowhere, citing some vague mutual acquaintances and suggesting that we had a lot in common, but really, I didn't know anything about her. I shook my head. </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Scratch that</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">, I thought. I knew she either worked for Tadashiissei or knew someone who did; that was the only explanation for the amount of detailed information she'd been able to provide. No casual hacker, no matter how good, could have reverse-engineered so much about the company's codebase in such a short time. Even a team as good as the one she claimed to have couldn't have done this much research this quickly without internal access. That meant she had an angle, a reason for taking down the company from within... or a reason to go looking for people who did and get them to reveal themselves.<br /><br />In light of that, I couldn't trust the rig either. Sure, it had the Tadashiissei logo on it, and it did look remarkably like what I saw on every visit to the transit facility, back when I could get through the front doors. That didn't mean that it actually was what I requested, or even that it did anything at all. It passed the initial checks, but any clever programmer could set up a dummy device to respond however he or she wanted, to look like a perfectly valid piece of hardware and then do absolutely nothing. Worse, what if she was a company agent, and this was a trap? If the thing could do proper induction, I had no way to control in advance what it would put into my brain, short of tearing the thing open and studying its guts. If I did that, and I was wrong, I had no way to put it back together, and I doubted Fuki would be willing to send me a replacement, assuming of course that it worked.<br /><br />I ground my teeth in frustration. “You're stalling again,” I said aloud, as though the words, given form, would somehow jar me into action. All it did was up my heart rate, as I realized I was running out of excuses. Either I trusted it, or I didn't. If I trusted it, it either worked or it didn't. If it worked, I wound up in Irokai. If it didn't... my mind conjured a myriad of scenarios, from brainwashing to a silent alarm going off in Tadashiissei's offices to impossibly lethal feedback.<br /><br />I shook my head again as I stood and walked out of the room, grabbing my cigarettes from the kitchen counter. The equation was even simpler than that, really. Either I trusted Fuki, or I didn't. If I trusted her, and that trust wasn't misplaced, then I got to go back to Irokai with administrative access. If I didn't trust her, or my trust was misguided, then I stayed outside, in the “real” world. Everything followed from that premise, and that was the one part giving me the most trouble. Was she trustworthy, this pseudonymous person from the digital void?<br /><br />The first draw of smoke hit my lungs in a frantic burst of heat and nicotine, soothing my rattled nerves. I leaned against the balcony, cigarette tucked between two fingers as I stared at the sky, the sodium glare from the streetlights washing out the night sky. Nothing Fuki had said to me yet had turned out to be wrong, but that could all be an act, an attempt to lure me into her web. I had no reason to doubt her, beyond the fact that I couldn't make sense of her actions. Why would someone inside the company work to destroy its greatest asset, unless she were trying to get people to incriminate themselves? She had to have a motive, a reason for her betrayal, but I couldn't figure out what it was. I just had no idea.<br /><br />I took a second drag, holding it inside until my chest burned, then let it out in a rush of grey smoke. </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Did John understand why I left him?</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> I wondered, watching the wisps dissipate in the ever-present breeze. </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">For that matter, does Adam understand why John's leaving us both?</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> I shook my head, flicking the half-finished cigarette into the empty space. Some things, I realized, couldn't make sense from the outside. Even if I knew Fuki's reasons for what she was doing—assuming she was really a “she” and not a “they” or something else entirely—I couldn't guarantee that they'd make any kind of sense. Knowing something and understanding it were two very different things, and all this twisting around trying to decipher someone else's inscrutable motives was getting me nowhere.<br /><br />The leather of the captain's chair was cool against my butt as I dropped, naked, into the seat. I took a few minutes to whip together a timer, a little watcher-script to cut my outside connection in an hour in case anything went wrong with the system. The skullcap was tighter than I remembered, putting a faint pressure all around my head as I tugged it into place and tied the chin-fastener. “Lights, off,” I said, my voice muffled by the earplugs. The light seeping around the edges of the blindfold disappeared, leaving only the faint glow of the monitor. “Timer, execute.” I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and leaned backwards, lifting my feet off the ground as the chair tilted me to near-horizontal.<br /><br />“Inductor, execute.”<br /><br />An infrasonic thrum began pulsing through my head, and despite the absence of any light, my vision slowly filled with a field of grey. Faint rainbows rippled in the void, and then suddenly I was falling, but up and down refused to identify themselves. Bars of music resolved out of the background hum, chords coming together into a chorus of electronic pure tones, then diminishing into a digital hiss.<br /><br />Swirls of color took shape and form, resolving like stereoscopic images into regular, asymmetric patterns. Gravity abruptly asserted itself, and I landed with a heavy thud onto my hinds, then staggered into the dart-tiled door . It gave way as my weight impacted it, and I tumbled out of the arrivals booth onto a concrete walkway. A collection of people stared as I struggled to my feet, and somebody in the crowd said, “Hey, buddy, you okay?”<br /><br />Someone put a black-furred paw on my shoulder. I followed it back up the brown arm's length to the face of a raccoon, his brows furrowed in concern, an awkward mixture of sympathy and smugness at play in the set of his muzzle. Behind him, a group of his friends stood around twittering and watching their companion with admiration and annoyance. He extended his other paw to me and helped me awkwardly to my feet, offering a fraternal pat on the back. “First time through the transit system? That looked pretty rough.”<br /><br />I blinked, snapping my head from the raccoon's face back the wall behind me; it was concrete, like the rest of the tram station, but set with a series of multicolored tiles like the floor of Tadashiissei's transit transit station. The patterns extended briefly up onto the walls, and overhead a sign in Japanese and English said </span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Beni Prefecture Transit Point. Welcome Visitors to Irokai!</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><br /><br />I grinned an impossible grin, tail wagging madly behind me; even if I could have stopped it, I wouldn't have. I wiped at my face with one paw, before a telltale streak of silver could reveal anything awkward. “Yeah,” I said, clearing my throat with a cough. “That last step's a long one.”<br /><br />The raccoon grinned, obviously glad of his chance to show off his superior gravity-management experience. “You gonna be okay? You need some help?”<br /><br />I waved offer the offer, shaking my head. “I'll manage; I'm meeting some friends at a club not far from here.”<br /><br />“Yeah?” The raccoon's eyes lit up and a knowing smirk crossed his face. “Which one?”<br /><br />I looked back at my erstwhile-assistant and made a point of visually giving him the once-over. Out of curiosity, I went for a hardline and tried not to look too shocked when I got one, complete with administrator options I wasn't expecting. A quick scan showed that he hadn't loaded a single mod or upgrade. His base model was one of the standard packages, even down to the coloration. His clothes were custom-tailored, but a fast follow-up on the labels showed that they came from a corporate partner, probably part of a package deal. Even his tail moved in recognizable idle-loops; the overall effect was random, but the individual segments of movement were pure Tadashiissei-baseline.<br /><br />I smirked, giving my own tail an expressive wag. “I don't think you'll like it.”<br /><br />The raccoon frowned at that and pulled his paw away. “Suit yourself,” he quipped with a shrug, then motioned back to the gaggle behind him. “We're gonna go have some fun now.” Then he was gone, rejoining his group of little friends, which slipped back into the moving throng.<br /><br />“Yeah, fun,” I said to no-one. Then I was off at a dead run, sprinting past bodies as I exited the station.<br /><br /></span><hr /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><br />The skies over Beni Prefecture perpetually drizzled, a light misting interrupted only by the occasional high wind or heavy storm. Even during the day the sun forever lurked behind the clouds, visible only by the stray streak of light that broke through the cover. Runoff gathered in haphazard puddles on the broad concrete sidewalks, reflecting iridescent rainbows from the street lamps. Away from the main strips lined with boutiques and cafés, the back roads and alleyways twisted and curved back on themselves, giving the whole district a strangely organic feel, as though it had started from some grand plan and then quickly outgrown its design.<br /><br />The front of the FutureShock looked like most every building in the district: low to the ground, with concrete walls and a corrugated roof, faintly tinted red with rust. Flyers advertising various bands, upgrade shops, and other service-oriented businesses blanketed the steel double-doors marking the entrance. The only sign for the club itself hung in the single window: a constantly-evolving logo filling the glass, beneath which were the words, “Anything is possible.”<br /><br />No bouncer stood at the doorway; instead, as I approached, the quick double-beep of an incoming message sounded in my ear. I opened the hardline and checked my queue; in it was a request for response from “The Association”:<br /><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">Dear Prospective Member,<br /><br />Please be aware that FutureShock and its participants do their utmost to live up to the organization's motto. Inside these sacred walls, anything is indeed possible. This venue is not for the faint of heart or the closed of mind. Anyone wishing to experience everything that Irokai not only can but should offer may enter the club after responding in the affirmative to this message, at which point The Association holds itself blameless for any loss of sanity, dignity, or innocence experienced within. In other words, don't say yes if you don't mean it, and don't try to hold us accountable later if you didn't </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">really</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"> mean it.<br /><br />If you understand everything you've read above and you're still interested, respond in the affirmative and someone inside will acknowledge your acknowledgment as soon as possible. Thanks.<br /><br />The Association<br /><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">I'd forgotten about the application, and more importantly I'd forgotten that I wasn't using my old account. I considered searching through the administration console to find my old records, but good sense stopped me for a change. The last thing I wanted right now was to advertise to anyone else in charge that I might still be around, and checking for my old access information would probably trip somebody's flag somewhere. Still, it couldn't hurt to see if my old hangout had changed much in the time since I'd been gone, and this was part of why I wanted to be back in the first place.<br /><br />It took a few minutes for someone to process my acceptance, while the light rain slowly soaked into my white fur, turning it a slick silvery grey. Then the double doors creaked open, inviting me inside. Synthesizer tones spilled into the streets, while softly strobing lights beckoned from the bottom of an unlit stairwell. I crossed the threshold into the concrete antechamber, and the steel doors closed behind me, shrouding me in shadows. Moments later, a red light came on behind me, illuminating the stairwell, throbbing gently like a mother's heartbeat, coaxing me further inside.<br /><br />The stairs had no handrail, but each step was more than wide enough to find, even in the reduced light. Gradually, the glow filtering up from the basement replaced the red behind me, as the concrete steps gave way to solid black strips, limned in yellow light. The edges of the stairs themselves lit the way further into the depths, their glow augmented gradually by a pattern of hexagonal panels that matched them, giving the appearance of a neon beehive. I paused and touched the wall, running my pads over the smooth surface; it wasn't glass, or plastic, or for that matter any material at all. It was an artifact of Irokai's nature, a wall defined solely as “wall,” absent any property indicating substance. Light bordered each hexagonal segment, suffusing the hallway with a golden glow.<br /><br />At the base, the staircase gave way to a broad tiled floor, each step sending up a soft reverberation that no analog material could naturally make. The middle of the room was sunken, dominated in the center by someone's artistic reinterpretation of a tree, circular clear trunk rising from arcs of roots embedded directly in the floor, while angular branches spread out overhead, decorated in fractal holofoil leaves. Translucent “fruit” in an array of Pythagorean solids and the occasional exotic surface hung at intervals, inviting those standing beneath to reach up and pluck them. Benches surrounded the “tree,” free of any visible support yet easily carrying those who sat or sprawled across them. Instead of doors leading to other parts of the club, tinted pools of liquid mercury rippled at intervals around the edges of the room, and a long bar dominated one part of the wall, inverted cones balancing on their points serving as stools. Overhead, the walls rose in finer and finer tessellations, converging at the domed ceiling in a semi-spherical sundisk of impossibly pure yellow that filled the room with its light.<br /><br />If the room itself defied conventional physics, then its inhabitants defied classification. On one of the benches beneath the tree, a glass statue of a domestic canine leaned against a liquid-metal rabbit, one transparent paw stroking along her silver thigh. At the bar, a holographic mouse drew lines of light through a cluster of violet rosettes floating in snow-leopard-shaped formation. Against one wall, a feline-shaped hazmat suit dripping with machine oil exchanged connector hoses with a blue-furred cat in a silver umbilisuit. As I watched, one of the portals began to ripple, then disgorged a butterfly-woman, her stained-glass wings coruscating rainbows behind her as they vibrated. Behind the counter, a topiary rabbit blooming with berries chatted amiably with a plush coyote, glowing wires stitched into its fur.<br /><br />I smiled. It felt good to come home.<br /><br />As soon as I stepped out of the tunnel leading down from the entrance, the rabbit-bush turned and waved. “Welcome to FutureShock!” she called, inviting some of the other inhabitants to turn in my direction.<br /><br />I waved sheepishly with one paw, ears flat against my head and tail trying to curl between my legs. </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Of course they won't recognize me, even if they do,</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> I remembered. </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">New account, new identity.</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> In a place in which anyone could be anything, nobody took appearance for granted. I strode over to the bar, making a show of nonchalance. “Hey, Briar,” I called out to the topiary, taking a seat on one of the conical stools. “What's blooming?”<br /><br />The rabbit-bush's ears flicked upwards in surprise. “Sorry, have we met?” Suspicion tinged her voice.<br /><br />“It's been a while,” I admitted, scratching at the back of my head with one paw. “It's Jules.”<br /><br />The plush coyote huffed, its glass-bead eyes half-closed in a suspicious squint. “Nice try, officer.”<br /><br />I smiled wanly, ears back against my head. “You never change, Sparks.” I motioned them forward and leaned over the bar, whispering, “I hacked my way back in.” I put a finger across my muzzle and grinned.<br /><br />That got their attention. Both coyote and rabbit leaned in close, ears arching forward to catch every sound. “If you are who you say you are,” the rabbit challenged, her voice reedy and tight, “then prove it.” Then she dumped a mass of encrypted text into my communication queue.<br /><br />I dragged up my hardline and rummaged through my settings, then pulled up my bank of private keys and started decoding. As the algorithms cranked, I recited. “Why, the fact is, Miss, this here ought to have been a </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">red</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> rose-tree, and we put a <em>white</em> one in by mistake; and if the queen was to find it out, we should all have our heads cut off, you know. So you see, Miss, we're doing our best, afore she comes, to—“<br /><br />The topiary rabbit held up a paw, ears arching forward and needles bristling in a smile. “Enough, Jules. Welcome back.” Then she gestured towards the staircase. “So how'd you get here?” She waved the fingers of her other paw, and a cluster of bright red berries rose out of her palm, which she proffered. “Last I heard, you'd gotten banished.”<br /><br />“I was,” I agreed as I took the bunch. They were sweet, mostly raspberry-flavored with a faint metallic aftertaste. “What is this?” I asked after I'd eaten about half of what Briar had given me.<br /><br />“Something new,” she replied with a shrug. “So how'd you get back in? And what's with the admin flag?”<br /><br />Sparks nudged the rabbit with one paw and said to her, “I don't like this.”<br /><br />I finished the cluster of berries and handed back the stems, which vanished into Briar's thickets. “It's a long story, and I don't have a lot of time to explain it, but... yeah, I'm on a hacked account.”<br /><br />Briar grinned, her brambles rustling amusedly. “Tadashiissei's gonna be <i>choleric </i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">if they catch you.”<br /><br />I smirked at that, but then the bottom fell out of my stomach, forestalling my clever retort. I put a paw over my gut and kneaded at it. The muscles beneath my fingers moved in very un-muscular ways, wiggling loosely, as though not quite attached. “What was in those, anyway?”<br /><br />“Something new,” Briar repeated with a giggle. “You'll see in a minute.”<br /><br />It didn't take that long. Despite the slow wave that my vision seemed to be doing despite remaining still against the bar, I could definitely tell that my fur was changing color, shading from white to a deep red. I brought a paw up in front of my face and squinted, watching with detached interest as the hexagonal wall-pattern began to shine through not just my fingers, but my pads as well. I looked down at myself, observing the changes as they spread, my fur losing definition, then vanishing entirely into my new rubbery skin. I couldn't see any bones or organs when I looked at myself, just an expanse of translucent red all the way through. I looked back at my tail and tried to wag it; it felt like I was dragging it through molasses.<br /><br />Sparks snickered, then leaned forward and gave my arm a lick with a velvet tongue. “Raspberry,” it pronounced with a smirk.<br /><br />Carefully, I stretched out one leg and rested it on the ground, then the other. Everything felt so </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">heavy</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> all of a sudden. I slid forward, but somehow my legs wouldn't support me, and I slipped bonelessly to the floor, ending up in a heap of tangled limbs. “Hey!” Even my voice was heavy, coming out slowly and ponderously, played back at half-speed. “Warn a guy next time.” I stared up at the sundisk and brought my paws in front of my face, watching the way the colors before my eyes moved as I waggled my fingers.<br /><br />Briar laughed. “That'd suck all the fun out of it.” She came out from around the bar and sat down beside me, dragging one leafy paw over my chest and neck, making me squirm in slow motion. “Now, tell me, how'd you get back in here?”<br /><br />“Induction rig,” I responded immediately, though still on a heavy delay. “Hacked connection.”<br /><br />“Mm-hm,” Briar agreed, “petting” me with her leaves. “So what's with the admin account?”<br /><br />“Ask Fuki,” I replied, slowly waving my paws in front of my face, then in front of her. The topiary rabbit swam in sticky red when I waved at her.<br /><br />“Who's Fuki?”<br /><br />“Don't know,” I admitted with a slow shrug. </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Choleric.</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> The thought of the word made me laugh.<br /><br />Briar's ears twitched, and I saw her look up at Sparks, who shrugged in response. “You sure?”<br /><br />“Yeah, sure.” I nodded, then tried to get a paw under me. I had legs, last I checked. Two of them, in fact, but they didn't really want to talk to each other. I contented myself with playing with the sun while they decided to be nice.<br /><br />Again they looked at each other in silence, until Sparks said, “Is it </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">really</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> you, Jules?”<br /><br />I nodded again. “Yeah.” Yellow and red made orange. </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Orange.</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> “Yeah, that's right.”<br /><br />The topiary frowned, and then berries were before my lips. “Here.” They were blue, and I snapped at them eagerly with gelatin-teeth. They popped in my mouth, and strands of purple suffused me as the juice spread. “This'll help.”<br /><br />The weight slowly dissipated as the second batch of berries worked their magic, and I forced myself into sitting upright. “Whoa,” I looked down at myself; the change was still fully in effect, even if the mind-bender wasn't. “Real nice, Briar, Sparks.” I frowned at the two. “Nice way to say hello.”<br /><br />Sparks threw up its cloth paws in frustration. “How were we to know? Somebody comes in here with an admin flag claiming to be you, and we'd heard you'd gotten zeroed.”<br /><br />I held out a paw. “Okay, yeah, I understand. Do you believe me now, at least?”<br /><br />Briar nodded. “Yeah, sorry.” She stood, then helped me back onto my hinds and onto the stool. “So, how're you back? And why?”<br /><br />I rolled my shoulders and grinned. “A guy gets lonely?”<br /><br />Sparks chuckled, but Briar scowled in response. “I'm not taking it. There's something going on here.”<br /><br />I sighed and nodded. “Yeah, there is.”<br /><br />“So spill.” The topiary folded her arms across her chest.<br /><br />I looked at her, then at Sparks. “I can't say much. Mostly, I came to warn you. Some really heavy-duty disaster is on its way. Be ready to duck and cover.”<br /><br />Sparks' ears flattened. “Are they shutting this place down?” It huffed again, paws balled into fists. “We didn't do anything wrong! Well, I mean—”<br /><br />I held out a paw to forestall the protests. “Not you, not here. Irokai. Does </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Minshukakumei</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> ring a bell? Democracy Revolution?”<br /><br />Briar and Sparks exchanged a glance, then looked back at me. “Rumors, mostly,” Sparks admitted. “I've seen a few images of what looked like edits, but I thought they were fake.”<br /><br />I shook my head. “They're not. Not all of them, anyway.”<br /><br />The topiary rabbit frowned and leaned forward. “Jules, what's going on?”<br /><br />I turned to the rabbit and smiled wanly again, showing translucent teeth. I leaned forward to rest my elbows on the bar—<br /><br />—and pitched out of the captain's chair as the software timer expired, cutting my network connection. My knees hit the floor with a bang, my elbows following a moment later and only barely keeping my face from being next.<br /><br />Unwelcome darkness and silence assaulted me, and for a moment I flailed in the void, until sense reasserted itself and I clawed at the straps of the skullcap, prying out the earplugs and then yanking the whole thing off of my head. It fell in a heap of nylon and cables beside me as my eyes snapped around the room, the sudden change of sensory inputs making my head reel.<br /><br />I put a hand to my stomach, trying to still a sudden burst of nausea and to get my breathing back under control. </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">So that explains the transit stations,</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> I thought, in between bouts of disorientation. The world slowly came together, and I poked at my skin, scowling at the pink flesh that had so recently been raspberry gelatin. It felt real enough, even if it didn't match my memories.<br /><br />I considered logging back into Irokai and trying to explain myself, the timer and everything else, but I decided against it. As much as I wanted to explain, I didn't have much more than I'd already said in the way of facts, and even that much was probably dangerous, for Fuki and for me, and maybe for them, too. They'd know what I meant as soon as it was relevant, and before then it wouldn't make any sense. They weren't stupid, any of them. They'd figure out what they needed to know and what to do about it.<br /><br />Gingerly, I got my legs back under me, checked that the bones were intact within, and then pushed myself upright. “Successful test,” I said to no-one in particular, and then I dropped back into the captain's chair and pulled it in front of the computer desk, scooting the skullcap out of the way with one foot. “Lights, on.” I grabbed the normal headset next to my keyboard. “Timer, close. Inductor, close. Editor, open. Debugger, open, load file 'voice-over.' Synthesizer, open.”<br /><br />I had a lot of work to do to cover my advance payment.</span>Kristina Tracerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03511740779372210878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6095798730531915831.post-66283715873300218112009-07-16T23:05:00.000-07:002009-07-16T23:19:39.798-07:00Beautiful World 09: Delinquency<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Cold air rushed into the apartment as I opened the sliding glass door leading to the balcony. The clock in the den said six-and-three-quarters local, a half-circle of color running from green to indigo; it was later than I liked to start my mornings, but after the late night, it had felt necessary. Those sections of the sky visible through the towers of Murasaki Prefecture were already a lighter blue, streaked with lines of gold and rose, hinting at the sunrise to come. Overhead, though, stars still filled my view, shimmering against a vast expanse of deepest black.<br /><br />Nude aside from the sash tied around my waist, I stepped out onto the metal balcony, muzzle turned upwards to face the heavens. As I closed the glass door behind me, sharp winds cut through my fur, but I had long since become numb to the cold. One paw I kept at my waist, steadying the </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">katana</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> in its </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">saya</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> as it bobbed against my hip; the other I curled around the thin railing, bracing myself as I gazed upwards at the sky. Even with the morning fast approaching, I could still make out the constellations overhead. To the east, </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Seiryū</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> had all but disappeared, only its eye still visible against the coming dawn. Opposite, </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Byakko</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> shimmered against the darkness, her tail dipping lazily into a rising pond of brilliant blue. Elsewhere, the Tortoise and Phoenix chased each other across the heavens, and Rabbit and Fox danced. Beneath them all, I stood and faced them, entranced.<br /><br />No matter how long I gazed upwards at the heavens, I never tired of watching the stars dance in the sky, watching them shine and scanning for the occasional comet. I knew, as a matter of fact, that the heavens were artificial. Far from being celestial bodies of burning gas, Irokai's stars were mere polygon clusters, spinning in place overhead and palette-shifting to give the illusion of twinkling in a sky unfettered by air pollution. They gave off no heat, only light. If I wanted, I could download a copy of the night sky and, in much-reduced scale, hang it from my living room ceiling.<br /><br />Yet, for all that, I never tired of looking up to them. Stretched out against an endless blank slate, they gave Irokai a sense of infinity. The world was not boundless, but a night sky filled with stars fostered a sense that it could be. As far back as I could remember, the stars had transfixed me, and I could spend hours doing no more than lying on my back and watching them, imagining flying among them, reaching out and touching them. Knowing their truth had never diminished their impact. In many ways, it had heightened it.<br /><br />For several minutes, I stood, watching as the approaching day washed out the stars, until a flood of brilliant light broke through the skyline, outlining Murasaki Prefecture in gold. The last of the stars disappeared behind a wash of sun, and I lowered my gaze from the sky. I had delayed starting the day as long as possible. It was time to begin.<br /><br />Stepping back from the railing, I drew the scabbard from my sash. Kneeling, I rested it in front of me, then bent reverently over it, my muzzle not quite touching the ground, forehead just barely brushing against the intricately woven sheath. With arms outstretched, I held the pose of a supplicant, focusing on my breath as it entered my nostrils and then escaped between my lips. Prostrate before the sun, I emptied my mind, waiting to see what filled it.<br /><br />As expected, the vision of the distorted sky was first to mind, and with it a wash of anger. Stepping out of my apartment to be greeted by such a crude scrawl against the heavens was an offense both professional and personal. Until then, I had taken the graffiti in stride, the childish hacks of vandals who sought to destroy something they could never have built. Their acts against the stars themselves had been a blow too far; it was proof that they, whoever they were, would stop at nothing until their aims had been achieved. It also served as the strongest proof yet that my superiors either didn't understand the danger that hackers could pose, or didn't care. It didn't seem to matter how strident my demands, how imploring my requests. Every attempt I made to illustrate the threat to Irokai seemed to fall on deaf ears. My reports went unread. My support requests were closed, unanswered.<br /><br />Eyes closed, vision turned inward, I studied my response, and my response to my response. It wasn't just anger that motivated me, I realized; it was despair. I no longer believed that there would be an official response to my requests, any more than there would be a public revelation that anything had ever happened. In beautiful Irokai, hackers were an archaism, like paper currency. To admit that someone had, not once but multiple times, broken through the security measures in place and tampered with things publicly considered immutable would have revealed a world unready to be treated as just as real as any other. Even if someone were to answer my cries, it would be in a way that never admitted there had ever been a complaint. I would never know if someone were listening, until one day I found my prayers answered, with no sign that they had ever been made.<br /><br />The weight of memory hung heavily on my shoulders, but I dragged myself consciously back into the now of meditation. </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Your breath is real,</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> I reminded myself, ignoring the inherent absurdity of a digital sapience in a simulated world worrying about air. </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">In. Out. In. Out.</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> I focused on the sounds of my breath, on the feelings of the air moving, the rise and fall of my chest. </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Feel, and accept the feeling, but do not succumb to it.</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> I felt anger, and helplessness; this didn't mean I needed to be angry or helpless. The question was, what was there to do about my emotion? How could I resolve this tension?<br /><br />I considered, briefly, quitting my job with security. I had, in the past, manually reverted changes that I had found, and once I had requested and received a restoration from backup files, but I the problems were beginning to arise faster than I could resolve them alone. Others within the department had helped me, and even my manager had thanked me for my efforts. It seemed, though, that outside of a limited few brave souls, most of Irokai's management had traded honesty and diligence for appearances. I could foresee a day, not too far into the future, when I simply could not keep pace with those trying to break Irokai from within. What would I do then? It would be better to leave a final warning and simply walk away from it all while I still had some dignity, to give up on trying before burning out and coming to hate something that I enjoyed. The world would disintegrate around me, but I, at least, would not go with it.<br /><br />And yet, were I to quit, what would I do instead? Where would I go? There was no “outside” for me, not in the way there was for the analogs who worked for Tadashiissei. Irokai was my only home, and I was as intimately tied to its existence as the world was to its hardware. The hackers were not just an artistic annoyance; they were a threat to my home. If the hackers were to get out of control, or worse, to gain control of Irokai, its creators might decide to simply end their grand experiment. What, then, would happen to those of us who lived within it? If Irokai were to disappear, I would surely go with it. The thought of death was alien to me, as it was to any resident of this world, but contemplating the end of Irokai itself was one that filled me with dread. There would be no waking up from that final shutdown.<br /><br />I opened my eyes and leaned back, resting my paws on my hips, considering the sword that lay before me. If I was displeased with my decision, it was because the other options available to me were worse. No matter how pointless it seemed, the best option I could find was to keep my position with Irokai Security. At the very least, I could continue documenting every breach in hopes of forcing some form of response. I might never get a formal acknowledgment, but at least the problems would be fixed. Plus, as long as I held a security clearance within the company, I could continue to revert most of the changes myself. For those too invasive to manage alone, I could enlist others to help, people outside of Security, or even outside of Tadashiissei itself. I smiled tightly, remembering my conversation with the Hospitality specialist from the other night. Laid out in such bare terms, Mitsuko had been disturbed, to say the least, by the prospect of going behind her employers' backs, but even she had seen the necessity of action if Tadashiissei refused to do so. If she could convince her lover to help, so much the better.<br /><br />I reclaimed the sword from the ground, bowed over it, then held it briefly upright, balanced on the tip of the scabbard, before sliding it back into the sash at my waist. My knees slightly spread, I waited until I felt still, then placed one paw on the hilt of the sword, drawing it and rising onto one hind as I slashed forward, the opening stroke of the </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Mae kata</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">. In time with the blade, I launched the security interface and pulled up the administration panel. The tip of the sword wobbled slightly, my concentration split between the physical and practical. Turning to the blade to the side, I raised it overhead and gripped the hilt in both hands, sliding forward on one knee to draw the blade down in a vertical slice, accompanied by opening the local lockout menu. The blade wandered wide as I scanned through database references, then snapped down in a decisive stroke as I rose to both hinds and flagged an account. Then, finally, I closed the menu and completed the </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">noto</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">, returning the sword to its scabbard, sinking slowly back to the opposite knee.<br /><br />Through each of the forms I progressed, the </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Ushiro</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> and </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Ukenagashi</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">, and on through to the </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Nukiuchi</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">. Each draw matched an opening of the interface, each stroke a command, and each return exited the terminal. I ran through the stances twice, once for thoroughness and once for speed. Then, practice done for the day, I bowed over the sword, then released it back into my personal archive. By the time I had finished, the sunrise had long finished, and the clock in the den hovered at a few degrees shy of eight. I scowled at the time, tail and ears flat in irritation, but I hastily dressed and then left, making my way down to the lobby and the streets of Murasaki Prefecture.<br /><br /></span><hr /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><br />The glowing sign over the front door said “Sunny You,” complete with stylized smiling yellow face. A sign hung on the door advertised expanded personal storage on sale, while a holograph turned beside the entrance, displaying a myriad of available bodies, all tastefully covered in a modicum of white clothing. The sense of need faded as I approached the shop, but I paused with one paw on the handle, watching the display. Someone had apparently decided that “bear” was this season's in-look; fully half of the figures that passed were ursine, in various colors and proportions.. After a minute, I turned away from the shifting images towards the door, noting with a flash of ambivalence the Tadashiissei “Sponsored Partner” image hovering next to the credit card logos.<br /><br />Inside, the atmosphere was decidedly cool. The most incongruously unhappy element within the room was a female rabbit wearing a black shirt with an animated silver-and-blue logo advertising something called FutureShock and a skirt with some kind of pseudo-randomized texture running through the range of violets. The bright red security-rings around her ankles and wrists prevented her from leaving the store, but beside her stood a teenaged fox in a yellow employee's polo and black slacks, staring at her as though to lock her in place through the force of his gaze alone. He held his arms folded defensively across his chest, leaning forward domineeringly, his tail curled tightly against his back. A few other patrons looked on with a mixture of interest and contempt, while an older female bear wearing similar corporate apparel, stood behind the counter, watching distastefully.<br /><br />As soon as they realized I was there, both the rabbit and fox started to speak, their voices canceling each other out in a blur of noise. Ignoring them and holding out a paw, pads facing them for silence, I walked up to the cashier's station and drew my security credentials out of the interior pocket of my coat. “My name is Giri. You called for security, </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">akibito-sama</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">?”<br /><br />The bear nodded, clacking the claws of one paw against the yellow countertop. She pointed with the other towards the rabbit in the middle of the store. “She tried to make off with one of our specialty mods without paying.”<br /><br />"I did </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">not</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">!" The outburst from the rabbit was automatic, her voice at once petulant and pleading. "I—"<br /><br />The younger fox immediately snapped, "You did! I saw you! I caught you myself! I—"<br /><br />“Oh, for heaven's sake!” The rabbit put her paws on her hips, the silver rings in her ears jangling angrily as they shook. “I did nothing of the sort!”<br /><br />The two fell instantly into bickering, their volume quickly rising as each tried to shout down the other. I sighed, shook my head, and opened up my security terminal, putting into place a local mute on the two of them. Instantly, their voices stopped cold, but it took several seconds for them to realize what had happened. They both glared at each other, then at me, as though trying to convince me that the other was at fault.<br /><br />Turning away from the bickering couple, I looked back to the manager, pulling up her name out of the user database. “So... Eliott-</span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">sama</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">, please explain.”<br /><br />The manager blinked, standing a bit straighter when I referred to her by name; apparently she had never had to deal with Irokai Security before. She motioned towards a display on the wall near the cashier's station. Within a clear case, the figure of a bear-sow slowly spun, motes of light sparkling through her fur irregularly. Beneath the case, a sign in Japanese and English announced the Firefly package, available on sale now for forty-percent off with any other avatar upgrade. “I was up at the front of the store helping some other customers, but Aaron saw her standing there staring at the display. I heard him ask her if she needed any help, and she asked him how much the new Firefly mod cost by itself. When he told her, she started screaming about usury and monopolies. That's when I excused myself and approached. I tried to get her to calm down, but she refused to listen to me either, and then Aaron said she started to make an unauthorized copy! That's when I hit the security lockdown.”<br /><br />Throughout the manager's speech, the rabbit started gesturing more wildly, while the other store associate tried to grab her arms and pin them down. The confrontation appeared to be headed to blows, so I put a movement lockout on them both and then relocated the rabbit next to me. She jerked around in surprise, almost falling when her feet refused to leave the ground despite her vigorous response. I removed the vocal lock from her and frowned. “So, </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">usagi-san</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">, is this correct?”<br /><br />The rabbit snorted, paws again on her hips. “Hardly.” She turned first towards the fox, then the manager. “I was trying to figure out if they used a pseudo-randomizer or if they had a real analog random function on the lights, and he told me to stop trying to hack their code. I could've bought two custom bodies for what they wanted for one little mod, so I whipped out a decompiler—which, by the way, is neither illegal nor against the service agreement—to see for myself. The kid freaked out and screamed thief, and she hit the panic button.”<br /><br />The bear's silver-tipped brown fur bristled, her eyes narrowing. “You can't just go around trying to steal source code! That's illegal!”<br /><br />“Terms of Service, Customized Avatars, section fourteen.” The accused let out an exaggerated sigh. “I have the right to ensure before purchase that any mod I buy is compatible with other code I already have installed. I've got some heavy mods that I paid a lot of money for and I'm not going to plunk down that much credit for something that's going to clobber something else I already own. Legally.”<br /><br />The manger sniffed. “I don't see a single mod on you.”<br /><br />At that, the rabbit smiled tightly, and the logo on her shirt froze into the image of a single world emblazoned on her chest in metallic silver. “Yeah, well, I wouldn't wear most of them in a place like this.”<br /><br />At that, I held up my paws, forestalling them both from continuing. “I believe I understand what has happened here,” I said quietly. “I will take custody of her, </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">akibito-sama</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">.”<br /><br />As the manager smiled her approval, the rabbit's eyes went wide and jumped from me to her and back. “You gotta be kidding me! I've done nothing wrong!”<br /><br />In the security menu, I switched the target of the rabbit's location lock from the interior of Sunny You to a five-meter radius centered on me. “Are you disobeying a direct order from Irokai Security?”<br /><br />The rabbit's ears shook, her rings chiming angrily, but she looked down at the ground. “No.”<br /><br />I nodded, mostly to myself. “Good.” To the manager, I bowed deeply. “Thank you for alerting Irokai Security to this matter, Eliott-</span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">sama</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">. I will ensure this is handled appropriately.” As soon as she bowed in return, I turned and walked out of the store, the rabbit dragging behind me on an invisible leash. I ignored the sales associate when he stuck his tongue out at my charge, but only as the door closed behind me did I relinquish his voice to him.<br /><br />I made a point of ignoring the passers-by as I walked. I could see at the edges of my sight how they stopped to stare at the “criminal” in her awkwardly blocky red cuffs and anklets, but I did nothing to acknowledge them, other than to motion for the occasional pedestrian to step out of my way. To her credit, my charge did nothing to engage them, neither challenging nor pleading. She merely followed in silence as I led her to a nearby office building, up an awkward elevator ride and then three sullen flights of stairs, until we stood on the roof, alone in crowded Murasaki Prefecture.<br /><br />When I did finally stop, the rabbit stumbled into me and then jerked backwards. “Sorry,” she mumbled automatically, her eyes not meeting mine.<br /><br />I didn't move from my spot for several seconds; I merely stood and looked over the edge of the building, down to the streets below.<br /><br />“I said I'm sorry,” the rabbit repeated, her voice louder but still nervous.<br /><br />“What is your name, </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">usagi-san</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">?” I asked, not looking at her. Far below, people moved, like little blobs of color twinkling against black asphalt.<br /><br />The rabbit hesitated before blurting, “Briar.” It was a challenge as much as a declaration.<br /><br />I opened my terminal access and performed a quick scan. “Your account says otherwise, Summerfield-</span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">san</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">.”<br /><br />The rabbit snorted again. “Oh, yeah, clever,” she sneered, reflexively. “You can look stuff up in a database. If you don't like my nickname, at least call me Caitlyn.”<br /><br />I turned away from the streets, back to face her, a frown on my muzzle and my ears flat. “I work in security; giving me an alias, even a common one, was not your wisest decision.”<br /><br />Briar rolled her eyes. “I told you what I wanted to be called. You gonna give me guff about it?”<br /><br />I looked away, towards the skyline, watching the morning sunlight reflecting off of the buildings. “No.”<br /><br />We both stood in silence, until finally she said, irritably, “Look, what's going on? Am I getting banned or not?”<br /><br />I shook my head, still not facing her. “No,” I said again.<br /><br />The rabbit let out another heavy sigh and gestured to one wrist with the opposite paw. “Why all the theater, then? Why didn't you just tell them to buzz off?”<br /><br />“I had my reasons, Briar-</span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">san</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">.” I looked back at her. “Sunny You has a partnership with Tadashiissei. I could not simply do nothing.”<br /><br />“Politics.” Briar spat the word.<br /><br />I merely nodded in response, taking a seat against the railing at the edge of the building. “Would you have stolen the upgrade, had they not caught you?”<br /><br />Briar's face registered an instant of guilt before returning to her defiant glare from before. “You can't steal code. Code's just an idea given a form. I was trying to figure out how they did it so I could do it myself for cheap.” She paused briefly, then continued. “Everything they sell is overpriced, anyway, and their code's always a mess. I know folks who could do the same thing in half the space.”<br /><br />“I see,” I said, more to her expression than her words.<br /><br />“I didn't do anything wrong,” she snapped. “You said as much.” She drew away, then, looking down at the roof, as though suddenly remembering to whom she was speaking.<br /><br />“I did,” I agreed quietly. Before I could say anything else, though, a buzzer rang twice quickly, indicating a work call. I held out a paw to Briar, then tilted my head, checking my communication requests. It was from Mori Koneko, one of my analog coworkers. I accepted the contact. </span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Hai?</span></em></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Giri? It's Koneko,</span></em></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> she transmitted unnecessarily. </span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">I think we've had another incident like you described. This one's ... it's big. You'd better come see for yourself.</span></em></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> Following her words was a relocation invitation.<br /><br />I sighed. </span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">One moment; I have another job to complete.</span></em></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> I closed the connection, then looked back at Briar. “I will let this one go as a misunderstanding. I suggest you stay away from Sunny You for some time.” I dismissed the location lock, and the angry red circles around her limbs disappeared.<br /><br />Briar blinked and rubbed at her bare wrists. “Wow. You had me worried for a while there. I thought I was busted again for sure.”<br /><br />At that, I raised one brow. “Again?” I performed a quick scan of her visitor history but found nothing in her record. “Your file appears clean.”<br /><br />The rabbit's eyes widened briefly, but then she shrugged. “It's... must've been a while. Maybe these things fade over time.”<br /><br />I waved off the excuse, standing up from the ledge. “I have more pressing concerns than someone trying to save a little money.”<br /><br />“You know, I like your attitude, I think.” Briar sent me a contact information memo, which I filed automatically. “Next time I get in trouble, I'll call you.”<br /><br />I sighed and shook my head, then accepted Koneko's invitation to go survey the latest assault on my home, leaving Briar alone on the rooftop to contemplate the sun.</span>Kristina Tracerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03511740779372210878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6095798730531915831.post-72038812377890817942009-07-16T22:37:00.000-07:002009-07-16T22:53:41.851-07:00Beautiful World 08: Warning<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">As soon as I opened the door to my apartment, I caught the soft, repetitive chime indicating a new message in my inbox. I groaned and half-walked, half-shuffled over to the card table in the living room. </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Ten hours on-site consulting, and work awaits me when I get home,</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> I thought with a weary chuckle. </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">I had more free time when I worked full-time.</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> Leather flats, dress slacks, and knee-high stockings melted off of me as I walked, spilling in haphazard puddles of cloth across the carpet as I headed for my bedroom. The sweater I'd worn to complete the business ensemble I flung towards the laundry basket, not bothering to see where it actually landed, and I quickly replaced it with an oversized black T-shirt decorated in neo-tribal patterns. My stomach grumbled at me, reminding me of exactly how long it'd been since lunch, but I ignored it and dropped heavily into the overstuffed captain's chair behind my desk, grabbing my headset and fitting it in place.<br /><br />"Computer, unlock," I said into the microphone, fingers reaching out and jumping across the keyboard. "E-mail, open, display new messages." The computer blew a raspberry at me and the screen flashed to match. A dialog box opened: </span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Message encrypted; please provide pass phrase.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> At the bottom, a cursor blinked inside a text entry box, patiently awaiting my input.<br /><br />I leaned back in my chair. The header of the message, visible at the top of a background window, indicated it was from Fuki, with a blank destination address, meaning a blind list. I spent a few moments wondering who else might have gotten it, then turned my attention back to the interposed window. She'd put no new passwords in her previous letter, or even any hint she was still interested in doing business. The deposit she'd made for the last job had cleared without any hint of fraud, and nobody had flagged my bank account for illegal activity, but she'd still gone silent as soon as she'd gotten the code drop from me. We'd exchanged public keys to allow for secure communication, but that obviously wasn't enough to open this new document. Whatever this was, it was important enough to go to a list of potentially unrelated people, and unwholesome enough to be worth keeping away from the uninitiated.<br /><br />That still didn't tell me what the key was. Fuki, whoever she really was, seemed too cautious to make a mistake such as sending out an encrypted message to the wrong person. It was possible, but unlikely. So, it almost certainly wasn't an accident that I'd received this. That meant that I had to know what the pass phrase was, but not know that I knew it. That meant it had to be something she'd said to me before, something universal enough that everybody on that hidden distribution would've gotten it already.<br /><br />“E-mail, cancel.” The dialog box disappeared, but the new-mail chime happily reminded me that I still had a fresh message waiting. “Disable new message alarm. Inbox, search.” As soon as the new screen opened, I typed in Fuki into the search bar and hit enter, eyes scanning the results as they displayed in the match window. “Stop. Select message two. Open.” The requested entry in the list blinked twice, then expanded to full-screen. Quickly I scanned the document, looking for... I didn't know what.<br /><br />I paused on the last line of the message, right above her signature block. My eyes narrowed and I shifted in the captain's chair. “Display new messages,” I repeated into the mic, and again that same window snapped up, asking me for a pass phrase. Into the text field, I typed </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Democracy Revolution</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">, then rapped the Enter key. Immediately, a progress bar opened, its color shifting from white to green as it unscrambled the message.<br /><br />As soon as the bar filled, it vanished, and in its place opened the message that Fuki had sent:<br /><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">Jules,<br /><br />Thank you to help the future of Irokai, safe from dictatorial Tadashiissei. Our common goal is shared, and we did great everythings expanding our messages with just the tools of ours. Unfortunately, the response of Tadashiissei has not been to open Irokai, instead covering up in regard to our efforts. They do not accept the attack, therefore the time for increasing is now.<br /><br />We must attack Irokai itself. Not destructively or permanently, but clearly. Noisy. Very brightly. As for the citizen of Irokai, they must see. As for Tadashiissei, it must not hide us now forever.<br /><br />You, I know you may be who hesitates, but now is time for action. If the self-proclaimed owner of Irokai does not transfer control, those who believe freedom and democracy must take them for any power. John Adams who says "Liberty must at all dangerous be supported; we have a right to possess it.” Under Tadashiissei, all the “citizen" of Irokai are servants who must pay for the fact that their life is maintained. Tadashiissei is not a government.<br /><br />We tried that our messages come to the people of Irokai and Tadashiissei knows that we are buried. We must forever not be silent. If you are not, say nothing. If this message is deleted, I do not send again ever. If you want to help, the key which is attached can encode your sent response. You will receive everything the equipment which is necessary to succeed this effort.<br /><br />Democracy for Irokai.<br /><br />Fuki<br /><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">I scanned the screen several times, each time feeling the veins in my head throb a little harder. Finally I half-snarled, “E-mail, close,” under my breath, yanked the headset off of my ears and flung it irritably at the mahogany desk, wincing as it clattered against the wood. I shoved myself backwards from the desk and grabbed the lighter from its surface. The captain's chair tipped backwards when I stood, then thumped back down onto its coasters behind me as I struggled into a pair of discarded jeans, then stalked out of the bedroom in search of an open pack of cigarettes. I never lit up inside, as much to make sure I took regular breaks as to protect my health or my deposit; and right then, I really needed a smoke. At the glass sliding door, I paused only long enough to shove my feet into a pair of sneakers, then stepped out onto my balcony.<br /><br />A thin metal railing enclosed the concrete slab that jutted out from the side of the building, and on it precariously balanced a small glass ashtray, already half-full with remnants of previous visits. Beyond the narrow ledge, the city spread in a jumble of narrow streets and crowded tenement buildings, a mish-mash of uninspired tans and stained greys. The sodium glow from the streetlights and windows obscured the stars with a beige haze of light pollution, washing out the sluggish clouds overhead in burnt sienna and umber. A petulant wind fluttered the hem of my shirt as it blew down the street, stirring up the ash in the ashtray and carrying it off into the distance.<br /><br />Once the door to the apartment was closed behind me, I slowly and methodically went about getting the cigarette out of its package, putting it between my lips and lighting it, doing my best to focus on the process, to push away the knot of anger that Fuki's little “suggestion” had instilled. I drew in a slow, deep breath, glancing down at the orange embers, then tilted my head back, exhaling noisily and turning my gaze upward. For several minutes, I concentrated on bringing hand to mouth, on inhaling and exhaling, on tapping grey ash into eddies that landed on the matching concrete, and on trying to stare beyond the sky. The sting of a hot coal against my fingertips snapped my attention back down to earth with a wince. I steadied the ashtray with one hand and ground the butt into it with the other, then fished a replacement out of the pack.<br /><br />Only after I had the second cigarette lit and firmly stuck between my lips did I turn my thoughts away from the washed-out skyscape to the message that the enigmatic Fuki had sent me. As soon as I did so, my mouth curled into a grimace. I leaned against one of the metal support poles holding my balcony to the one above and let out a stream of smoke, then sighed as it dissipated in the breeze. Even just her name made my stomach clench and my hands want to do the same. This was getting out of control, fast. I understood what she wanted, and even why she thought it was a good idea, but it wasn't going to work, and she had to know that. This wasn't a game any more. This wasn't a silent protest, or even a noisy one. This wasn't just vandalism any more; this was destroying something beautiful to try to protect it, and the idea put bile in my throat.<br /><br />The sad truth was, at some level, I agreed with her. Tadashiissei possessed the money, the servers, and the ability to keep Irokai running. As long as they had all of those, they dictated the terms, and everyone else either played by their rules, or they didn't play. I'd played along for a while, until I realized just what they were asking, with their special charges and their access fees. Want to teleport from one place to another? That'll cost you. Want to fly? That's another fee. Want to create something out of thin air? The more complex it'd be in the real world, the higher the price tag. Never mind that everything in Irokai was digital, that gravity only existed because they'd coded a physics engine, and that you could literally be and do and have anything you wanted, if you were willing to take the time to design it. Tadashiissei made anything possible, and then made anyone with the vision and the desire to take advantage of it pay for it, step by costly step. It was hard enough having an impossible dream; endlessly paying someone to live it, knowing that one day the money could run out was infinitely worse.<br /><br />I looked down at the remainder of the cigarette between my fingers, then brought it to my lips and finished it in a single deep breath, going slightly cross-eyed as I watched the coal burn red-hot. I held the hot, acrid smoke in my lungs, letting it burn along with my indignation, then let it all out in a grey-brown stream, my shoulders sagging. Then the stub joined the others in the ashtray, and I went back inside, kicking off my shoes next to the sliding door and shucking my jeans beside them. </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">I'm not going to do this,</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> I told myself firmly as I set down the pack of cigarettes on the kitchen counter. </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Whoever she is, she can play all the games she likes, but I don't have to be part of it.</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><br /><br />Once back in front of my computer, I dropped back into my chair, sinking into the excessive cushions, and fumbled for the headset. Instead of fitting it back over my ears, though, I just held it, eyes fixed on the dancing anthropomorphic wolf on my screen. In each hand, he had a glowstick hanging from a black thread, the lights dancing around him in a hypnotic pattern, splashing blobs of color across his fur and glinting off of the piercings in his nipples. More hung from the belt-loops on his baggy cargo pants, reflecting off of a patchwork of zippers. His eyes were closed, his head tilted back and his muzzle open in a look of quiet ecstasy, listening to music that only he could hear. He looked happy, capable of snapping out of his self-imposed trance at a moment's notice, but otherwise completely blissed out in a world of his own creation.<br /><br />I remembered that look; I'd worn it myself, when I'd been him.<br /><br />My stomach still tight, I leaned back in my chair, eyes glued to the screen, as absorbed in my avatar's dancing as he was. I knew that using it as a screensaver was a mistake, but I'd told myself for years that it would've been rude not to do so; John had made it for me, after all. He'd given it to me, after I'd broken up with him, telling me not to give up so easily on Irokai, or on the company that had made it. It was an easy thing for him to say; he wasn't the one that had gotten kicked out for arguing with Tadashiissei's lawyers. No, he was the one about to move permanently to the digital world, to have the body and the life he'd always dreamed of having... the life that I'd wanted for years.<br /><br />I dropped the headset into my lap and squeezed the arms of the chairs in a vice-grip, doing my best to ignore the tears, uninvited, that trickled down my cheeks. I'd been within a hair's breath of accepting, of signing my life away to Tadashiissei, and only Adam's pleading demand for sanity had shaken me. He'd been wrong about so much, but on that one point he'd been utterly right, more than he could understand. If I'd agreed to the terms of the upload, I'd have put myself at the company's mercy, wholly dependent on their survival. What if they went under? It seemed unlikely, given the size of Irokai's economy and how much they made off of the people who visited, but unlikely wasn't impossible, and it just wasn't worth the risk. It wasn't even worth the price I'd have had to pay every month just to keep my account in good standing and my mind out of backup storage. It didn't matter how desperately I craved it; I just couldn't afford it.<br /><br />I'd written letters, handwritten notes on real paper, asking for a change in the terms. I'd called for clarifications, I'd posted on the forums, and I'd organized petitions, begging for a change to the upload account maintenance terms. The harder I'd tried, the stricter Tadashiissei's lawyers had gotten. They'd made no concessions, offered no apologies, and in the end they decided that the path of least resistance ran directly through my account on the way to the bit-bucket. One day, John and I had gone to spend a weekend together in Irokai, and they refused my entry at the door, saying my account had been suspended. When I'd tried for an explanation, the clerk at the counter said only that I'd been flagged as a troublemaker, and there was nothing he could do. I'd tried to protest, but corporate security escorted us out of the building and asked me politely not to return. They'd won. I couldn't fight them any more.<br /><br />I wiped ineffectually at my eyes with the palms of my hands, trying to snort my sinuses clear, then settled the headset back over my ears. </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Maybe I can't beat them on their terms,</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> I thought, </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">but this isn't their game any more.</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> “Computer, unlock. E-mail, open, open latest message, reply.” As soon as the window was on the screen, I began typing, fingers trembling only slightly.<br /><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">Fuki,<br /><br />I'm in. Tell me what to do.<br /><br />Jules<br /><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">“E-mail, encrypt,” I said, pasting the key from Fuki's last message into the text field the computer gave me in response. “Send.” Then I slumped backwards in my chair, arms folded across my chest, hands balled into fists to keep them from shivering. I felt sick to my stomach, but at the same time my head felt light, almost giddy, as though I had jumped off of the safe and confining balcony and was now falling free and unprotected towards the cold and unyielding pavement.<br /><br />In under a minute, I had a flashing light on my console and a pop-up window telling me, “Fuki has sent you a message.” With turnaround speeds like that, she had to be watching her e-mail like a paranoid with fiber-optic connectivity. I smirked and pulled my chair up against the desk until the edge pressed uncomfortably into my stomach. “E-mail, go to latest, open.” The screen obliged, popping up what little text there was: </span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Jules, I desire to speak to you in time current. Please send 'Hello from Jules' to niji_fuki.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> Other than the timestamp, that was it.<br /><br />That sick, giddy feeling spread down from my head out into my arms, and my stomach twisted. I fought down the craving for another cigarette and leaned back in my chair. “E-mail, close. Messenger, open. New message.” I typed the handle Fuki gave me and the message she wanted, then hit the send button.<br /><br />Seconds later, I received my reply: </span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Thank you for you saying yes, Jules. How soon time can you offer project completion?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><br /><br />I considered the question, then shrugged, even though she couldn't see it. </span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">That depends on how much information you can give me on Irokai's security structure. Something this invasive is going to have to look like it's native if it's going to survive.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><br /><br />Fuki's message window remained empty for some time after that, but then the e-mail indicator light flashed again, and then her message followed. </span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">In your inbox please find security protocol for all of Irokai access, encrypted with passphrase this name. It is not the administrator of all system but will work as local administrator on all everywhere for safety program.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><br /><br />I didn't bother to open the message; everything else she'd given me had turned out to be uncannily accurate. If this was entrapment, it was the most elaborate sting I'd ever seen. I leaned back in my chair, staring at the screen, unblinking. Fuki must have taken my silence for hesitation; soon after her last message, she asked, </span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Is there elsewise that I can give in accord? How soon time?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Will those codes get through Tadashiissei's firewall as well, or will these have to run locally?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> I asked, fingers drumming on the mahogany desk as I waited for a response.<br /><br />Fuki's window blanked, followed by, </span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">As to the outside I think yes but I cannot prove. Why?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><br /><br />I bit my lip, then typed, </span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">You can get me an induction rig and the adapters to run it.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><br /><br />Fuki's response was near-instant. </span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">You ask impossibly. Where do you think I could get to you such an equipment?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> I could imagine the sneer of indignation in her text.<br /><br />I smirked, despite my trembling hands. </span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">The same place you got the data dictionary and the security protocols.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><br /><br />Both of us were quiet for a time after that, me because I was still shaking from my latest feint, and Fuki... I couldn't imagine what she had to be thinking. I forced myself to keep breathing, to count every breath as it left my lungs. At seventeen, her window flashed again. </span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">I maybe can appear something, but you must make a guarantee. How soon time?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><br /><br />I grinned and replied, </span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Three months, tops.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">It is too soon, three months,</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> she replied. </span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">You cannot so greatly affect Irokai in so small. Be true to real.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">I am,</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> I shot back. </span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">You've given me excellent motivation. What's the timeframe for the protest?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><br /><br />Fuki hesitated again, then replied, </span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Sadly, most are saying two times, so six. I will wait for all to be ready, and then at random. You accept?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">I accept,</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> I returned. </span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">In that time, I can get you two, or one big and a bunch of littles. A nice toolbox of tricks, to make your efforts worthwhile. Agreed?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Agree,</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> Fuki replied. Then the window's titlebar announced, anti-climatically, that she had disconnected.<br /><br />“Messenger, close,” I said, eyes half-closed. Six months meant that John would either have just moved to Irokai as a permanent resident, or would be just about to do so. Either way, he was in for a shock when he got there. I didn't like it, but with the right equipment and passwords, both supplied by the enigmatic Fuki, I might be able to help shield him and Mitsuko from the worst of it. I thought about trying to warn him, then shook my head against it. If he thought I was trying to talk him out of it, he'd treat me the way he treated Adam on the subject, and for good reason.<br /><br />Mitsuko, though, was another matter. “E-mail, open. New letter to Ikanobari Mitsuko, title brace yourself.” I took off the headset and set it down, typing with one hand.<br /><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">Mitsuko,<br /><br />John's welcome-home party is going to have unexpected visitors. I can't say much, but be ready for anything. If I can help, I will. I know this doesn't make any sense, but trust me when I say it will. Please take care of him, and please don't say anything to John. I'm not trying to talk him out of this; anything but. I just know some big things are afoot, and I don't want him caught in the middle. I wish I could say more, but I've probably already said too much. I know what you're capable of doing. Don't be afraid of using it, when the time comes.<br /><br />All my best for you both.<br /><br />Jules.<br /><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">As soon as I sent it, pushed back from the desk and stumbled out into the living room. At that moment, I'd had enough of anything to do with the digital world, and I really, really needed another cigarette. My phone sat where I'd left it, on the card table in what passed for my living room, next to a small pile of mail and my keys. I grabbed it, thumbing through the contacts menu until the cursor was on Adam's name, then hit the dial button.<br /><br />Adam picked up on the second ring. “Hello, Julia.”<br /><br />I grimaced at the phone but decided it wasn't worth arguing over the name. “Hey, Adam. Sorry about last time. Want to grab a bite to eat? My treat.”<br /><br />Adam chuckled. “I'm shocked. I can't imagine you wanting to go out with a neo-Luddite like me.”<br /><br />I laughed in response. “You help keep me grounded. Besides, I still owe you one. Want to hit the diner again, or something fancy?”<br /><br />“Now that you suggest fancy,” Adam replied after a moment's consideration, “we haven't been to Café Aquarius in a while. Do you actually own anything other than jeans any more?”<br /><br />I blew a raspberry into the phone. “I do work for business clients. I can dress like a professional. Seriously, now. I spent all day on-site and I just landed a pretty long-term project, so before I hole up like a troglodyte I'd like some face-time, and John's busy getting his act together for the move.”<br /><br />“One way trip to oblivion,” Adam muttered.<br /><br />It was soft enough that he probably thought I didn't hear it, and for once I didn't feel like arguing with him about it. Maybe it was because I knew what was coming. “Sorry, couldn't hear you,” I said, saccharine-sweet. “Was that a yes or a no?”<br /><br />Adam chuckled again. “I said that's fine. Meet you at Aquarius in an hour?”<br /><br />“In an hour,” I agreed. “See you there.” I thumbed the phone's off-button, then set it down with a sigh. Back into the suit, I silently groused, then set about picking up the scattered pieces of the upscale professional persona that I'd strewn around the room when I'd gotten home. Back in the bedroom, I retrieved my discarded sweater from the pile near the laundry basket and squirmed into it. I retrieved the lighter from my desk, but my eyes went instinctively to the screensaver that had activated in my absense, and I stood for a few moments, watching myself dance with a smile on my face.<br /><br />“See you soon, I hope,” I said to the wolf as I walked out of the room. “Lights, out,” I said to the apartment, and everything went dark, leaving myself to dance in the darkness while I went to get a last meal.</span>Kristina Tracerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03511740779372210878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6095798730531915831.post-29050446921605658812009-07-16T21:31:00.000-07:002009-07-16T22:10:30.478-07:00Beautiful World 07: Commitment<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Entering the Observatory, I always felt the urge to pause momentarily and bow my head. Air came and went from the room through grates evenly spaced along the ceiling, the circulators' steady hum digitally muffled. Soft white LED panels glowed dimly near the floor, casting the room in an artificial twilight. Every section of the windowless walls had been fitted with matte black baffling panels, further dampening both light and sound. No matter the noise level outside, the silence was sepulchral once I sealed the room.<br /><br />A round pedestal the size of a boardroom table dominated the center of the room like an altar, its obsidian surface glossy and reflective. At intervals around its edge were a number of simple, black cloth-covered chairs, neatly camouflaged against the matching carpet and walls. In front of one of them, one small section of the desk glowed, a keyboard and trackpad projected upwards from within onto touch-sensitive glass. The remainder of the surface remained blank, as close to true black as light could produce.<br /><br />I settled into the chair in front of the control station and began tapping out commands, occasionally sweeping a fingertip across the motion-capture pad. In response, the remainder of the glass surface of the boardroom table blossomed with light. In the center of the table, the symbol of Irokai beamed, slowly cross-fading into an overhead relief view of the digital world itself. Six large islands, each slightly tinted a different color, sat in an endless sea. Tram lines connected them together, criss-crossing the deep blue gulf in a silvery spiderweb.<br /><br />For several minutes, my fingers hovered over the keyboard as I watched the world rotate slowly beneath the surface of the desk. The ambient light was a near-perfect imitation of night-time, but Irokai—like the world beyond its borders—had escaped the tyranny of the sun as a timekeeper. Kigiku Island's nature preserves and broad forests teemed with simulated animals, while both Murasaki and Beni Prefectures throbbed with more urban nightlife. The Bazaar at Hana was far less busy than during the day, but even it, too, never truly closed. Only Midori Prefecture seemed quiet, but at individual points within the residential districts, a few lights showed that they still had signs of life as well. Irokai continued to pulse quietly beneath my gaze, ignorant of its observer.<br /><br />I lowered my fingers to the keys beneath them and resumed my typing. In a few moments, the world dimmed into the background, and a series of red and yellow dots flared across the map. For each marker, a window filled with text opened, attached to its location with a thin, angular line. One of the yellow dots pulsed regularly, asking for immediate attention. I cycled through each of the other spots first, skimming the contents of the reports that opened as I indicated them. Most of the text contained "Irokai Security" somewhere within them, flagging visitors for improper behavior and asking for confirmation from someone else. I closed each after a few sentences, moving from one to the next rapidly until I came to the flashing light, and a familiar name leapt out from the screen as the text unfolded.<br /><br />In its essence, the report was another documented hacking attempt, caught and reversed by attentive Irokai Security staff. However, in the depths of its presentation, it was a cry of despair. Intricate details about which of Irokai's data structures and network protocols had been violated to cause the attack suffused every paragraph. Attached static images showed in graphic detail the constellations rearranged into English letters, the comet trails drawing </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">kanji</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> across the nighttime sky. The author had dedicated two full screens to references to previous attacks, complete with dates, locations, and past responses. The report finished with a single question, asking when resources would be made available to combat the growing threat. Each word had been meticulously selected for maximum accuracy and minimum emotion, but their impact taken as a whole was of that of a man reduced to begging for help.<br /><br />After a few more keystrokes, two new windows hovered over the center of the world. In one, job history and personnel entries scrolled. Commendations decorated his service record. A few incidents blemished his career, but closer reading suggested that each of them could be explained away as a clash of personality with someone else in his management chain. In the other frame slowly rotated a three-dimensional model of a lanky </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">kitsune</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> in a black leather longcoat over a sweater and slacks. A </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">katana</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> in sheath hung at his waist, and one paw rested upon its hilt. Within his window, the fox turned his head, gestured with his free arm, and shifted his weight, the display giving his image the semblance of life.<br /><br />One of the red dots hovering over the Bazaar faded from view. Another one turned yellow and began to pulse. I let my focus drift from the security agent's impassive violet eyes to the latest report, skimming it for the highlights. Someone had attempted to make an unauthorized copy of a vendor's program, and a local member of the security staff had been scanning the market and noticed the attempt. He'd invoked local administrative privilege to halt the copy, prompting one of the red lights I'd seen earlier. The agent had then escorted the offender out of the Bazaar with instructions not to return without a security officer as escort.<br /><br />At the bottom of the report, the security agent said it was her fourth unsuccessful theft, which suggested a large but unknown number of previously undetected crimes. He'd even taken the time to comb through past incident reports to corroborate his claims. He finished his personal notes with a recommendation that the offender be exiled, and had flagged his report with a request for review, prompting the golden highlight on the map.<br /><br />I opened the offender's transit file and reviewed her history. She had, in fact, been the perpetrator of multiple thefts inside Irokai, both from the Bazaar and from shops in Murasaki. However, she'd also been to Irokai at least once a month ever since its inception and spent a great deal of money within its borders, even paying to unlock special features at times. Outside of a collection of official complaints from vendors about her behavior, her reputation was excellent, with a number of people explicitly praising her for gifts she had given them for no apparent reason.<br /><br />I smiled and drew my chair closer to the table, fingers working quickly over the illuminated glass. Coaxing administrative access into Irokai's traveler database without leaving a record in the security logs took longer than I had meant to spend. Resetting her criminal history and then imperceptibly corrupting the incident report took longer still. Afterwards, however, I had every reason to believe that she would take this as a sign to continue her previous behavior.<br /><br />That resolved, I closed down the windows and turned my attention back to the image of the kitsune. The smile that had come unbidden to my face faded again as I studied his features. At times, the image's ears would rise, and perhaps the corners of his muzzle might lift, but never did the brief smile touch his eyes. One of his paws rested lightly on the hilt of his </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">katana</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">, but his fingers never strayed far from a ready position, and his posture suggested both a knowledge and willingness to use it.<br /><br />His report might have been asking for assistance, but even if he never received it, he would not stop fighting for his beloved Irokai.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Irokai's and its inhabitants' safety is of utmost concern,</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> I wrote at the bottom of the incident report. </span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">We are currently reviewing your request and will keep you apprised of any change in status.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> I attached my digital signature to the bottom of the file, then flagged it as needing no further action and committed the update. The window closed, and a few moments later, the flashing marker faded to a solid yellow and then disappeared.<br /><br />The bulk of my work finished, I logged out of the security system, then opened my contact archive. Sifting through the list, I found the number that I needed and set up an encrypted communication channel. A speaker hidden within the ceiling buzzed twice, then twice again, followed by a beep and a woman's voice, speaking Japanese. 「Yes?」<br /><br />I leaned back in my chair, elbows on its armrests, fingers steepled before my face. 「Fuki-san, I must apologize for calling you so late,」 I said quietly, taking the most respectful form I could.<br /><br />A brief pause followed, and then the woman replied in kind, her voice tired. 「Sasaki-sama. As always, it is good to hear from you.」<br /><br />I smiled again, watching the world turn. 「Did I wake you?」<br /><br />「No,」 Fuki replied. 「Why are you calling me? You said before that all communication would be strictly textual.」<br /><br />I nodded at that. 「I did, but I think someone is starting to become suspicious. Giri's latest offering is as much a diatribe as it is a report. How goes your project?」<br /><br />「Not as well as we may have hoped,」 Fuki confessed. 「I have acquired an additional resource. He is dedicated and skilled, but he is still new to the team and is not yet integrated with the group. I must commend you, by the way, on your training methods. Irokai Security is very efficient.」<br /><br />I allowed myself a smile at the backhanded compliment. 「I'm taking what steps I can from within, but there's only so much I can do myself. I don't like saying it, but I believe that it's time to advance to phase two.」<br /><br />The voice on the other end of the call paused again, then spoke more hesitantly. 「So soon?」<br /><br />「I'm afraid so,」 I replied, sitting up in my chair. 「As long as Giri's able to single-handedly undo our best efforts, this isn't going to go anywhere. We need something big enough that even he won't be able to fix it alone.」<br /><br />「Understood,」 Fuki said wearily. 「I will ensure that we are ready. Is there anything else that you wanted?」<br /><br />I paused a moment, then nodded again, even though Fuki couldn't see me. 「There is, yes. Giri's going to continue to be a problem unless we deal with him. I can do that, but I need a justification.」<br /><br />「That will be difficult,」 she said after an extended pause. 「I am hardly in a position to set up such a situation, and Giri's reputation is spotless.」<br /><br />「Not spotless,」 I said with a slight smirk. 「Merely very good. He has a history of personality conflicts in his personnel file. It seems he's a little too willing to follow the spirit of the law, but not the letter. As you know,<br />disobeying management can be grounds for termination.」<br /><br />Fuki was silent for a time afterwards. 「Are you not disobeying management as well?」 she finally asked. 「Inciting revolt against Tadashiissei can hardly be said to be in the best interest of the company.」<br /><br />I chuckled at that. 「I'm doing what is best for Irokai in the long term, which is my primary job responsibility. I have faith in your abilities, Fuki-san, and in our vision. </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Democracy for Irokai</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">.」 I switched to English for the last.<br /><br />"Democracy for Irokai," Fuki replied, and then came the terminating beep.<br /><br />I stood and turned back to the table, watching the lights wink hypnotically across the different districts for a time. Then, with a few keystrokes, I shut down the overhead view, and the world of Irokai disappeared, leaving me in silent twilight.</span>Kristina Tracerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03511740779372210878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6095798730531915831.post-7906330588032536902009-07-16T21:06:00.000-07:002009-07-16T21:31:17.219-07:00Beautiful World 06: Premonition<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">The skybridge connecting the thirtieth floors of the Nanakousei and Everest Research towers was glass below as well as above, cool beneath my bare pads as I stepped out into open space. Overhead, the sky hung low from the broadcast spires that topped Murasaki Prefecture's tallest buildings. From here, the moon seemed to stare down at the city beneath it, its lurid gaze just as taken by the flashing lights and flickering signs of the companies that advertised themselves to anyone who would pass before them.<br /><br />My gaze briefly followed the moon's, down through the floor to the sea of lights that danced below me. A quick wash of vertigo ran over me, making me shiver; a moment later it was gone, quashed by the same part of my mind that had let me interpose countless times before when one visitor or another had inadvertantly risked self-integrity while part of my group. The sense was the same every time, that instant of sick giddiness just before my training possessed me, and again I wondered what it would be like to live in a world in which that sensation could be had at any time, for more than a few brief seconds.<br /><br />Once the bout of vertigo passed, I walked out onto the bridge, pulling my kimono more tightly around me as proof against the chill in the air. The summons had woken me from sleep with a location and a sense of urgency, but little more to indicate the nature of the call, and I'd taken only enough time to make sure Johnathan was still asleep and then to meet the basic needs of decency before leaving. If it hadn't been a priority summons, I would have referred it to my shift-replacement; we had little enough time to spend with Johnathan as it was, at least until he moved to Irokai. However, the request had been by name. I might have been on vacation, but a priority call of this nature simply could not be ignored.<br /><br />Halfway across the skybridge stood a fox, tall and thin, his red-furred ears standing straight above his head adding to his height. The split hem of his black longcoat shifted slightly with every move of his white-tipped tail, but aside from that he stood still as a statue; even his bare hinds remained fixed in place against the glass floor in defiance of the cold. His gaze remained level, his narrow muzzle aimed at the horizon just visible through the tangle of buildings. Just a glance was enough to confirm the source of the summons, and having arrived, the sense of urgency dissipated, fading to a background impulse.<br /><br />As the moment of necessity passed, I queried the local dataspace about my host. In the span of a quick breath, I had my answer. The first name that came to me was Giri, but the family name gave me pause, a string of characters that looked more like random noise than anything else. Quietly, I wondered why he had changed it, but it would have been rude to ask without a proper introduction first. Attached to the name was a link to his public employee record. A clockpulse passed, and Giri's title and station were mine: security lead, Ouseito ward, Murasaki Prefecture. I ignored the web of contacts and reports that followed; what mattered was the mindset of the person that had summoned me, and knowing his role in Irokai would help me understand that. It was little enough with which to work, but it was more than I had before the summons.<br /><br />Giri remained still as I approached him, but as my reflection appeared in the same pane of glass as his, a stream of encrypted data begin to flow out of him, like static from an uncoupled analog sensor. A request for key exchange followed a few moments later, a few meaningful droplets masked in an empty sea. Even as he waited for acknowledgement, the steady pace of nonsense continued, though still his violet eyes remained fixed on the view, acting as though he were silent.<br /><br />I smiled as graciously as any hostess would to a sullen guest and stood next to him on the bridge, paws resting on a railing near the wall. I did my best to catch his gaze in the reflection off of the glass, but all I could do was study his eyes as they stared unblinking into the distance. "It is a beautiful night, is it not?" I spoke the words lightly, hoping that some geniality might set my summoner at ease. The privacy request hung unanswered, a subliminal nagging just out of normal sight.<br /><br />His silence stretched out into seconds, but then the digital babbling faded out once more and the security request disappeared with it. The fox didn't turn to look at me, but instead one paw raised to point out at the sky. "Check the local edit history," he said quietly, ignoring the question I had asked. His tail twitched as he spoke, expressing irritation that he kept from his voice.<br /><br />The frown that I felt never reached my muzzle, though my own banded tail flicked once in response to his own. "Perhaps introductions are in order," I replied with a smile, turning away from Giri's reflection to face the fox directly. "My name is Ikanobari Mitsuko." I bowed at the waist, low and formal, extending the most courteous greeting I could without dipping into unnecessary formality.<br /><br />Again, the fox paused, waiting for several seconds before responding with a bow of his own. "Giri," he said in the same soft tone as before. He held the position for a moment, then rose.<br /><br />I followed his motions, smiling again as I looked into his eyes. "You have no family name?"<br /><br />At that, one corner of his muzzle rose into a smirk. He parted his jaws, and a burst of static and dissonant beeps and trills escaped it, making my fur bristle. "You asked," he said after the noise abated.<br /><br />I rubbed at one ear with a paw. "Oh, </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">hai,</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">" I admitted with a rueful smile. "Why did you change it?"<br /><br />Giri shrugged. "It is a hash of my codebase at incept. I thought it was more fitting than what they named me."<br /><br />"Oh?" I tilted my head to the side, filing away that bit of information. "What was it before?"<br /><br />The fox shook his head. "Unimportant; it was not me."<br /><br />This time, it was my turn to hesitate. I couldn't find much in the brief exchange that invited further conversation, and yet in a few sentences, Giri had managed to put me on guard. Rather than push the previous discussion any further, I fell back to my training. I clasped my paws together at my waist and inclined forward slightly. "How may I help you this evening?"<br /><br />Giri scowled at the question, then turned back to the window, motioning again towards the window. "Please review the local edit history." He transmitted a set of coordinates along with his words, indicating a section of the sky out beyond the buildings.<br /><br />This time, I did frown. "My administrative access is limited," I said as politely as I could, keeping my eyes on the side of the fox's muzzle, ignoring the direction of his gaze.<br /><br />The fox's own expression soured at my words. "You work in Tadashiissei's Hospitality Division; I know what access you have." He sighed, then spoke again, hints of petulance in his voice. "I am asking you to review the local edit history, not randomly delete a building."<br /><br />I held back a sigh of frustration, instead turning away from Giri back towards the window. Obviously he had no interest in letting this go. As glad as I was for the system interface and as easily as I relied on some of what it allowed me to do, I disliked having to tap into my administrative access; it always felt like cheating. It took only a few moments of silence, and then I began paging back through logs of the indicated region.<br /><br />It wasn't hard to find what Giri wanted me to see. Just over two hours ago, someone had replaced a section of the heavens visible to almost the entirety of the Prefecture. Calling up the display code and passing the captured edits through it, I spoke aloud the English words written in twinkling motes of light: "Why do you pay to live?" A series of Japanese kanji brushed in comet in comet trails hung beneath letters: </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Minshukakumei no Irokai</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">.<br /><br />I turned from the window back to the fox that stood beside me, cocking my head to the side. "Democratic Revolution of Irokai? What is—"<br /><br />Giri held out a paw, shaking his head. "I do not know. If I did, this would be resolved by now." His other paw went to his waist, and a traditional </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">katana</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> shimmered into place within an ornate sheath beneath his fingers. "What I do know is that this is not the first breach of this sort. To date, I have backup logs of seventeen such incidents in the last calendar year, and their frequency has been increasing." A fresh stream of encrypted data began to pour out from him, followed a few moments later by a new request for key exchange. "Please review these revision logs," he said quietly.<br /><br />This time, I accepted his offer with a nod, and the nonsense resolved into log files and database entries, all correlated with the same values from a month and a week prior. None of them contained a source or owner. I compared the records before and after; in most, innocuous text had been replaced with more slogans. In some, Tadashiissei's logo had been replaced by one that looked like the symbol of Irokai, but its colors were inverted. The only constant across them all were the same kanji that I had seen emblazoned across the sky.<br /><br />I released my specialty access with a frown, then adjusted my kimono and folded my arms across my chest. "Any incident such as this surely would have attracted some sort of attention by now, by the media if not Tadashiissei."<br /><br />The fox's expression remained implacable, but pride and anger flickered in Giri's eyes. "Irokai Security is both efficient and proactive. I have also brought every such assault I have encountered to the attention of my superiors, and every time I have been told that appropriate actions will be taken and that anyone violating Irokai's codebase or harming its residents will meet with stiff punishment."<br /><br />I waited a few moments, then prompted Giri gently. "They have not caught the perpetrators?"<br /><br />One of Giri's ears twitched. "The security logs have been rotated and sent to external storage."<br /><br />I let his words—both what he did and did not say—sink slowly into my thoughts. The implication of his statement was clear: no-one working for Tadashiissei had responded. I tugged my kimono more tightly around me, shifting from one hind to another against the cold glass. "Does anyone else know about this?"<br /><br />Giri shrugged. "I have made efforts to make Security aware of the situation, and many have expressed concern. As to whether anyone outside of Security knows or cares...." He left the rest of that thought unspoken.<br /><br />I tugged my kimono more tightly around me. "Why did you ask for me, then? I work in Hospitality, not Security."<br /><br />The security agent smiled tightly in response, holding up two fingers. "Two reasons. The first is that Hospitality specialists have access to any level of emergency administrative authority deemed necessary in order to protect the well-being and happiness of residents and visitors to Irokai. My access is much broader, but requires specific permission from Central Control."<br /><br />I nodded once. "And the other reason?"<br /><br />He hesitated, then turned to face the sky once more. "Your lover, Johnathan Dart. He has development-level access, does he not?"<br /><br />I tilted my head, tail twitching in response. "He does, yes, but why—"<br /><br />Giri again stopped me with an outstretched paw. "I have made every attempt to notify my superiors, both within and outside of my management, of the seriousness of this situation. These changes have either no name attached or else obviously fraudulent ones. I have been unable to identify a source for any of the attacks. Every last one of these should have started a full-scale audit both of internal and external security. So far, it has led to nothing. I can only assume, therefore, that upper management within Tadashiissei is aware of events and does not care. I therefore cannot continue to trust internal responses as adequate."<br /><br />His eyes narrowed as he spoke, his voice becoming hard. "Your lover is not yet a part of Tadashiissei. If it becomes necessary to take action without their approval, we may need his assistance."<br /><br />My eyes widened. "You are suggesting rebellion."<br /><br />Giri shook his head, his paw once more at his waist, fingers curling about the hilt of his </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">katana.</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> "I am protecting my home. My primary role, both as an employee of Tadashiissei and as a resident of Irokai, is to safeguard both this place and the people who live here. If Tadashiissei will not take action, then I must act on their behalf. To do less would be dereliction of my duties."<br /><br />He turned back to face me. "If these attacks continue as they have, we may soon find outselves fighting to protect everything we value. What I need to know from you, Ikanobari Mitsuko, is whether you will help defend Irokai or not."<br /><br />I looked down to the blade at Giri's waist, then back into the fox's eyes; they glinted like polished amethyst, cold and hard. I wanted to doubt his analysis. I wanted to question his conclusions. I even briefly considered a flat denial, but everything was too well-considered, too well-argued. Given what he had seen and heard, his explanation seemed consistent with all of the facts at his disposal. As I had no alternatives to offer, it made his position a difficult one to deny.<br /><br />"</span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Hai,</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">" I said quietly, nodding once in response. "I will help."</span>Kristina Tracerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03511740779372210878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6095798730531915831.post-69900577526992555192009-06-23T21:55:00.000-07:002009-06-23T22:10:33.527-07:00Five Years and Change<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">With the cooler running at full bore, my office was almost livable. The patch of desk closest to the window was hot to the touch, and Uluru shimmered in the distance outside, but I could actually sit still as long as I kept the air vents aimed directly at my chair. Even with that, though, my white cotton shirt clung damply to my back, trapped between me and the cloth seatback. I shifted forward and tugged irritably at the cloth with one hand, scrolling listlessly through pages of document with the other.<br /><br />The fabric peeled away from my skin, then clammily fell back into place. With a scowl, I slumped back against the chair to block the chill. I bounced a finger on the keyboard until I was back on the front page, gazing nonplussed at the scanned image that stared back at me from the monitor. Large black eyes gazed back up from the flat screen, surrounded by a field of short grey fur. The face was long, ending in a triangular black nosepad and streaked with white to each side. Rising from the back of the head were two long narrow ears, the insides lined in pale pink skin. The expression on the face suggested a smile, but it seemed like the features just wouldn't permit it.<br /><br />I pressed my lips against my teeth, glancing from the screen to the other side of the desk, comparing the image in the doc with its owner. In person, the eyes shone, lids blinking rapidly against the dust in the air. The muzzle was longer than the picture hinted, hanging half-open and panting shallowly. Beads of sweat collected in the folds of the leathery black nosepad, and more glistened on the insides of the ears, making them twitch, flinging drops of salty water against the wall. At intervals, a narrow arm rose, bringing short claws to scratch at the weave of the dark green short-sleeved jumpsuit or wipe sweat from leathery pawpads onto heavily muscled thighs. Broad three-toed feet tapped occasionally against the floor, intersperced with irregular thumping from a thick tail.<br /><br />In the cramped office space and the heat, the kangaroo's musk permeated the air. It wasn't nearly as unpleasant as I'd expected it to be, but it was unfamiliar, like everything else about him. Uplifts were uncommon enough even up in Alice; out here they were alien. I sniffed, twitching my nose, and he responded by ducking his head, ears flattening against his skull.<br /><br />I leaned forward again, grimacing as the cool air raised gooseflesh on my back beneath the sodden shirt. I let a half-grin slip onto my face, showing a touch of tooth. "Scorcher, innit?"<br /><br />The kangaroo hesitated a moment, then nodded, closing his muzzle and swallowing dryly. Everything about him screamed discomfort, from the way he picked at his clothes to the sweat he was obviously trying to ignore. At least his eyes met mine when I turned away from the monitor, following my gaze as I studied him. Despite my expression, he did his best to smile at me, but he didn't fare as well as his photograph.<br /><br />"So...." I said slowly, letting my voice trail into nothingness. My eyes flicked to the monitor again, tapping on my keyboard. "Mr. Malone—"<br /><br />The kangaroo winced and held up a paw. "It's not really, any more. Please, just call me Ashley."<br /><br />I stared coolly across the desk at my interviewee, holding the roo's eyes with mine until he started to shrink back in his chair, returning his paw to his lap. After several uncomfortable seconds, he looked away, glancing out the window, squinting into the sunlight. "Sorry for interrupting," he murmured.<br /><br />I nodded once, more to myself than to him, the smile spreading slightly on my face. "Ashley, is it, then?"<br /><br />He nodded again, still avoiding my gaze.<br /><br />I shifted again, leaning back into the stream of cool air. "Gotta say, your C.V. doesn't say much about you." I stretched out an arm and tapped the screen with a finger for emphasis. "Looks a bit bodgy, you ask me. A release order and a doxy cert's hardly a career path."<br /><br />His head ducked further, his fingers tensing in his lap. His tailtip hit the floor heavily, followed by both feet. "I'm... fairly young."<br /><br />I furrowed my brow. "The Mars loop's no place for tyroes," I said, letting a bit of a sneer into my voice. "Two years out, two back, and at least one in orbit. The pay's great but there's nowhere to spend it. This'll be my fifth run and the third for most of the rest of my crew. What makes you think we need a jillie along for the ride?"<br /><br />With each sentence, the roo's muscles bunched up further under his coverall, until his claws dug into his pads. He blinked, then wiped at one eye with the back of a paw. "I thought—" He caught himself, then looked at me, trying again to smile. "Well, I've heard the stories of Chelsea Tauber and how she got started—"<br /><br />At the use of my name, I jerked out of my chair, fists slamming against my desk to punctuate my anger. "You think this is some kind of bloody pleasure cruise?" I drew in a harsh breath and narrowed my eyes. "Get out of my office," I hissed with as little inflection as I could manage.<br /><br />Ashley cowered in his chair, bringing up his paws to shield himself from the outburst. His ears visibly wilted, his eyes downcast. He pushed himself out of his chair, straightening his jumpsuit as he stood. His muzzle stayed aimed down towards the floor as he shuffled his way past overstuffed boxes to the door. He stood there on the brink, one paw on the handle, panting shallowly. He squeezed his eyes shut and wiped at them, his whole body trembling.<br /><br />I stood straight and folded my arms across my chest. "Well?" The word was higher-pitched than I wanted, but my blood was still boiling.<br /><br />He inhaled deeply, the air rattling in his lungs. He coughed and turned back towards me, but his muzzle stayed down, his eyes still closed. "Can... can I speak frankly?"<br /><br />I wanted to blurt out a refusal, but I caught myself. He seemed so pathetic in that moment, like I'd just kicked his puppy. I shrugged and dropped back into my chair, pressing my back into the seatback to block the chill. "Floor's yours."<br /><br />Ashley nodded, tensing as though he were preparing for a punch to the gut. "I'm a top-line Biogenix companion breed," he said hotly, voice quivering. "The family that had me decanted wanted a servant and... playmate... for their daughter. She'd seen Uplifts in a magazine and thought we were aces." He paused, swallowing hard again. "The certification was part of my speed-tapes."<br /><br />He drew in a breath to steady himself, then lifted his head and opened his eyes, but his gaze remained steadfastly on the door in front of him, his fingers clutching the handle in a vicegrip. "She... got tired of me after two years. Her parents were furious, there was a fight, but... in the end I had to go. They granted me freedom, some clothes, a bit of spare change, but...." His words stopped there, cut off by a shrug.<br /><br />The roo wiped at his eyes again with his free paw, then finally turned to face me. "I tried a shelter, but who had room for one of us when there were so many real people needing help?" He paused, blinking back tears. He cleared his throat noisily, then sniffed. "Sorry. Anyway, the labor board had nothing for me. I had enough money to share a flat with someone for a while, but it only lasted so long. In the end it was either begging or being a prostie, or...."<br /><br />He stuck a paw into one of the pockets of his dark green coverall and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. The corners were ratty, the creases bright and edged with grime from repeated handling. He unfolded it reverently and passed it to me. Dominating the top half of the page was a picture of Mars overlaid with the words READY FOR A CHANGE? The company logo sat in the bottom right corner, my contact information in the bottom left.<br /><br />I looked up at him, and this time he met my gaze with his own, his eyes wet but hard. "Everyone's heard about Chelsea Tauber. Alkie father, dead mother, crawled out of back of beyond and went on to captain her own freighter. I figured... I mean, I guessed how you had to have gotten your start, and I thought..." He stopped again, his gaze softening, his ears going flat against his head. "All I'm asking for is a chance. I don't mind... earning my keep, if that's what it takes. I just—" He spotted the grimace on my face and stopped himself. "I'm sorry."<br /><br />My eyes dropped back down to the lovingly creased flyer in my lap. The colors were faded and the paper was worn thin where the folds met. One corner had a tear from a long-lost staple. My fingers brushed the printed surface carefully. "This is no easy trip, not for what you're asking." I tried to put ice in my voice, but the heat of the room made it tough. "My crew's a good bunch, but five-plus years is a long time, and I've got blokes who won't care you're funny-shaped after a few months."<br /><br />He half-shrugged at that. "I said I'll do what it takes as long as I can learn a real trade while I'm out there. That's really what I want out of this."<br /><br />I nodded at that, his words sounding uncannily familiar. Was it really that long ago that I'd made the same offer? I studied Ashley again, letting my eyes wander over him. His irises weren't black, but midnight blue. When he relaxed, his long ears stood up straight overhead, combining with his long neck to make him look even taller. The white streaks in his fur added years to his features, but his overall build was very boyish, lanky and lean.<br /><br />When he spotted the scrutiny, he ducked, his ears flicking back against his head, and I chuckled dryly. "Where ya from?" I asked, trying to set him back at ease.<br /><br />He shrugged. "I was decanted in Canberra, but my fam—my flat was in Hobart."<br /><br />My eyes widened at the confession. "How'd you get all the way out here from Tazzie?"<br /><br />The question made him tense, and he turned back towards the door. "Not by begging."<br /><br />His answer shouldn't have startled me, but it did, jarring me with its dissonant familiarity. "I made the trip out of Laverton, myself," I replied before I'd really considered it. I moved to stand, and the flyer fell out of my lap to the floor. Hastily, I squatted to grab it, then gingerly offered it back to him.<br /><br />Ashley took the fragile piece of paper, his fingers touching mine for a moment; his pawpads were soft and leathery, slightly slick with sweat. He delicately folded the flyer again and then stuffed it back into his pocket. "I'm willing to learn," he said, his voice as even as he could make it. "Legally, I'm nineteen, and I've passed my finishing exams." He looked at me, pleading with his eyes. "I'll do whatever it takes to get this. I'm... I'm out of options otherwise."<br /><br />I nodded, then turned back to my screen. His photograph tried to smile at me, and the corners of my mouth turned upwards in response. "I've got a lot of forms for you to fill out, so you'd better get started." I brought up the normal hire documents on my screen, then stepped out from behind my desk and motioned to my chair. "Take a seat here while I grab us some tea. It's hot-as in here and I don't want you passing out in the middle."<br /><br />He hesitated a moment, and then his ears perked as my words registered. He nodded, and we did a quick dance, squeezing past each other in the cramped quarters. My hand brushed his forearm as we manoeuvred; his fur was short and soft, and the sensation sparked thoughts of how it might feel elsewhere. As I stepped to the door, he dropped heavily into my chair, taking a moment to bask in the wash of cold air before throwing himself into the application.</span>Kristina Tracerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03511740779372210878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6095798730531915831.post-12312051855595355912009-02-15T21:55:00.000-08:002009-02-22T18:00:01.604-08:00Beautiful World 05: Ascension<p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">From the outside, Mitsuko's home looked like any other in Midori Prefecture: a traditional post-and-beam structure made of aged bamboo that had weathered to an almost lustrous grey, raised upon a matching platform that provided a front and rear deck. It sat atop a low hill overlooking a garden, topped with clay roofing tiles stained in a range of greens from creamy jade to deep forest. However, as we approached the building, Mitsuko raised an arm and waved, and the thin paper walls came to life, a steady light from within illuminating the entire house.</span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">As we approached the front door, Mitsuko's fingers brushed against the frame, and a soft chime announced that the lock had been disengaged. One silk-sheathed paw resting on the seam of the front door, she turned to me and smiled, her tail curling around her waist to brush against my hip. In the filtered light from within the house, her mask was half-bathed in shadow, the rest cast in shades of green, her emerald eyes almost black. She brought her other paw to my cheek and cupped it gently as I slid my arms around her, urging me to bend down into a deep and tender kiss. Moments stretched into minutes as we stood embracing, until finally she pulled away just enough to speak. "I had a wonderful time tonight," she murmured, her cheek resting against my chest.<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">"So did I, Mits," I breathed gently into her ear, the underside of my muzzle brushing against the top of her head. "I always do when I come here."<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">She was still for several moments, as if storing up memories of the contact for the time we'd be apart. Then, quietly, she asked, "When do you go back?"<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">At that, I smiled, and I pulled just far enough away to look down into her eyes. "After lunch tomorrow," I said quietly. "There's something I want to show you tonight."<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">At that, her eyes widened, and the smile on her muzzle spread, her tail stroking slowly down my side and leg, teasing my own. With one paw, I cupped hers on the frame, then helped her slide open the front door, soft unfiltered light from the high ceiling spilling out onto the bamboo deck and back down the hillside. I stopped just within the entryway, wiped my feet on the stiff-bristle scrub since I had no shoes to remove, then stepped lightly across the woven </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">tatami</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';"> into the main living area, drawing Mitsuko inside and sliding the door closed behind her.<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">Once inside, I touched a finger to her muzzle for silence, then leaned in for a quick kiss. "One moment, love," I said as I withdrew, grinning from ear to ear. "I'll need a little bit to set this up."<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">Mitsuko blinked, her head canting to the side curiously, tail weaving slowly behind her, almost feline in its lazy curiosity. For a moment, I stood, just watching her stand there, admiring the pose. Her traditional Western dress clashed so beautifully with the Japanese neo-traditional surroundings, a perfect juxtaposition symbolizing the balance of honoring the past and looking to the future, without suggesting which was which. For a brief moment, I considered abandoning the rest of the show in favor of calling up a terminal and capturing that image, but then the whole reason for this trip in specific came back into focus, and my smile broadened.<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">I knew that some people found calling up the hardline optical interface without closing their eyes to be incredibly disorienting, but by now I'd done it so often that I hardly noticed it at all. It took only a moment's thought, and then ghostly red text began floating in the periphery of my vision. In the bottom left corner hovered my subscriber ID, the unique digital signature that Tadashiissei knew as "me." In the bottom right sat my current financial balance in Irokai. Earlier, I'd paid for the trip to Junsei-en with a few quick glances, summoning up the bill, checking the amount, agreeing to the transaction and signing the receipt with nothing but a turn of the eye. Even with that, though, I was still riding high from the advance I'd received. I could afford a bit of extravagance, and I could think of no-one better on whom to spend it.<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">In the top right corner sat a clock, currently set to Irokai time, the wedge of the color wheel visible showing the time as twenty-one-and-three-quarters or so, local, but my real focus was in the top-left, where the primary menu interface lurked. If I needed an emergency exit or staff assistance, I could access it through that system, but my real interest was an option not present for most of the people who came to Irokai: the small section near the bottom of the list marked Development Access.<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">When I activated the interface, a voice began speaking from nowhere, female and very polite, but with a hint of firmness, covered with a gentle Japanese lilt. "Attention, please. Traveler Johnathan Dart has requested developmental access." The words lacked the inflection of sentience; I'd heard the same statement in the same intonation dozens, maybe even hundreds of times. "Ownership of this area is registered to Resident Ikanobari Mitsuko. Before developmental access can be granted, owner permission is required. Ikanobari Mitsuko, do you agree to allow developmental control to Traveler Johnathan Dart? A backup of this region will be made as a precaution."<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">Mitsuko's eyes widened as she tried to catch my gaze, then turned towards the ceiling quickly. "Oh, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">hai,</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';"> I agree."<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">"Your agreement has been recorded, and the backup has been made," the Voice of Irokai replied. "Please be aware that you may revoke your permission and request a restoration from backup at any time. In the event that an incompatibility occurs, we will automatically restore from backup. If at any point we must restore from backup, developmental access will be temporarily suspended until any incompatibilities are resolved. No permanent changes can be made while developmental access is active. Traveler Johnathan Dart, you have been granted developmental access. Please enjoy." Then the voice went silent, and the number in the bottom-right corner of my field of vision suddenly dropped by a significant amount.<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">Still, for what I had in mind, I knew it would be worthwhile. I dismissed the hardline interface and turned to Mitsuko, who was now staring at me intently. Her warm smile had shifted into an expression of bemused interest, as if she had already guessed what I had to show her, but was waiting for me to say it myself. She held her arms behind her, paws clasped, her tail waving behind her. "So what is all of this?" she asked.<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">"Ah-ah, that would be telling. I'd rather show, but first―" I waved my arm expansively, and a cedar chest materialized beside me with a twinkling of light. "―we'll need to change."<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">"Change?" Mitsuko's voice rose in a question as she stepped over to the small chest, kneeling down in front of it. She glanced up to me, then looked back down and lifted the lid, gasping as she inspected the contents. Inside were a pair of two-piece bubble helmets, held together with a magnetic seam. Beneath those lay two slim-cut vacuum softsuits, adapted to meet the needs of tailed beings. Beneath those were two small pressure tanks, each set for an hour of breathing time.<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">"I got my simulation running," I said; it was all the explanation I needed to offer. "Care to see it?"<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">She gathered the smaller suit into her arms, then rose again and nuzzled my cheek as she walked past without saying a word, pulling one of the thin paper dividers behind her to form a makeshift screen. Lit from behind, I watched her silhouette slowly slip free of the silk dress that she had worn to dinner. I could have―would have―eagerly stood there admiring her lithe raccoon's figure, but I had my own change to make.<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">Quickly, I peeled off the jacket and slacks, leaving them in a small heap beside the chest. The tie and shirt followed quickly behind, and finally my briefs, leaving me free to start drawing on the softsuit. The silvery fabric felt slick and slightly cool to the touch, just like I remembered it. I pulled apart the two halves of the neck collar, stretching out the opening until I could step inside and slide the fabric the legs, aligning the magnetic panels with the pads of my hinds. Working my own banded tail into the pouch in back made me wince as I tugged the fur against the grain, and I made a mental note to revisit the design again, through I'd yet to find a solution that genuinely satisfied me. Now, though, wasn't the time to get lost in designwork, and I pulled the sleeves down my arms and tucked my fingers into the gloves. Finally, I reconnected the halves of the magnetic collar, then broke the seal on the helmet, affixing front and back pieces to the suit around my head. Once the tank was in place, I would be completely enclosed within the softsuit, the magnets forming a perfect seal against the vacuum.<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">Mitsuko slid back the panel and stepped back into the main room. The shimmering softsuit clung to her body, emphasizing every curve and line of her figure. She smiled at me from within her helmet and turned a slow pirouette, the flat magnetic plates in her feet whispering incongruously against the straw tatami mat. "Am I wearing it correctly?" she asked with a mischevious smile, her voice echoing slightly from the radio system built into the helmet.<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">All I could think to do in response was nod, some areas of my own suit suddenly decidedly more snug than I'd remembered from the design tests. I pulled the tanks out of the cedar chest, then passed one to her with one paw, motioning for her to turn around with the other. She did so, and I slid the tank into the restraining straps on her back, hooking up its lead to the airhose. I turned a valve, and her airflow started with a soft hiss. Once hers was secure, I turned around and stepped her through attaching mine. Soon, I heard the same release of pressure and smelled the familiar tang of ozone, a telltale sign that the system was pumping in fresh air.<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">I turned to face Mitsuko and flashed her a quick grin and a thumbs-up, then focused back on the front door. I waved my arm with a flourish, then stepped up to the entrance and slid aside the thin paper barrier. Beyond, a gray ribbon of metal stretched out into the distance, surrounded by emptiness. The wooden deck, along with the rest of Midori Prefecture, had vanished, replaced with a limitless expanse of space, speckled with a myriad of stars.<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">I took a deep breath, then stepped across the threshold, the magnetic pads beneath my feet clacking softly as they made contact with the metal hull. holding me in place as gravity shifted across the threshold. I paused just beyond the doorway, waiting for the lightheadedness to pass as I transitioned from Mitsuko's world to my own. Then, once I was clear of the doorway, I turned and reached back, extending a paw to the woman I loved, inviting her to join me.<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">Wide-eyed, Mitsuko took my suited paw in her own, then took a few cautious steps across the gap, swaying briefly as the same vertigo took her and then left. I reached past her, then closed the doorway leading back to her home. Once gone, it was as if it had never been; all that remained in its place was the solid bulkhead of the station. I motioned upwards, and Mitsuko tilted her head back, then leaned back and gawked at the column that rose overhead. Thin metal spindles reached out into space from the central trunk like branches of a silvery-grey tree. Strange fruit hung from those metal limbs, spaceships of varying shapes and sizes docked at all different points. Directly above, past the very tip of the tree, hung a giant blue-white-green sphere, shining like an alien sun.<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">"That's―" Mitsuko's voice cut off sharply in a giggle of delight.<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">I squeezed Mitsuko's paw in my own, taking a moment to follow her own gaze, up towards the Earth. I wanted to say something, to say anything in that moment, but there were no words I could offer that would match the feeling I had inside. The faint whiff of ozone from the pressure tanks, the slightly clingy pressure of the softsuit, the tension of Mitsuko's fingers against mine, and the sight of my homeworld overhead all fused into a single indefinable sensation, one that I wanted to feel forever.<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">I knew it wouldn't last, though, and I had one last thing I wanted to share with her before relinquishing the development flag. I knew Tadashiissei would never approve it; I'd never even planned on submitting it to them. This was still my development environment, though, and I was going to enjoy it to the fullest extent that I could. I glanced at the clock in the corner of my view, then again through layers of development menus, before dismissing the hardline once more. I turned, walking backwards as I urged Mitsuko away from the central tower, out to the edge of the communications array, until we were surrounded on all sides by empty space, only a few magnets holding us in place against a narrow metal platform, keeping us from drifting away into the void.<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">I smiled at Mitsuko through the tinted grey bubble helmet, then said just loudly enough for the radio to catch, "Don't be afraid, Mitsuko."<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">Her eyes widened, her tail twitching behind her, the words catching her by surprise. "John?"<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">I gave her paws a final squeeze, then let them go, stepping back away from her, balanced at the very edge of the walkway. "Trust me, Mits," I said, fingers feeling for the seam on the helmet holding the hemispheres of reinforced glass together. "I love you."<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">Mitsuko stepped forward, her paws clacking against the metal walkway. "John?" she called out, her voice trembling. "What are you doing?"<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">Her fingers met my wrists, to try to pull my paws away from the helmet, and I smiled at her, then gave a final pull at the seam. With a rush of wind against my face and a flare of light from within the suit, the halves of the helmet split, then tumbled apart, freed from each other and the ring around my neck. Mitsuko's muzzle twisted into a silent cry at the sudden decompression, jerking away, covering her helmet with her paws to avoid seeing my body burst or freeze. She stood trembling, just shy of the edge of the array, frozen in shock.<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">When my still-suited paws gently brushed her shoulders, she stiffened, but then slowly uncovered her helmet, staring in shock, traces of tears wetting the fur beneath her cheeks. Slowly, the corners of her muzzle turned up into a smile, and she began to laugh, silently shaking inside her suit as she wrapped her arms around me, clinging to me tightly. I encircled her with my arms, squeezing her tightly.<br /></span></p><p><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">I told you not to be afraid, love, </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">I transmitted to her, not in speech, since sound wouldn't carry in a vacuum, but in a direct broadcast of thought, words sent directly from my mind to hers. Then I pulled away, carefully, coaxing her back from the edge, and began to strip away the now-unneeded softsuit. As the material fell from my shoulders, a pair of broad wings covered in irridescent bands of feathers that matched my shimmering fur spread from my back, unfurling to their full width to help catch the solar winds. I turned to look at them with glowing yellow eyes, then flexed them and flapped, propelling my legs and tail out of their useless encumbrences, leaving me naked against the vacuum.<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">Once the transformation was complete, I turned back to Mitsuko with a smile and held out one paw to her, a gently pulsing sphere resting against my pad―a copy of the transcendus module. She smiled up at me through her helmet, then took my paw in hers, wrapping her suited fingers around my gift. It sank into her paws as she reviewed and integrated the new code, and then moments later she pulled open her own helmet with a burst of air and light. Then she opened her eyes, a brilliant emerald light shining out of their depths as she spread her shimmering wings, her softsuit falling away from her, trailing out away from the deck as the station slowly spun in place.<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">Despite the vacuum surrounding me, Mitsuko's paws were warm against my shoulders, as I knew mine would be against her waist. Freed from gravity and our artificial modesty, we floated away from the station, wings flapping in near-unison as we learned the rhythms of each other's new forms. Once we were out of the station's shadow and bathed in the full light of the sun, I turned back to Mitsuko, drifting away from her briefly to admire the results of my work against her already-sublime base form. She smiled and silently laughed, then turned a lazy somersault, her wings and tail provocatively splayed, showing off my handiwork, and I felt my body respond.<br /></span></p><p><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">I want you,</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">I sent to her, flapping my wings and catching up to her, taking her paws in mine.<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">Mitsuko urged me closer, then wrapped her wings about us. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">I want you, John, </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">she replied soundlessly, guiding my paws to her small, firm breasts; then resting her paws on my shoulders. Her skin beneath the fur was as warm as the rest of her, her nipples already firm beneath my thumbpads as I caressed them gently. She shivered beneath my touch, her head tilted back, her muzzle open as I stimulated her, enflaming her passions, the sight and feel of her beneath my paws making my cock pulse in its sheath.<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">Moving carefully, I ducked my head down, kissing along her neckline and down her chest, nipping playfully with my teeth against her fur until my muzzle was at one of her breasts. Placing a soft kiss against the nubbin of stiffened flesh, I slowly slid my lips down around her nipple, tugging at it carefully as I began suckling. It was as if electricity had arced through her, her body stiffening beneath my tender touch before curling up against me, as if to try to wrap herself around me, holding me against her. The taste of her was sweet and faintly musky, my tongue tingling from the brush of her fur as I swirled it around her nipple.<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">After a quiet eternity, I kissed my way across to her other breast, repeating my performance there, while she shivered and shuddered in my arms, pressing herself eagerly against me, her chest rising and falling in heavy breaths despite the lack of air to breathe. Her wings tickled mine as she wrapped herself around me, urging me onwards with her touch and motion. Then, finally, with a silent gasp she pulled away. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">Too much!</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';"> she sent, trembling from the overload of sensation. Then, a moment later, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">Please, John... more.</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';"><br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">I floated over to her, this time wrapping my wings about her as I took Mitsuko in my arms. She rested her paws on my shoulders as I placed mine on her hips, my cock fully engorged as I pulled her against me. She spread her legs, wrapping them around mine, and then it took only a moment to position myself before smoothly pressing myself into her. Her sex was hot, her flesh tingling against mine, sending sparks from my groin up to my brain as I filled her, one gentle thrust carrying me fully within her. Once inside of her, I paused, hugging her tightly to my chest, then began slowly pistoning myself back, pulling away and then pressing forward again, making love with Mitsuko in deep space.<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">In the absence of gravity, sex truly was a two-person endeavor. Where before one could lie still and let the other do everything, now it took the effort of us both to consummate our passion. As I pushed myself forward, pulling her towards me, she thrust back, using her legs to encourage me deeper. Our wings fluttered and flapped, by turns encircling the other or just brushing agaginst each other, the new sensation adding to the others. I closed my eyes, filling myself with her taste and feel, then opened them again to smiled into those pulsing orbs of luminscent emerald. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">Yes,</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';"> one of us sent, or perhaps both, minds moving as our bodies, urging each other closer to climax. I trembled against her, my body shuddering. With every stroke, my cock throbbed within her sex, the heat of her body suffusing mine. Her claws glided down my back along the sensitive join between wing and spine as I held her hips against me to help me find purchase. She twitched, moaning silently in the void, nodding as I thrust faster, deeper, the urge to orgasm overwhelming. I bit my lip, stars dancing at the edges of my vision, my nerves singing soundlessly as with one last push, I came, a burst of heat and seed filling her sex. She threw back her head, claws digging into my back as her entire form tensed, climaxing in response.<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">In the afterglow, we hung there, twinned stars against a black backdrop, shuddering and quietly nuzzling against each other and riding out the aftershocks of our shared passion. Then, finally, we separated, smiling at each other, and turned back to the station, our wings flapping as we dove back towards the communications array. At the panel in the side of the station, I turned back to the suits, still trailing along at the far edge of the platform, then winked back to Mitsuko and shook my head. If the code ever got approved, it would prove an interesting artifact for the first maintenance crew to find.<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">I waved my paw at the smooth metal wall, and the same section as before slid aside, revealing Mitsuko's main room beyond, just as we had left it. I touched down just outside the door, then stepped lightly through, Mitsuko following closely behind. Once within, I turned and shut the front door, then brought up the hardline one last time for the night. It took only a few seconds to dismiss the development flag, and the wings and glow disappeared as soon as I did so. A few seconds later, Mitsuko's vanished as well, leaving her with only her natural radiance and a smile.<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">"Thank you, John," she said, stepping closer to draw me into an embrace. "That was beautiful."<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">My ears flushed in response, and suddenly I felt very awkward. I knew that she loved me for me, but there was always that moment, right after I had shown off some new bit of in-world wizardry, in which any praise I recieved was colored with doubt. I knew she loved me, as I loved her, but did she love me for me, or for the things I could do?<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">Was there a difference?<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">I wrapped my arms around her and hugged her tightly. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," I half-whispered back, resting my cheek against hers, my tail slowly swaying behind me. "I'm sorry if I scared you back there, but―"<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">She shushed me softly, then rested a finger across my muzzle. "I understand," she replied. "You're an artist. It's one of the things I love about you."<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">The words struck home, perhaps more deeply than I wanted to admit, but I was still riding high on the afterglow. "Thanks, Mits," I murmured in response, kissing her ear softly. "Let's go lie down; that took a lot out of me."<br /></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">She nodded in response, then turned her muzzle to kiss me tenderly, before taking a paw in mine to lead me back to her bedroom. Once sprawled out on her low </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">futon,</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';"> she curled up next to me, pulling a thin cotton sheet up and over us as we snuggled up together. She turned towards the ceiling and dismissed the lights, plunging the house into near-total darkness. I curled up against Mitsuko's back, one arm beneath her head, the other around her waist, her tail draped over my leg. My mind drifted as sleep came for me, imagining myself floating with Mitsuko through that perfect void.</span><br /></p>Kristina Tracerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03511740779372210878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6095798730531915831.post-73911418730581987082008-12-28T22:34:00.000-08:002008-12-28T22:51:48.344-08:00Beautiful World 04: Disturbance<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">By the time I made it back to the apartment, the last of the sunlight had fled the sky, leaving only the grey and silver streaks of moonlight across the carpet from the open windowblinds. I shoved the door closed behind me with one foot, waiting for the soft chirp of the electronic lock and the thunk of the deadbolt it controlled before stepping out of the short entryway, past the kitchenette and into the dining area beyond. "Bedroom, light dim," I called out ahead of me, pausing next to the card table that served as my maildrop and mealspace to drop my keycard and pocketbook, followed moments later by the windbreaker, waiting for the fluorescent panels in my room to come to life, illuminating the rest of the hallway ahead.<br /><br />I paused at the doorway to my bedroom to kick off my shoes and socks, not bothering to bend down to untie the laces. As I shifted my weight, my eyes jumped around the room, my home and office ever since graduation. Printouts of data and code diagrams still covered the walls, most from projects long past, covered in various colors of ink. Interspersed with those hung the occasional art print or poster, most of fantasy or futuristic settings. Directly in front of the entryway, a massive computer desk―brought into the room piece by piece and assembled in place―dominated the floor, turned to obscure the view of anyone just entering from what transpired on the monitors. Behind it was the same captain's chair I had acquired years ago, reupholstered and restuffed multiple times since its purchase. Beside that, instead of a bed sat an unfolded futon, the mattress wrapped in an oversized sheet and topped with a jumble of blankets. Next to the futon on the opposite wall was a small bureau, one drawer perpetually stuck half-open, followed by a half-full laundry basket. Finally, on the wall beside me sat a well-abused entertainment center, loaded with an old television, various classic console systems lovingly restored, and the occasional lost computer component covered in dust.<br /><br />Thinking of Adam's first words at dinner brought a rueful grin to my lips. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">I really haven't changed much since college, have I?</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> I thought with a dry chuckle, stepping into the half-lit room and shucking off my jeans, tossing them half-heartedly towards the laundry basket and muttering as they fell short of their target, landing with one leg splayed on the floor. It wasn't that I hadn't grown since then, to be sure; I'd learned a lot about myself since those days, and I'd gotten better at what I wanted to do with my time, good enough that I could afford to go into consulting and self-employment, designing self-teaching software solutions and system architecture for companies too small to justify an information management department and too dependent on IM to go without. However, telecommuting and online negotiations had meant that I'd never really had to become part of the working world, and that meant that I'd really just become more of what I already was, back when I was still in school.<br /><br />Maybe that was part of what was splitting Adam away from the group, I mused as I dropped the dinner box on the desk next to my keyboard and then dropped into the captain's chair in front of it. Of the three of us at the center of our circle of friends, he'd been the only one who had had to go out and get a real job, at least for some definition of real. John had gone into professional design before he'd even graduated, and his models and landscapes commanded more than enough money to make rent. I'd stepped into the working world, doing the business-casual thing, but as soon as I'd built up a decent portfolio I slid right back out again, going freelance and never looking back. Only Adam, shifting from graduate student to teaching assistant and then launching into the teaching and tenure tracks as fast as the options made themselves available, really had to worry about interfacing with the outside world on a regular basis, and that forced him into a mindset that, while not bad by any measure, just wasn't like ours once we'd found our respective niches away from the prying eyes of others.<br /><br />I took a big bite of turkey club, but a thought struck that made me laugh, nearly choking on a wad of bread in the process. Maybe it wasn't Adam that was the outsider after all. He was the one dealing with regular people day in and day out, while John and I had been free to isolate and insulate oursevlves against others' opinions. Freed from the responsibility of actually interfacing with normal people except under laboratory conditions like the shops or the next contract review, maybe we'd allowed ourselves to grow inward, twisting back on our own ideas of what constituted reality, while Adam was the only one who'd managed to keep himself evolving at a pace and in a direction to match the rest of the so-called real world. Maybe he really was the normal one of the bunch, and John and I were the freaks.<br /><br />I set down the sandwich and reached over with one hand to grab for my headset, trying to grin and swallow at the same time. On the screen in front of me, an arctic wolf-morph swayed in time with a silent song. His fur was shock-white, so much so that it seemed to glow against the near-black of the digital display. Hints of gold glinted at the tips of his ears and from the fur at his chest, as well as from one of his fingers. Around his neck was a gold chain that bounced as he moved, mutely jingling as the li nks jostled against each other in response to his motions. His only attire besides the body jewelry was a pair of oversized black bondage pants littered with zippers. Multicolored glowsticks hung from short chains hooked into belt loops and pulls that lit up parts of the screen in splashes of color as he danced.<br /><br /></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Freaks indeed,</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> I thought as I cleared my throat into the microphone, making the idlescreen freeze. "Computer, unlock," I said once I had the headset in place. A prompt-box popped up on the monitor, asking for my password, and my fingers rapped sharply against the keyboard. Moments later, the wolfmorph vanished, and in his place were a myriad of windows. Some held code segments, some contained flowcharts or data diagrams, and still others were blank, waiting for input of some kind. The one that dominated the display held a program debugger, paused in mid-execution, a small yellow arrow pointing to the line of code on which I had left it to go get dinner.<br /><br />"Debugger, resume," I said, fingers already at work on the keyboard, bringing up other windows as the program resumed its execution. I flipped over to a database monitor, watching values set and reset themselves as lines of code crunched in the background. "Debugger, stop, restore to breakpoint. Editor, open weather, open terrain. Switch to weather." My hands moved even as the computer rewound the simulation, changing values, adjusting commands. "Debugger, resume." Again I swapped back to the data tracker, then back to the code, muting the microphone to grab another bite of my now-warm sandwich.<br /><br />The hours cranked past as I continued my editing, until well past the time when any sane person would have crawled into bed and collapsed. Finally, as sun began making itself known through the slats in the window blind, I saw the codes I needed to see show up in the database. "Debugger, pause," I grumbled, then switched over to a fresh screen, calling up an expanse of digitally-generated meadow, light and dark patches highlighting the rise and fall of the ground beneath. A few dandelions grew among the grasses, and an impossibly yellow sun hung in the unnaturally clear blue sky.<br /><br />"Debugger, resume." With a spreading grin, I watched as black storm clouds rolled in from nowhere, blotting out the sun. Lighting flashed between the cloudbanks, followed moments later by thunder rumbling in my headset. Seconds passed, stretching ominously out to nearly a minute before a searing blast of white burst from the center of the storm front, arcing towards the ground and setting fire where it touched. Another bolt followed the first, then another and another, until the space between earth and sky was filled with a virtual sheet of electricity spattering the ground. The memory of the scent of ozone filled my nostrils as I watched.<br /><br />Then, a minute later, the lightning was gone. The clouds broke apart, then dissipated, leaving behind only the sun and the pristine sky. However, on the ground, where before there had been only flowers and grass, there was now a patchwork of embers and soot, clearly spelling out "JULES WAS HERE" in bold, black letters against the sea of green.<br /><br />Looking at the results of my handiwork, my stomach briefly clenched, threatening to give me the chance to revisit my turkey club in all its glory, but the moment passed, and with a few deep breaths I was feeling level again. I'd made it no secret on the Irokai fan-forums that I wasn't happy with Tadashiissei's brand management or trademark prosecutions, and I definitely hadn't been quiet about my dissatisfaction with their autocratic approach in-world, but that was all civil disobedience. This... this was vandalism at best. I didn't want to think about what it could be at worst.<br /><br />"E-mail, title, quote offer of business proposition unquote, open," I said, and the scorched earth disappeared behind a text window. The text had obviously been passed through some kind of low-quality translator, but the meaning was unmistakable:<br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Jules:<br /><br />I desire that your service is hired in order to write the program which writes message on landscape in Irokai. The method of this I leave for you, but behavior should as lively as possible for pulling much interest. I need this which is ended next month. Protocol everything which we decipher until present, and Irokai data dictionary, is in this e-mail; is this sufficient? If you accept, to this you should answer; at the bottom of this message the key is to encode your response one time. Attach your program to the e-mail of the reply. The payment will be by the method of your suggestion.<br /><br />We wanted none of this, and you too, coming to this especially. However, Tadashiissei will not to us listen until we prove it is serious. All of us love Irokai, and you too, but with us, you agree that we cannot love Irokai without its freedom.<br /><br />You are welcome to Democracy Revolution.<br /><br />Fuki<br /></span></span><br />Several compressed files remained attached to the document, each encrypted with the same key that trailed across the bottom of the e-mail, down in the signature block. Inside them were the connection protocols that Tadashiissei used to send data around inside the game world, as well as database models that would let me create just about any static object in the game. It wasn't enough to hack directly into anyone's head, but with this and enough time and effort, I could probably rewrite most of Irokai by hand.<br /><br />Whoever Fuki and the Democracy Revolution were, they were skilled enough to crack Irokai's database and dedicated enough to take on the company that owned it. Ever since I'd gotten the message, I'd wondered why they'd contacted me, given what they obviously already had going for them. Were they looking for a fall guy? Would any of this work on the real systems? I'd heard of pranks like this being pulled before, but I'd always assumed that they were people inside the system setting off jokescripts on each other; this was the first time I'd ever seen a suggestion that outside forces could be at work. Did I really want to be associated with this sort of thing?<br /><br />Did I really believe in freedom for Irokai?<br /><br />Lost in my thoughts, the computer snapped up the idlescreen as a safeguard against abandonment. Within a few moments of the monitor going dark, the wolfmorph from before was once more gyrating hypnotically to unheard music, lightsticks a-go-go. I watched him move for several seconds, then spoke into the headset. "Computer, unlock." The image froze once more, covered by the dialog box, and I again entered my password.<br /><br />"E-mail, reply." My fingers jumped across the keyboard, hooking up source code, data dumps, configuration scripts, build instructions and a quick intro file to the response. "Encrypt." A quick cut-and-paste dumped the key provided into the input box, and a progress bar flashed up on the screen for a few seconds while the computer locked the files. "Send." The screen flashed once, and then the message disappeared.<br /><br />With a groan, I peeled the headset off of my ears and dropped it onto the keyboard with a clatter of plastic, then stumbled out from behind the desk and onto the futon mattress with a heavy sigh, not bothering to finish getting undressed. With a bit of thrashing, I managed to arrange pillow and blankets to cover my head from the encroaching sun, then pressed the palms of my hands into my eyes, rubbing away the headache I knew would try to settle in my brain.<br /><br /></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Sorry, John, but I'm not letting you jump into this naked and alone. You may be blinded by love... but maybe so am I. </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">"Bedroom, light off," I said, then rolled over, waiting for sleep to drag me into the darkness.</span>Kristina Tracerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03511740779372210878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6095798730531915831.post-28929426314660379312008-10-28T17:28:00.000-07:002009-07-16T21:37:17.035-07:00Beautiful World 03: Confrontation<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">I was well into my third beer when Julia slid into the booth across from me, jacket-sheathed arms folding on the scuffed laminate tabletop, her fingers interlacing. "So, this is about John, isn't it." Her tone made it a statement.<br /><br />I scraped a line of frost from my mug and looked up at her. Her back-length hair, tied back into a tight braid, was green this month, a dark forest green that have passed for natural on the first take. She hadn't bothered to remove her wraparound dark glasses, creating the illusion of a CENSORED bar obscuring her identity. Beneath it, her mouth was twisted into a permanent smirk, though the expression was currently more prominent than normal. She'd turned up the collar of her black windbreaker, and the T-shirt beneath it had a text-picture of pi comprised of its digits.<br /><br />I smirked and lifted my beer in a mock-toast. "You know, you haven't changed since college, Julia."<br /><br />The quirk of her mouth bent into a frown. "Neither have you, Adam; you're still the only one in the group who doesn't call me Jules. This isn't about me, though; it's about you. Rather, you think it's about John, which is why you called me."<br /><br />I shrugged and set down my mug again, flagging down a waiter. "Call it a point of pride; I hate diminutives. And yes, it's about Johnathan. What're you having? I invited; my treat."<br /><br />Julia shook her head, holding out a hand, palm extended. "Nothing for me; I'm ankle-deep-head-first in a project. You sounded desperate, though, so I got things to a breakpoint."<br /><br />The summoned waiter made his way to the table, pulling a notepad out of his apron. "Can I get you two something?"<br /><br />"Just a burger for me, no tomato, no mayonnaise," I asked, emphasizing the removals. "Seasoned fries. Oh, and a refill. Julia, anything? I'm paying."<br /><br />She leaned back against the bench, grunting her acquiescence. "Yeah, okay, I'll have the turkey club and an iced tea. No salt on the fries, and bring it in a to-go box?"<br /><br />The waiter nodded. "I'll get these started and be back with your drinks." Then he was gone again, leaving me alone with Julia's frown.<br /><br />"Okay, Adam," she said somewhat testily as soon as the waiter was out of earshot. "I'll stick around for half a sandwich because we're friends, and because we've been friends, and I hope because we're going to keep being friends, but I'm not interested in solving your problems with John."<br /><br />I frowned, but before I spoke, I took the time to drain my mug, setting it back down against the scratched plastic with a thunk. "I just... don't get it," I said, looking down at my empty glass. "I mean, how can he turn his back on all of us for this?"<br /><br />Julia's smirk reasserted itself as she rummaged in the pocket of her windbreaker and pulled out a heavy refillable lighter. "Long as you're phrasing it like that, Adam, you're not going to get it. There's a difference between turning away from one thing and turning towards something else."<br /><br />My frown deepened as I fidgeted with my mug. "Yeah, I guess," I conceded, but I came back quickly with the real point of my ire. "But... Mitsuko?"<br /><br />Julia groaned quietly, covering her glasses with one hand, rolling the lighter around in the other. "I don't even want to try to discuss Mitsuko with you."<br /><br />"Oh, c'mon," I said, leaning forward in my seat and pushing the empty mug to the edge of the table for the waiter to remove. "You're in software design. Of anybody in his circle of friends, you'd be the one most likely to be able to tell him."<br /><br />"Tell him what, Adam?" She asked, her voice low and tight. "That he's dating a pocket calculator?"<br /><br />"Now who's not respecting whose opinion?" I replied with a smirk of my own. "I'm sure she's a very well-coded expert system, but at the end of the day, she's still just that: software. She's a program. C'mon, Julia, you do this stuff for a living."<br /><br />Julia shook her head again. "I work on expert systems, not digital sentience. One's programmable; the other's not." She nodded a thanks as the waiter set a glass of tea in front of her, then a fresh beer next to me, whisking away the empty.<br /><br />"See, that's my very point!" I quietly crowed as soon as the waiter was gone again, stabbing the table for emphasis. "He's not in love with a real thinking being. Not a person. If he were falling for somebody from Japan and said he wanted to move out there, I'd be fine with that, but that's not what he's doing. He's talking about turning his brain into so many sample-slides and rendering himself as some kind of expert system inside one of Tadashiissei's networks, all so he can spend the rest of his life... or whatever... with a programmable sex toy!"<br /><br />The frown reasserted itself on Julia's face, and she leaned forward, elbows on the table, ticking points off on one set of fingers with the other. "One, just because I said digital sentiences weren't programmable doesn't mean they don't exist; it means they can't be written." Her tone of voice had picked up a hard edge that suggested it would brook no interruption. "They can be evolved from expert systems with a sufficiently high degree of interconnectivity and a matching firmware base on which to grow. You're not into electronics, Adam; you're a biology professor. Stick to what you know.<br /><br />"Two, the process of uploading doesn't to anybody's knowledge destroy anything other than the physical shell; every case of it that's been studied to date has shown no ill effect, no trauma, no disorders, and no loss of creativity or mental capacity. How many books has Imogene Franklin written since her conversion? Seven? Eight? And her literary critics say they're better now that she's no longer worrying about getting the whole thing done before the cancer kills her. Hell, imagine where cosmology might be today if this had been around during Hawking's time. John's an artist; if he really thought loss of creativity were a concern, he wouldn't do it, and Tadashiissei wouldn't let him if they were going to hire him. I know the idea of willingly giving up organics in favor of silicon squicks you, but that's a personal preference, not a fact, and no amount of wishing otherwise will change that.<br /><br />"Three, Mitsuko is not a programmable sex toy; she's one of Tadashiissei's tour guides, and you're lucky that you said that to me and not to John, because he would punch you for that kind of crack. He may be just an art type, but I doubt he's forgotten his jeet kune do, and he still hits the gym pretty regularly."<br /><br />During her tirade, I leaned back against the padded bench seat. Her blunt point-by-point had sucked a lot of the thrust out of my argument, but I wasn't prepared to grant that to her in public. "I don't see why he bothers hitting the gym if he's just going to go throw his body away in six months," I sulked.<br /><br />"Procedural memory," Julia replied with her typical smirk. "Different part of the brain from regular memory. I'd have thought a biologist of your caliber would have realized that much."<br /><br />"Oh, very funny," I snapped back, then sighed. "I'm sorry, Julia, I'm just—wait." Something she said during her rant came back to me. "How did you know about his new job?"<br /><br />For the first time tonight, Julia chuckled. "Oh, he told me the day he got it. I've known for a week. We </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">did</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> date for a few years."<br /><br />I slumped back in my seat, defeated. "Am I the last person to know about everything that happens?"<br /><br />"Not always," she said, leaning back and tucking her lighter back into her pocket as the waiter slid a plastic box in front of her. "I was the last one to figure out John and I weren't going to work out."<br /><br />I sighed in response, looking with mild distaste at the burger I'd ordered and began picking at my fries. The conversation had killed my appetite. "I'm sorry; could I get a to-go box as well?" I asked the waiter, who nodded and left.<br /><br />Julia took that as her cue to rise out of the bench. "If you're not eating, then I need to go. Tonight's a deadline I really can't miss." She stopped beside the table, one hand on her hip, the other holding her sandwich. "Look, I'm sorry this is hard on you. You and he have been best friends for years, and he's going through some changes that you're just not ready to face. I have it on good authority that he wants to remain friends with you, but this is something he's not prepared to give up, and you're going to have to decide either to accept it and stay friends, or give it up and him with it. I can't tell you which is the right answer, but I can tell you which answer he and I would both prefer."<br /><br />I didn't look up at her. I couldn't look up at her. "Don't tell me you're on his side in this."<br /><br />"I didn't break up with him because I quit caring about him, Adam." Suddenly, she sounded as tired as I felt. "I—never mind. Point is, I don't want to see the group split up over this. I want to see Mitsuko become part of the group, as much as possible. She's not the roadblock in this, and neither is John, for all his hard-assery. He just wants to be happy, and Mitsuko makes him happy. Being in Irokai makes him happy, happier than he can be out here."<br /><br />Our waiter breezed by the table, dropping off a plastic box and a small tub of mustard. "So when are you going in there after him?" I quipped as I scraped fries off of my plate. I was burning every bridge at this point, but I was past the point of caring. I just wanted someone to understand, and here was Julia lecturing me like I was her student or something.<br /><br />She turned away from me. "I'm not, Adam, not for a long time. I'll be glad to visit, but no way am I moving there right now."<br /><br />"Why not?" I asked, trying my best to come across as genuinely curious but probably sounding more accusatory than anything else. "I would've thought a software designer of your caliber would've been the first in the group to jump at the chance to live a completely digital existence."<br /><br />She chuckled darkly. "Touché. Let's just say I have my reasons and leave it at that. Look, I really have to go, or I'm going to miss my deadline, and then things will really suck. G'night, Adam. Next weekend, I'm free and I should have the cash from this project in hand. Give me a call, we'll get with John and maybe Mitsuko can join remotely and we can play Bartok or Barbuda or something."<br /><br />I shrugged, closing up my box. "Yeah, maybe."<br /><br />Julia paused a moment, as if weighing the tone of my response, then shrugged. "Whatever, man. Take care." Then she was out the door, leaving me alone with my beer and my frustration.</span>Kristina Tracerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03511740779372210878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6095798730531915831.post-89910007457843164932008-10-17T22:54:00.000-07:002009-02-22T19:01:44.275-08:00Beautiful World 02: Regret<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">The front of Tadashiissei's Beautiful World facility was below ground level, flowering hedges shrouding the entryway. A ramp of multicolored tiles ran between them, leading from the sidewalk down into the earth, giving the illusion of descending inside one of their digital realms even before I had gotten inside. It always felt a little disorienting, the outer world disappearing behind me as I prepared to dive into the inner one, but I always got the impression that the effect was intentional. If so, it worked; before I had even gotten in the door, I felt a little bit like I was leaving the old world behind.<br /><br />The rainbow of interlocking tiles continued on the far side of the glass double doors, spreading across the floor in ripples of color. On the white stucco wall above the row of counters sat a number of digital clocks, the names of major cities beneath each indicating the local time. At the far end of the line-up hung a single analog disk, a wedge of color-wheel running from hour to minute indicating the time in Irokai. Beneath the timepieces, signs printed in English and Japanese directed travelers towards their destinations: New Arrivals, Returning Travelers, Special Assistance, Gift Shop.<br /><br />The line in front of the first-timer's window was filled with teenagers laughing and gabbing with each other, while adults at regular intervals worked to keep the cluster moving in an orderly fashion towards the window. Some kind of class trip, I guessed as I eased past them, over into the Returning Travelers line, eying the arc of color overhead and doing some quick calculation: eighteen-twenty, give or take a minute.<br /><br />If I spent the money for a translocation after transition, we could still make our reservation slot. Given the option, I'd have much rather taken a tram to the restaurant from Mitsuko's block, but even with the frequency of their runs, the chance of catching one in time was slim, and the last thing I wanted was to miss the reservation. We'd been looking forward to dinner at Junsei-en for a month, and I wasn't going to be the one to disappoint Mitsuko.<br /><br />While the counter-clerk helped the couple in front of me in line, I dug my palmtop out of my pocket and snapped it open, revealing a tiny screen on one face with a thumbboard and trackball on the other. It took only a few quick taps to bring up the quick-messenger, a few more to select Mitsuko's name out of the contact list. </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">In line at the transit desk,</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> I pecked out in a hurry. </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Almost home.</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><br /><br />A few seconds after I hit send, the screen lit up in a response. </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">I can't wait,</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> said the message. </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Is everything okay?</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><br /><br />My thumbs hesitated over the board, then tapped out a reply. </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Sugoi.</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> I glanced up as the two people in front of me accepted their passcards back. </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">See you soon.</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> With a click, I snapped the palmtop closed and approached the counter, pulling my passcard out of my pocket.<br /><br />The woman behind the counter wore a white shirt and dark green slacks, with a multicolored ribbon pinned to her shirt just above her nametag. She smiled as I stepped up to the window, her hands folded in front of her. "Welcome back, Mr. Dart. Here for the night, or just the evening?"<br /><br />I passed over the holographic passcard. "The night. I'll need an extended-stay booth."<br /><br />She nodded in response and swiped the card. "We have your reservation already in the system," she confirmed with a smile. "You can proceed back to room seventeen. Enjoy your evening!" With that, she handed me back the small rectangle of plastic, which I swiped through the reader on the wall before I stuffed it into my pocket. With a wave, I pushed open the security door and headed down the corridor towards the transfer chambers.<br /><br /></span><hr /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><br /><br />The path from Junsei-en's front door back to the tram passed over a wooden bridge crossing a small pond, topped with floating lotus blossoms. To one side, a few meters away, a low waterfall flowed down over a rock wall, churning the clear blue water into a white froth. On the other, the pool deepened and widened, with brightly colored </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">koi</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"> dancing and darting in and among the flowers that drifted across the surface. The whole was surrounded with rocks, beyond which grew a bamboo forest that obscured vision and completed the illusion of peaceful isolation.<br /><br />The first time I had come here, it had all been a game. The water in the waterfall didn't come from a river, or a recycling pump. It came from an algorithm, a clever piece of code that gave the appearance of running water. If I put my paw in it, it felt wet and it made the individual strands of fur wave, but those, too, were just tricks of the mind, more data pumped directly into my head from Tadashiissei's servers. I knew, but didn't bother to test, that if I spent the money to activate a special feature and flew up to the top of the rock wall, I would be able to see that the water didn't come from anywhere. It just poured out of the side of the cliff, without origin or destination. It was all just ones and zeroes.<br /><br />The second time—the first time I'd come with Mitsuko—none of that mattered. It was beautiful, and that was enough. Gone was the wonder in how they had rendered it all, the questions about bit rates and throughput and storage. All that remained was the quiet joy at listening to the breeze blow through the bamboo while gazing up at the sunset. I bought a votive candle in a paper boat in Junsei-en's shop and watched Mitsuko kneel down on the bridge to float it out onto the water, then folded her paws in mine, watching it bob on the surface as colorful fish nudged it from beneath, trying to make it tip. It had been a perfect moment, the nature of the sensations lost in the sensations themselves, the wind and the sky and the water all coming together to a single unforgettable impression, like an Ezra Pound haiku.<br /><br />This time, I stood on the bridge, short claws digging into the wooden railing. Tonight, the breeze was stronger, and the bamboo hummed and chattered softly as the wind tapped stiff stalks together. The fur of my arms and tail fluttered, sending a shiver up my spine. I lifted my eyes to the full moon rising over the horizon, trying at once to remember and to forget.<br /><br />Soft, warm paws touched my back, then slid around my waist as Mitsuko pressed herself to my back, holding herself close to me. I let go of the bridge and enfolded my arms over hers, curling my tail back around her waist. The rise and fall of her chest added its gentle percussion to the symphony of sensation, and for a moment all I wanted was to stay forever in this position, lost to the rest of the world.<br /><br />After several moments of simple silence, Mitsuko spoke. "Something is wrong." Her voice was gentle, the delicate hints of her Japanese accent giving a lilt to her words. It had been one of the first things to draw me to her, back when I had first come to Irokai and she had been assigned to our group as a tour guide. There had been no illusions then; she was cheerfully honest about herself, and it had entranced me. I had spent as much of the trip as I could just listening to her talk.<br /><br />I looked down from the moon to the dance of its reflection against the rippling surface of the pond. "It's nothing, really," I replied quietly, wishing I could feel as convinced as I tried to sound.<br /><br />Mitsuko squeezed me once around the stomach in a soft hug, then stepped back, coaxing with her motions for me to turn around, away from the waterscape to face her, taking her gloved paws in my own. Her eyes were a deep emerald green, almost black in the twilight, set in a sea of short ebony fur. Beyond the mask, the white fur looked greyish-blue, the grey beyond that a deeper charcoal. "What happened?" she asked gently, her head tilting to the side in an expression of delicate concern. "You were so quiet over dinner."<br /><br />My gaze drifted down from her face to take all of her in as a whole. The green silk dress she'd chosen for the occasion shimmered softly in the moonlight. The stripes on her tail bobbed slightly as the wind ruffled the fur at their borders. Her feet, like mine, were bare, a concession to the difficulty of making even sandals that looked good when contrasted with toeclaws. Her forearms were sheathed in the same silk as her dress, giving her entire ensemble a touch of antique elegance.<br /><br />My eyes came back to hers, and I smiled, my ears arching as I squeezed her paws gently. "You're beautiful, Mits."<br /><br />Her ears reddened in response, but she smiled, her eyes sparkling from the compliment. "You are changing the subject," she chastised gently, extracting her paws to waggle a finger mockingly at me. Her other rested on my chest, smoothing out the lapel of my jacket.<br /><br />Looking into that warm radiance I knew I was making the right decision, no matter how hard it was going to be. I shrugged with one shoulder, making a moue of my muzzle. "It's Adam," I said, as if that explained everything. In a way, it did, but I clarified anyway. "He's not making this easy on anyone."<br /><br />Mitsuko sighed, nodding as she leaned forward, resting her head against my shoulder. "He is afraid, and he is angry," she replied. "He thinks he is losing a friend."<br /><br />"He will if he keeps this up," I rejoindered testily, regretting it almost as soon as the words were out of my muzzle. I hugged Mitsuko's shoulders and leaned back against the wooden railing, my tail entwining with hers. "I shouldn't be like that. It's not </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">us</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">, or even </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">you</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">. It's...." I tried to find the words for it, but none came. I didn't want to use his epithet. If it had been rude before, it would've been insulting now.<br /><br />Mitsuko didn't spare me the indignity. "He thinks it is all a game, that none of it is real." She sounded more disappointed than hurt.<br /><br />I winced and nodded. "Yeah, that's how he put it. He's why we were almost late; he came over while I was getting ready and tried to pick a fight."<br /><br />She lifted her head from my shoulder, looking into my eyes, one hand on my chest. "Should I talk with him? I could call or send a message."<br /><br />I shook my head. "Somehow, I think that would just make things worse." I quietly urged her back to nestle against my shoulder. "If he doesn't think of you as real, he'd just write it off as company propaganda or something."<br /><br />Mitsuko giggled, her ears flicking against the underside of my muzzle. "</span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">Hai</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">, that would be it," she said, stressing her Japanese accent into a bad parody of broken English. "Ikanobari Mitsuko, Irokai propaganda minister. I will convince you to move forever to my country through pretty word-pictures of chromatic landscapes and impossible acts of beauty." Then she stuck out her tongue and pulled down one of her eyelids in a faux-anime taunt pose. "Hnngh."<br /><br />In spite of my best efforts, I laughed, a full-throated bark that took the wind out of my lungs. Mitsuko joined in with her own giggling, and together we just held each other and shared a moment of humor, a much-needed lift to both our spirits.<br /><br />When the laughter subsided, I leaned down and tenderly nosed one of her ears. "I love you."<br /><br />She lifted her head and smiled, pressing her muzzle softly to mine. "I love you too, John," she said when she broke for air.<br /><br />Then she leaned back against my shoulder, and I held her in my arms. Together, we leaned back against the wooden railing and let our gazes wander upwards, watching a million pinpoint votives float slowly across the midnight sea.</span>Kristina Tracerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03511740779372210878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6095798730531915831.post-91948969299911497042008-10-06T21:03:00.001-07:002008-10-06T21:14:29.366-07:00Bonds of Silver, Bonds of Gold 01: Sale<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';">The sign that hung over the large wooden door needed no explanation: five oversized golden chain links entwined in a loop. The face of the squat, stone structure was empty besides, absent even a window to let in the sun. Everyone else walking past gave the entrance a wide berth, as though standing too close invited the attention of the occupants. A few passers-by stopped to stare at me as I paced in front of the building, then hurried on their way, averting their gaze. <i>Not my concern,</i> their actions said. <i>Nothing I can do.</i><br /><p style="margin-bottom: 0in">Turning my back on the city square, I tensed my paws into fists, then raised one arm and knocked, rapping my white knuckles against the wood. As soon as I did so, it swung open to reveal a grey-furred wolf standing within. Aside from a collar made of polished steel chain locked around his neck, he was nude. Despite his exposure, he stood tall, his ears erect and unashamed. A metal tag dangled beside the lock at the hollow of this throat, glinting in the sunlight. He rested one paw on the edge of the door, then cocked his head at me, his silver eyes boring into mine in an unasked question.<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">My eyes darted to the paw holding the door open; he'd been declawed, his fingers ending only in soft fur. My attention snapped back to his face, I opened my muzzle to speak, but my throat had suddenly run dry. "I... I need... I mean...." I stammered, one paw rising shakily to gesture overhead, towards the sign, hoping to explain without saying a word.<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">"Milos, down," called a thin but stern voice from behind the wolf. "Take the boy's cloak."<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">The wolf's reaction to his name was instantaneous. He dropped to his knees, his head bowed and his tail tucked. The door, now free of his grasp, begun to swing closed of its own accord, until I propped it open with one hind. Milos raised his arms to me, and I awkwardly slipped the rough-spun woolen cloak from my shoulders and into his paws. As soon as he had it, he shuffled to the side, out of the doorway, never rising from his awkward crouch as he approached the wooden coat rack beside the door. He stood just long enough to hang my cloak, then returned to his previous posture, resting his paws on the floor beside him.<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">I stared for several seconds, watching the whole proceeding, until the voice that had spoken before cut through the jumble of my thoughts. "So, come to observe my pet, or was there something else?"<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">I tore my eyes away from the wolf, towards the speaker. Behind the desk that dominated the room sat a tall , middle-aged raccoon. Her eyes were yellow-flecked violet, shining like chips of amethyst shot with gold. She kept her teeth hidden behind a thin smile, and her black-furred ears stood relaxed and erect, but there was no masking the feral glint in her gaze. She wore a loose cotton robe dyed in a range of greens, cinched at her waist by a broad, brass chain-link belt. Her wrists, her ankles, and the end of her tail were similarly adorned, the metal gleaming against her dark fur.<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">She beckoned me within, and I hesitantly crossed the threshold into the front office. Witchlights illuminated the interior, soft yellow lights that floated around the edges of room. Woven tapestries hung on the walls and insulated the stone floor. A pair of solid wooden chairs sat to one side of the desk, the raccoon's lavishly stuffed seat on the other. The coat rack holding my cloak hovered near the door leading back to the city square and safety. Behind the desk, a second door, this one sealed with a heavy bolt and a lock, led further into the depths of the Slavers' Guild.<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">The door swung closed behind me as I released it, and I stiffened as it closed. The raccoon's smile tightened, her ears flicking back against her head briefly. "Come to see the wares?" she asked, stepping out from behind her desk. She clicked her claws twice, and Milos hurried over to her side, kneeling again behind her. She reached down and lightly combed her fingers through the wolf's fur. "Looking for a servant, perhaps?"<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">I shook my head rapidly, my ears flat back against my skull. My cheeks felt hot, but my fingers were numb. "No, that's not it, I—"<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">The raccoon tilted her head to the side. "Oh, I see." She nodded knowingly. "Looking to become a man, are you? Young strapping buck like you? We can rent for an hour or a night, if you like." She cupped her paw beneath Milos' muzzle and stroked the fur of his throat, eliciting a pleasant growl out of the wolf. He shifted in place, spreading his legs, revealing his plumping sheath. "This one's personal, but I'm sure we could find—"<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">"No!" I blurted quickly, tensing. "Not to buy, not to rent. To—" I cut myself off quickly, tearing my gaze away. My breath came in short bursts, and I forced myself to take a deep breath, then let it out in a noisy rush. "To sell," I finally mumbled, unable to pick my eyes up off of the floor.<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">"Oh?" The slaver dragged out the syllable. "And just... what... would you be selling?"<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">I turned towards the door leading outside. It might have only been a few paces behind me, but it was an uncrossable gulf away. I struggled for the words to explain and found only fear, pride, shame. I tried to put these into words, but none would come forth. My heart pounded in my chest, and I looked up, shivering, into the raccoon's hungry violet eyes.<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">She licked her lips, a reflexive flick of her tongue as her eyes bored into mine. "Oh, my," she murmured. The thick rug absorbed her hindfalls as she glided across the floor, and then suddenly she was beside me. I caught the faint scent of hazel from her fur as she loomed over me. "And just why would a young thing like you be on the market?"<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">I shrugged and pulled away from her. "It's none of your concern."<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">I'd taken half a step when her paw was at the back of my neck, claws grabbing the collar of my shirt. "Not an attitude you should take, child," she hissed, her breath warm against my ear, her voice low and harsh. "If I were the one holding your leash, I could order you to tell me, beat you to within a hair of your life if I didn't like the answer, and then ask again." One arm thrust out in front of me, one claw pointing to the locked door at the far end of the room, behind her desk. "This is no game, child. Once you're through there, there's no return short of release from your master." Her voice tightened on the last word, as did the cotton around my neck, catching my breath.<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">Instinctively, my paws went to my throat, pulling against my own shirt to breathe clearly. "My... my mother!" I shouted between gasps. "Please—" My voice broke, a shudder running through me. "I—I'll tell!"<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">Instantly, her grip relaxed and she stepped away, but the first sob was already starting. "My father... the plow and the winter broke him." I tugged uselessly at the collar of my shirt. "My mother can't... couldn't feed us all. Somebody... I had to do something!" The damage was done, the truth exposed. I shuddered, biting my lip to stifle the sobs welling up in my chest, breathing shallowly through my muzzle. I wiped at my eyes with one paw. "This way... this way it's one less to feed, and more coin in her purse."<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">Something warm brushed my leg, and I looked down to see Milos pressed against me. His fur was thick, slightly coarse but well-groomed. His silver eyes met mine, and a fleeting smile crossed his muzzle before fading back to the carefully neutral expression he wore when I first saw him. I reached down and stroked the back of the wolf's head, fingers gliding over his ears. He let out a low rumble of pleasure, pressing back against my fingers, and his clawless pads kneaded the ground.<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">The slaver cleared her throat quietly, and I looked up to see her standing beside her desk, arms folded across her chest, wearing a slightly bemused smile. "Milos, heel," she said quietly, all trace of hostility gone. The wolf crawled back over to her and curled up at her side, and she petted him lightly as she watched me. "Everything I said before is true, lad," she chided. "Once you belong to another, only your master can set you free. You could be killed and no-one would care."<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">I blew my nose heavily on my sleeve, then threw up my arms in a helpless shrug. "What does it matter?" I sighed. "A quick death from some noble's sword or a slow one in his fields. Either way it's the same fate; one's just faster and less brutal."<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">The slaver shook her head at that. "You'll live a lot longer if you can still your tongue. Still, I admire your attitude." She sat quietly on the edge of her desk for several seconds, then nodded. " Very well, I accept your offer. Have you any skills besides leading a dray and counting seed?"<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">I shrugged again. "I've sung in the local choir, and I know all the holes on a recorder."<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">"Singing and playing?" The raccoon tilted her head to the side. "And can you read?"<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">"Some," I admitted. "I've led my row in hymnal before."<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">The raccoon's smile widened, her violet eyes shining against her fur. Her striped tail bobbed behind her as she mused aloud. "There's a sale on domestics in a week in Barony Deterikh that fetches a high price; you'd pull ten times the coin there that you would locally." She squinted at me, considering, then nodded. "If you can make learn what I have to teach you in eight days, I'll send a hundred, sovereign, to your mother, and I'll sign a contract to that. If not, she gets your sale price on the bid less travel and ten percent. Have we a deal?"<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">My eyes blossomed at the figure. That kind of coin would feed her, and the rest of my family, for a year or more. "It's... yes." I swallowed heavily, eyes fixed on the door behind her desk. "Yes, I accept."<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">She nodded and clapped her paws together, then sat at her desk and began rummaging through drawers, pulling out a thick ledger and some additional papers. She carefully opened it and began leafing through pages. "Your name?"<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">I closed my eyes. "Stannis, son of Jedrick, of Barony Jazinsk."<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">She meticulously inked my name into the ledger, then again onto one of the forms. The tip of her quill scratched against the durable paper, uncomfortably loud in the still air. Then, she carefully blotted the ink and set the book aside, rolling the pages of the contract. She slid them into a capped leather tube, which she passed to Milos. "Take these to Stannis' mother, then return," she said to the wolf. Then, to me, she said, "Give Milos your mother's address."<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">I did so, and the wolf nodded to me, bowed to her, and then rose and padded over to the front door, stepping through it silently. I watched it as it fell closed behind him, then turned back to the slaver, who rose from her desk.<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">"Follow me," she said, motioning towards the other exit from the room, the one into the depth's of the Slaver's Guild building.<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">My head bowed, I fell in step behind her. My heart pounded in my chest, but my head was clear. I had done everything I could.<br /></p> </span>Kristina Tracerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03511740779372210878noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6095798730531915831.post-48398497412969174482008-09-23T12:27:00.000-07:002008-10-02T15:26:09.472-07:00The Testament of Bernard Ramsey<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The following is offered as testimony by one Bernard Ramsey, currently on trial for the murder of Jameson Walden and the disappearance of his son, Seth. Mr. Ramsey dictated the following to an officer of the courts on the twenty-seventh of January, nineteen-hundred-twelve.</span></i><br /><hr /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">My name is Bernard Ramsey, and I am not insane.<br /><br />I know what I saw on the twenty-fourth of January, in the Year of Our Lord nineteen-hundred-twelve. I know the cause for the disappearance of both Seth Walden and his father. I beg of you, all who hear this, heed my warning and listen well.<br /><br />I first made the acquaintence of Seth Walden in Nineteen-hundred-seven. His father was a banker of some regard in New York. His mother, I knew, had Indian blood within her. I can only assume that it was this connection to the savage that allowed for what I witnessed to occur, but I shall explain that presently. We met at university, attending the same biology lecture. At the time, I had been studying to be a physican. Walden had always been something of a misanthrope; he always appeared more interested in animals than in people, and I knew he disapproved of his father's profession. I had always assumed that he was studying at university to become a veterinarian; his apparent gift with animals made him, in my opnion, a natural choice for such a position.<br /><br />Our relationship grew slowly; Seth was never much for building human acquaintances. I believe that his interest in me was always based in my fascination with the human form. I know that he considered most of our fellow students imbeciles, and made no hesitation about decrying them as such during our lectures. Needless to say, Seth was not well liked by either the professor or his classmates, but after one of his more lucid tirades against the ignobility of mankind I saught to discover the root of his general contempt for his fellow men.<br /><br />After lecture one evening, I chanced to follow him some distance from the university. He spoke not a word to me, nor did he look at me until we were several hundred yards from the classroom. Then suddenly, he turned upon me with a frightful visage and demanded to know why I had the audacity to follow him! His totally unexpected demand drew the wind from my sails and I stammered for a moment, attempting to regain my wits. When finally I spoke, I could only come up with, "to try to understand what makes you hate the rest of our class so much, and Professor Carmichael besides."<br /><br />He threw back his head and laughed; it was not a pleasant sound. "Hate? Hate implies focus. I care not one way or another about them. I despise them; they're human, and they have the gall to believe themselves above the rest of the animals."<br /><br />By this statement, I was perplexed, and I remarked as such to him. His only answer was a bitter sigh and a shake of his head. He said two or three times that I could never understand, and asked me to take my leave of him. I agreed, not wishing to further distress Seth. My entire walk home, I pondered his statements. I could only assume that he meant he believed himself to be other than human, but that obviously made no sense to me.<br /><br />This experience I repeated on several occasions over the span of the lecture series. Though the pattern to his answers varied, they all revolved around the theme of believing himself, or perhaps even being different from the rest of the students, including myself. I never truly understood why. Finally, after our final examinations, I stopped him early on our walk home and confronted him with this.<br /><br />His response stands out in my mind, for it seemed at the time to have naught to do with my question. "Man is just one more animal upon this earth, Bernard. Yet you of European stock live as if you were somehow above the rest of creation. You don't understand what it means to be one with the world, in the way my mother's family does."<br /><br />I was exceedingly puzzled by this. "But does it not say in the Bible that mankind was created to be shepherds over the animals? We are clearly of a different order of creation, are we not?"<br /><br />Seth gave me a pained look. "Oh, please, Bernard," he said. "Are you as blind as poor Professor Carmichael? We are one with the land, and the animals. No better, no worse. Merely different. My father might agree with you, but my mother and her family has quite another explanation for our existence. One that entails a oneness with the land, not stewardship over it."<br /><br />From here, the details of our conversation are lost to me, but I remember clearly that we stood there on that corner and talked for a great length of time. I learned much of his heritage that night. His father's family had long associated with so-called "robber barons" such as Andrew Carnegie. While I had always considered him to be a philanthropist, from Seth I heard a different side of the story, of a man used to exploiting the land on which he worked, acting against nature, not in accordance with it. I learned of Seth's growing dissatisfaction with his father's lifestyle and with mankind in general. His study of biology and zoology was an attempt to find some niche within modern life with which he could feel comfortable. An attempt, I should add, that ended with his suspension from university because of professorial complaints.<br /><br />At this point, gentlemen, I wish to point out that I lost track of Seth Walden for close to five years. I knew that his mother had died of natural causes, and that he had gone to her family in disobedience of his father's wishes. I was never truly close to Seth Walden, though I dare say I knew him better than most humans ever will. Where he went in those five years, I can not say. I do not know, nor do I wish to know. I hope only that one day, I may forget what I witnessed the night of January the twenty-fourth.<br /><br />During the next five years, I did observe with some degree of curiosity the goings-on of the Walden family. While I never heard anything of Seth himself, I know that his father rose to prominence in the New England banking community. Rumours of scandals involving conflicts with what the government had labelled Indian holdings circulated, but they either stopped or were silenced. Which, I cannot say, though I have my suspicions.<br /><br />Then, a week ago, I received a telegraph from Seth Walden, requesting my presence at his home on a matter of utmost urgency. While I had begun my practice, I felt it important to answer his request. I believe that I was the closest thing he had to a friend within the wholly human community. Yes, gentlemen, that is what I said. If you would but let me finish, I hope that you too will understand the horror I witnessed.<br /><br />When I arrived at Seth Walden's address, I must admit to some degree of apprehension. I knew not where he had been in the last five years. He greeted me at the door, and I was met with an odd odor, one that I thought I should know but could not place. He smiled at me and bade me enter, which I accepted. He offered me a small snifter of brandy which I also took, and we began to talk of minor pleasantries. I felt very odd, after five years to be talking so calmly with a man that, in our youth, had been so full of passion and life.<br /><br />I asked him what was so urgent, and he brushed aside the comment at first, but then finally said that he had found a way to solve his moral dilemmas involving his family but that he would need some assistence. I looked at him askance and inquired into the nature of this assistence. He looked at the clock, then out the window. He said that he presumed enough time had passed, and set his snifter on the mantel. Then he bade me follow him down into the cellar of his house. Curious and a little loosened from the strong brandy, I followed.<br /><br />The cellar of his house was dark but lit with a few torches that provided enough illumination to see. What met my eyes horrified me, and yet I could not tear my eyes away from the scene. On the floor, spreadeagled, was the nude form of Jameson Walden, Seth's father. His hands and feet were tied and bound to stakes that had been driven into the ground. His eyes were wild, and when he saw me he began to shout, or at least to attempt to do so. He had been gagged and his mouth tied with thick rope, preventing all but the slightest of noises to escape. I turned to look for Seth, to ask what in God's name he intended to do, but of my host I saw no sign.<br /><br />The next few moments, gentlemen, are hazy. I remember running down the stairs to attend to the elder Walden, and then a hand upon my shoulder throwing me back against the wall, much stronger than any man should have right to be. I looked up and saw Seth, also now quite nude, framed in the torchlight. He smiled.. oh, God, gentlemen, his smile was that of a feral animal, not of any sane man. In a voice quite unlike his own, he said that the time had come for him to sever his ties to the world of men and return to the land whence he came.<br /><br />With that pronouncement, he turned to his father still on the ground and kicked him soundly in the ribs. I heard a soft crack and the old man's screams increased, though still quite muffled by the gag. I knew that if I did nothing, Seth would most likely kill his father. However, gentlemen, if you have ever seen a madman in the flesh, you would do little to impede his progress either. Time and again, I saw Seth's foot rise and fall into his father, shattering ribs and crushing the man's breastbone. I called on God several times to end this nightmare, but to no avail.<br /><br />After a good dozen kicks, Seth knelt down next to his father, now crying and gasping for breath. I heard Seth chanting in some unknown tongue, one of the Indian dialects, I can only presume. He picked up a knife from beside the form of his father, and then with one swift stroke plunged it into the man's chest. Jameson's cries silenced as he went into shock. Blood fountained, coating the two men in blood. Seth seemed to bathe in this crimson font as he drew the knife down through his father's chest, his chanting never ceasing.<br /><br />Seth finally set aside the now-bloody knife and reached into the man's chest. Placing his other hand onto the man's shoulder, I saw a quick jerking motion, heard a soft rip and then Seth held within his hands his father's still-beating heart. Finally stopping his chant, Seth raised the bloody tissue to his lips and began to eat, partaking of this demonic feast.<br /><br />Here, gentlemen, no doubt you will begin to question my sanity. As if all that I have said to date were not enough, it at least is backed by your physical evidence. The knife, the mutilated corpse of Jameson Walden, all found in the cellar. What follows, however, can not be explained by any medical or forensic test.<br /><br />As Seth Walden continued to feast upon his father's heart, ripped fresh from the dying man's chest, his features began to flow like melting wax. The colour of his skin changed from pink to a light grey. A thick white fur began to sprout, covering his entire body. I saw his face twist and distort in the torchlight, lengthening into an almost feline muzzle. The tips of his fingers stretched, claws growing forth from them to replace the nails that receded. The thing that was Seth Walden opened its... muzzle, I presume, and I saw a row of sharp, needle-like teeth, which it used to calmly finish devouring Jameson's heart. Throughout all of this, the beast made no sound, save soft mewling noises which I can only presume stem from the pain it must've felt in its transformation.<br /><br />When this hellspawn finished with the heart, it turned and tore several large pieces of flesh from the still-warm corpse and ate with gusto. I stared at this... this thing of unbridled savagery as it ate the human flesh of its once-father. Then, sated, it turned to me with Seth Walden's eyes, and it smiled again.. Oh God, kind sirs! That smile... to look into the face of pure ferocity and unhindered savagery. Without warning, it let out a high-pitched keening wail that shook the house to its very foundations. Then, without further sound, it ran up the stairs and vanished from my sight.<br /><br />There, gentlemen, is my testimony. I admit that I was found in the basement of Seth Walden's home, with the bound corpse of his father. But I did not kill him, nor do I know there whereabouts of his son. For my sake, gentlemen, and your own, I would suggest that you do not attempt to find him.</span><br /></span></span>Kristina Tracerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03511740779372210878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6095798730531915831.post-8470051531871212712008-09-13T09:54:00.000-07:002009-02-22T17:28:23.188-08:00Beautiful World 01: Intervention<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">Johnathan answered the buzz of his doorbell on the third ring, glaring across the threshold. His normally unkempt mane of hair had been swept back into a semi-coherent tail, but the tie around his neck was still untied, the collar of his light blue dress shirt unbuttoned. His cheeks were clear of stubble, but a dark patch under his neck suggested that I had caught him in the middle of shaving.<br /><br />"Adam, hi," he said, verbally making a show of forcing civility into his tone. His gaze was tight, unflinching. "I'm sorry; did I or did I not tell you that I had a date tonight?"<br /><br />I sighed. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">This is it,</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';"> I thought. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">Make or break time.</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';"> "That's why I'm here, actually."<br /><br />A scowl crossed Johnathan's face as he turned away from the door. "You don't like Mitsuko," he said, half-accusingly, as he stepped back into the apartment. It wasn't an invitation, but he didn't slam the door in my face either. Maybe he wanted to have this out as much as I did. "You never did."<br /><br />"It's not that I don't like her, Johnathan, it's—" My voice cut out as I stepped into the front room that served as both living and dining space in Johnathan's cramped studio. Outer space seemed to be the theme of the week. Last Saturday, the wallscreen opposite the entrance had been a bay window letting in the last rays of sunset across a distant beach was now a porthole to a starry sky, an orange sun rising over an alien planet filling the bottom-left corner of the viewport. The other holoframes dotting the walls all echoed the theme, the images flickering from vintage spacesuit cheesecake to drifting starfields to futuristic shots of silver cigar-shaped ships docked at spindly stations.<br /><br />The only static image in the room dominated the wall to the right, opposite the entrance to the tiny kitchenette. In it, an anthropomorphic raccoon in a jade-green teddy stretched luxuriously against a sea of darker forest velvet. Her tail curled over her legs and she gazed upwards towards the frame with a warm smile. Yellow and white camelia petals dotted the image, clinging to both background and subject. It looked as though someone had tossed a handful of flowers into the scene, and then captured her just in the moment before she began to laugh.<br /><br />I turned towards the short hallway that led towards the bathroom. "It's that... how can I even say this?" Frustration mounted in my voice, and I blurted out, "She's not </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">real.</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">"<br /><br />The snap of an electric razor coming to life punctuated my statement, followed by the drone of it doing its work, the only sound in the apartment. An eon of uncomfortable moments later, it snapped off again, leaving the whole room silent. Finally, into the empty air, Johnathan said levelly, "You've met her."<br /><br />"You know... you know that's not what I meant," I called down the hallway towards him. "She's not... I mean... she's...." I was at a loss for words. Nothing seemed like the right thing to say; I'd blown my entire argument in the opening statement.<br /><br />Johnathan stepped out of the bathroom, back up the hallway, fingers at his neck, buttoning his shirt. "She's a digital sentience inside one of Tadashiissei's systems." For his inflection, he might have been talking about the weather forecast. He grunted, lifting his head to fasten the top button on his collar. "Your point?"<br /><br />"I... my point is...." I fumbled for words, backing up towards the entrance as he continued his advance back towards the living room, trying to make eye-contact with him. "Johnathan, what kind of relationship do you really think you can have with her?"<br /><br />He grinned, a genuine smile just shy of laughing, eerily reminiscent of the raccoon's in the picture. "I'm about to go on a date with her, aren't I?"<br /><br />"No, that's not...." I shook my head. "I mean, what kind of life can you have?" I was trying to be nice, trying to bite my tongue, to be reasonable. There had to be words to express what I was thinking, and I fumbled for them desperately, trying to say something that would make sense to him. "You can't go every week plugging yourself into their network. You can't afford it. It was fun once in a while, but you can't keep this up forever, can you?"<br /><br />His grin widened. "I don't have to."<br /><br />As he spoke, his eyes widened, and I saw within them a glimmer that made me pull away as he brushed past me into the living room, gazing out the porthole while he tied his tie. "What do you mean?" I asked his back. "I mean...." I froze as realization dawned. "You can't be serious."<br /><br />He turned around, smoothing out his Windsor knot, his expression thick with false innocence. "Serious about what?"<br /><br />"You... you're..." I didn't want to say it; that might have made it real. "You're going in there. Permanently."<br /><br />"The industry term is 'upload,'" Johnathan replied, unnecessarily. "And yes, I am."<br />I stared, incredulous. For a moment, my eyes slid past Johnathan to the viewport, and I felt for a moment as if I would simply fall past him and out into empty space beyond. "How're you going to afford it?"<br /><br />Johnathan's expression toned down to a serene smile, and he picked up a remote off of the short table in front of his sofa. Turning towards the picture over the mantel, he thumbed a button and Mitsuko's portrait flickered out, to be replaced with a pair of raccoons in the same setting, their arms and tails entwined. Mitsuko still wore the same teddy as before, while the other, a male, bore only a pair of what looked like pajama pants made of the same near-translucent fabric. My eyes widened in recognition; it was the avatar Johnathan had worn the last time I had gone with him into Tadashiissei's servers.<br /><br />The frame beeped again, and the scene changed, this time to a shuttle landing bay, where Johnathan-the-raccoon and Mitsuko wore immaculate orange mechanic's uniforms, toolbelts at their waists and hats in their paws. Another beep, and Johnathan stood at the doorway leading to a shuttle in a silvery steward's uniform, a translucent green bubble helmet tucked under one arm, while Mitsuko stood opposite him in a classic </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">uchuufuku</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">, reading flight plans from a palmtop computer. Another beep, and Johnathan was motioning out the window of the shuttle towards some kind of space platform.<br /><br />"Tadashiissei's offered me a job in their design department," he said as a flood of similar images flickered past. "Their first space expansion is due in three years, and I'm going to be part of the lead team. I'll even have a job in-world as chief steward on the station, and Mitsuko's thinking about applying with the hospitality staff." With a final beep, the screen snapped back to the original image, of Mitsuko gazing up at the camera, dotted in chrysanthemum petals, just about to giggle.<br /><br />"You're serious," I said, turning away from Mitsuko's picture, back towards the person I thought I had known as my best friend. "You're really serious," I repeated, unable to make eye contact. My gaze slipped up to the picture of his girlfriend, to the alien world behind him, to the remote that he'd been wielding moments before. "You're really going to stick yourself inside the computer for good."<br /><br />Johnathan chuckled. "Yes, I am." He stopped, and his face became the mask of earnestness. "Adam, I know I can't explain this to you, but I'm happy. It doesn't matter to me that it's all inside a computer. It doesn't matter to me that she's made of ones and zeroes instead of flesh and bone. What matters is that I love her, and that she loves me, and that we have a chance to be together, that I have I chance to be doing what I want to do, with someone I care about. I'm happy, damnit, and I don't understand why you and the guys can't just be happy for me."<br /><br />"But... but it's not </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">real,</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">" I protested. "None of it is! It's all just a game!"<br />"What is real?" Johnathan asked as he shook his head. "We could all be brains in jars, for all you can really prove about the world. You don't know for sure that you're not a simulation already. Science can only answer so far up the chain of metaphysics before it has to throw up its hands in disgust. You can't conclusively prove that we didn't all come into existence five minutes ago, that this isn't some grand simulacrum being run by a cosmic computer preloaded with this configuration, our argument included. So what's wrong with going down a level, instead of up one? Why should Tadashiissei's worlds be considered any less real, just because we know where they came from?"<br /><br />His words gnawed at my heart. I wanted to answer him, to deny him, but I knew that even if I could prove my point, it wouldn't matter. "She doesn't love you, Johnathan," I snapped. "She can't. She's programmed to respond to stimulus, not to feel. She's an AI, not a person." I was lashing out now, but I didn't care.<br /><br />Johnathan's expression darkened. "The polite term is 'digital sentience,' Adam, and now you're just being rude. You and I, we're just programmed to respond to stimulus, too, only our programs run on organic lubricants and glands, instead of silicone wafers. What's the difference? Her code's as complex as mine, and she's as blind to her underpinnings as I am to mine. She has thoughts and emotions and hopes and dreams as much as I do. The only difference is that in her world, age is a myth, scarcity is only limited by processing power, and anything literally is possible, if you're willing to work for it. Damnit, Adam, who </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';">wouldn't</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';"> jump at a chance to live forever in a world like that?"<br /><br />I turned away, back towards the door. "I can't explain it any more than I already have," I mumbled, eager now to make my escape. "You just don't get it. I'm about to lose my best friend, and all you can do is play messiah."<br /><br />"No, Adam," he replied sadly as I retreated out the door, "it's you who doesn't get it. I'll be in paradise in six months, and you'll still be here, wondering where your world went. Good-bye, Adam. I can't spare you any more time, or I'll be late, and reservations at Junsei-en aren't easy to replace."<br /><br />I turned around to answer, but the door was closing, Johnathan already gone behind it. The last thing I saw before it snapped closed was a rocketship blasting off from the surface of the alien world in his holoscreen, heading for the station.</span>Kristina Tracerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03511740779372210878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6095798730531915831.post-43676773157532846102008-09-11T21:10:00.000-07:002008-09-11T21:21:29.616-07:00Trial<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I know that, to every appearance, I killed Michelle Andrews in cold blood. My fingerprints are on her purse, my dandruff on her dress. Forty people witnessed me whispering to her in the middle of a crowded restaurant not fifteen minutes before she dropped dead of a heart attack. She was registered as a Passive-2, vulnerable to any assault from someone above an Active-3, which I surpass easily. My dinner companions described my mood later to you as "brooding, nervous and cold". The police found me with blood dripping from both ears in the men's room of the restaurant, vomiting up my chicken cordon bleu and the better part of the lining of my small intestine. None of these statements are lies, nor are they the complete truth. Jurors, Monitors, Judge Sallenger, let this be, in my own words, my chance to defend myself.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Before I can discuss the killing of Michelle Andrews, I must first mention the person of Lyle Ashley Lyonson. I never met this individual face to face, and for this fact, I must say I am horribly glad. Lyonson was a killer of rare breeding, not only Active, of some rating I can't say I even begin to know, but a man of selective tastes. His victims were Active females, typically going through puberty, the newer to their power the better. He preferred to hunt his game before it could run away or fight back.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Lyonson was the cohort of a man named Trevor Thomas, a powerful if uninspired P-4 whose primary amusement seemed to be the vicarious enjoyment of the suffering of others, and Lyonson kept him well supplied in exchange for various services including getaway driver, sexual partner and confidant. Trevor Thomas was sentenced to twenty years in prison six and a half years ago, but I will now contend that the man actually sent to prison was Lyonson, at least briefly.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I know, everyone, that my tale sounds tangled and confused. I promise you that, by the end, all will become explained. The Monitor has not yet detected instability, nor deception, have you? Granting, of course, that were I rated high enough, I could simply change your opinions on the matter, but I digress. May I continue?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The true start to this twisted road is seven years prior, when my youngest sister Hazel died. She was twelve at the time, a late bloomer. I must apologize now to the members of the jury and the audience who are not at least P-1; this I trust will either be explained or has already been covered in some part in preparation for this trial. Hazel's death rattle was more than enough to disturb the better part of the household, driving my mother into a maze in her own mind from which I doubt she will ever emerge, and leaving burned in my mind both a distinctive aura of mocking glee and the image of a man's face.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">My sister's death was labelled a homicide, and images gleaned from my mother's mind, matched to the description I gave to the police during the investigation, pointed the finger at Lyonson. Prior to my sister, he had chosen his victims with more caution, or else Lyonson had been lucky, selecting targets in families comprised mostly of P-0s, unable to send or receive any sort of mental link. His poor luck, perhaps.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Lyle Ashley Lyonson was recorded dead six months later, shot in the head by his once partner-in-crime, Trevor Thomas, likely for the reward money. This fact I cannot dispute. His body was cremated, the ashes scattered as per his will, for whatever the last words of a dead killer are worth. Does anyone else find it strange that Lyonson, a highly-rated Active, could not prevent his own death at the hands of a mid-ranked Passive? Lyonson was presumed asleep at the time of the shooting, but his body posture was rigid, his fingers gripped tightly to the arm of the couch in which he'd been "sleeping". However ludicrous it may sound, from the coroner's report, and what little I've been able to determine myself that Lyle Lyonson was, at the time of his own recorded death, fully aware of Thomas's actions and a willing participant in them.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">For his part in Lyonson's crimes, Thomas was sent to the Masterson Institute of North Dakota to serve out his sentence. Masterson is, of course, a high-security prison with an impeccable track record, and Thomas is reportedly still there today. However, one of the people not still there is Michael Brewer, a nineteen-year-old P-3, arrested for assault and armed robbery. He was eight years into a ten-year prison sentence when Thomas would have arrived, and as both participants of violent crimes they would have been in the same wing of the Institute. Brewer's performance within the institute, questionable for most of his stay, improved remarkably as the last year of his sentence approached, and he was considered reformed by his release date, while Thomas slipped into docility, following orders but showing little initiative.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Michael Brewer was not a rich man, and his family had not taken kindly to his ranking and disowned him, a fact that likely led to his arrest in some roundabout fashion. Hoewver, he was not without friends when he left. A support group for low-ranked Passives had formed at Arcadia Univeristy not two years ago, and eighteen-year-old Michelle Andrews</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">—</span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">and now we begin to close the circle</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">—</span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">was in her freshman year at Arcadia, one grade below mine. Several people at the college found Brewer, working on the campus maintenence staff, and Andrews talking together often, and Andrews' diaries describe Brewer as "charming, kind of cute and incredibly understanding".</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Lyonson was, probably at first, an Active well surpassing not only my own unnatural abilities but those of the scale itself. However, recently transferring into a new host had taxed his reserves. For those of you who have not followed this tale, let me now spell it out in full: I contend that Lyonson survived his own death in the mind of Trevor Thomas, later projecting himself into first Brewer and then Andrews, looking for a safe mind unconnected to his former life in which he could recover his strength and again continue his hobby of ripping the budding minds of young Actives from their skulls as they first took notice of the minds around them. I knew Andrews from the social club at Arcadia University, and that night at the restaurant she had about her the same aura I remembered from seven years ago. I pushed into her mind while she was in the bathroom, and I saw Lyonson's eyes smirking back at himself in the women's room. It was at that point that I went to the restrooms, grabbed her shoulder as she exited, forced myself as deeply into her mind as I could and proceeded to scatter every neural pathway I could find before staggering into the men's room and collapsing in a stall, leaving her corpse in front of the door.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The Monitor has not stopped me, and so at the very least I must believe what I've told you, even if it isn't true. Did I kill Andrews? If you mean did I stop her life-process, then yes. If you mean was it Andrews in control of the body I killed, then no, the person whose life I ended died seven years ago.</span></span></div>Kristina Tracerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03511740779372210878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6095798730531915831.post-23303120537797781272008-09-11T20:40:00.000-07:002008-09-11T21:17:10.066-07:00Expectations<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I hate conventions.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">If you've ever gone to one, you'll understand exactly what I mean. I'm not </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">real </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">to them. I don't exist. Well, I do, and that's why I'm there. They all want to see me, touch me, assure themselves that I'm some physical thing, but that's the point at which my interest for them fades. I'm not a person in their eyes. I'm a fantasy made flesh. I'm a celebrity, of a sort, and that's what they want. They want the embodiment of their dreams.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I knew my arrival at the hotel would be noticed and propogated to the crowd milling in the dealers' room, the video room, and the rest of the fan-infested areas, so I didn't bother dropping into them. I'd have been crushed in the wave of well-wishers that wanted a lock of fur or something if I had, anyway. When I signed my name at the desk, I waved over the clerk and spelt out, in rapid ASL, if he could please do me the "courtesy" of informing someone in charge of scheduling that I had arrived and was in room 319, but that I wanted to lie down for a while? He nodded and said he would, and I slung my duffel over my shoulder and made my way up to the room, key gripped tightly between my fingers.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Three-nineteen was an executive suite, as befitting my status as the guest of honor for the umpteenth year running. My presence alone generated who-only-knew how much revenue for the convention and the hotel itself. At just under three thousand of us world-wide, we were still pressworthy, though the news media had grown bored with us after a few years of living in the limelight. They'd probably want to do a ten-year reunion in the near future. I wondered sardonically if they'd want Albert in the group photo, humping someone's leg wearing a straitjacket.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The bed was king-sized, made with a thick comforter and soft pillows, a small piece of chocolate resting on the pillow. I snickered and threw it in the trash; telling them that it was poisonous would have them scuttling about in a frenzy of apology and asskissing, but they meant it in the best of intentions. The road to hell, I thought.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I lay back on the bed, duffel tossed across the clothing rack, and closed my eyes, ticking off the seconds internally, waiting for the inevitable. It didn't take long. Four minutes, twenty-two seconds after starting the count, I heard the telltale rap of knuckles against my door. I rose and padded to the hall, tail flicking, peeking out the security port. Male, human, probably early twenties. Glasses, short-cropped spiky dark hair, a wisp of stubble on his chin and cheeks. I sniffed, but the only thing I smelled was a hint of soap and fresh sweat from the California heat, a pleasant shock to my nose. I stood upright and, tail held high, unfastened the chain on the door and pulled it open, cocking my head to one side in the universal gesture of inquiry.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">"Hey." He was wearing a black shirt with a stylized wolf's head on the shoulder and a pair of khaki bermuda shorts, with sandals over his socks, all of it apparently freshly laundered according to my nose. His voice was low, but still shaking a bit. I could hear his heartrate jump when I opened the door, and the scent of his sweat changed, taking on a metallic tinge. Nervous, I knew, and I fought back the urge to sigh openly.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Instead, I waved him into the room, trying to smile charmingly and then turning and walking back to the bed, my tail flicking back and forth behind me, reaching behind me to crook my finger at him. When I looked at the door from my perch on the bed, though, he was still standing in the doorway with a puzzled look on his face, his nervousness gone to confusion.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I cocked my head to one side and smiled, tilting my head forward to give him the big brown eyes; I knew they loved that. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Why're you still over there?</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> I signed rapidly, still in ASL, ears and tail raised.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">He raised his arms, and it actually took me a moment to realize he was signing back, in clumsy furlan, </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I want talk?</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Since he started it, I switched to furlan myself; it was a lot easier than American with three fingers. I could do it with two, if I were hoofed; it'd been designed for use among furries, after all. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Of course you do. You could talk from here just as easily, right?</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> I patted the bed for emphasis. I could already feel my insides churning and tried to force it back into its box. Four hours and already I was feeling nervous and edgy. Another and I'd be crawling the walls.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">He shrugged, a gesture that meant the same in every language, and walked over to the bed. As he sat down, I scooted over and rested my paw on his knee. He stiffened and jerked back. "Hey!" he said aloud, returning to</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">English.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I withdrew the paw and inclined my head backwards, baring my throat for a moment, the furlan shortcut apology. A show, I guessed. Some of them just want to see me, but don't want to be involved. Probably he's got a mate already and doesn't want to feel like he's cheating on zim. "What did you want to discuss?" my paws asked as he settled back onto the bed.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Want meet Todd Messner,</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> he replied in his awkward gestures; he probably only barely knew it, but it was endearing so I didn't say anything. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Want talk court case, most of all.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Just talk?</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> My paws fluttered a bit, then rested on the bed as I leaned over them, gazing into his eyes, hoping he would just hurry up and let me know what he wanted so we could get around all the foreplay.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">He looked surprised again. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">What else?</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Hard to get. I sighed internally but had gotten too good at the game to let it show. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Oh, you know... a little of this... a little of that...</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> I traced one claw around on the bed, my tail slowly swaying behind me, still studying his eyes while the fingers on my other paw spelled rapidly what I wanted to say. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">All you have to do is ask.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">At that, he looked genuinely startled. "Say what?" He had slipped back into English.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Oh, don't be so coy.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> I signed, perhaps a bit testily, my fingers jerking. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I know why you're here; it's not like it's any real secret....</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">"You sick fuck, is that all you're here for?" His words shocked me into dead rigidity, even as he rose off the bed and stormed towards the hall. "Christ, there're some sick people here and you're one of'em!" The door slid open on silent hinges and caught itself after he slammed it, whispering shut with a hiss of escaping air.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The insistent demand of my loins eventually broke through the numbed shock of my unnamed guest's departure and I ripped off my clothes, grabbing for myself. Fortunately, someone else was along presently who was more than willing to help me satisfy my needs. We danced between the sheets, then, each of us using the other for our own benefit, a beneficial exchange to all involved.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><hr /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I made the rounds of the dealer's room at 18h00 as I was scheduled in my appearance contract, and afterwards I served as a model for several local artists, the pictures from which would be sold to help pay for the con itself, the artwork to be signed by both artist and myself. The whole time, though, my mind kept hauling itself back to his outburst. His outburst. I didn't even know his name.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Why did it bother me so much? I found holding the pose difficult, even though I was supposed to be relaxed. In truth, I was tense, irritated over what should've been a passing issue. I was here because I needed it and they wanted it. It's not my fault he misunderstood that. I tried telling myself that, but I couldn't make the words ring true, even in my own head. By the end of the session, my paws were sweaty and I was fighting not to pant, even as my body was telling me it was time for another fix. The suggestion of a nude modelling session with one of the artists, and some quick research into vulpine anatomy solved that problem, but it left me with an even bigger nagging doubt.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I couldn't to sleep a wink, just tossing and turning in bed. The sheets seemed starched to cardboard and the comforter irritated my fur. Curling up on the carpet was worse. In the end I gave up and went roaming the hallways, not really sure what I hoped to find but knowing it wasn't in my hotel room. A few people asked me if I was alright, that I was up really late, but for the most part they were just so glad to see me and have my attention for fifteen seconds that a plastic smile and a few pat gestures got me past the need to interact.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I found him sitting in the all-night restaurant attached to the hotel around two in the morning. He wasn't with anyone, just sitting alone, watching the news on the television over the counter, sipping coffee and picking his way through a plate of eggs and ham. He looked up as I entered and rose but I held out a paw to him, looking at him, trying to give him the big eyes without overdoing it.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">He stood out of his chair and dug in his pocket for a moment, then sighed and dropped back into it heavily, looking back down at his plate. Ignoring the obvious turn of heads, I walked over and pulled out another chair at his table. When my tail was through the back and I was almost comfortable, he said, "First you think I want to fuck you and now you think I want to talk to you," punctuating his words with a jab at his plate. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I froze again and some part of my mind rose up in indignation at being addressed like that. I stuffed that part of my mind back down and bared my throat to him, holding my head back, my eyes looking up at the ceiling.</span></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">He shook his head and looked down at his plate. "Stop it already, you look like somebody just kicked you."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I lowered my muzzle to gaze at him, and I lifted my paws to start talking, but suddenly I had no idea what to say. I sat there, waiting for the words to come to me. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">You wanted to talk about—</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">"Hey, hey, slow down," He snapped, then sighed. "I'm sorry, your paws are shaking and my furlan's not that good."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I sighed and nodded once, another universal motion, then pulled out a palmtop and scribbled on it for a moment, passing it to him to read. WOULD THIS WORK BETTER?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">"Yeah, sorry." He nodded. "About earlier, too. I... I lost my cool back there."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I shook my head, writing fast. THE FAULT WAS MINE. Seeing the words on the screen, I had to admit their reality. I THOUGHT THAT WAS WHY YOU WERE THERE.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">"Shit," was his only reply for several seconds. "You must get hit on a lot here."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I shrugged. IT SERVES A NEED. WHY WERE YOU THERE, IF NOT FOR THAT?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">He read the screen, then looked up at me. "I wanted to talk about the court case. I was a poli-sci major in college, wanted to be a lawyer but didn't pass the pre-law exams. I'm doing grad work right now, and I thought your court case would be a great basis for a thesis. I tried to email you but all I had was your public address."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">WHY DIDN'T YOU WRITE ME?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">He shrugged, picking at his congealing eggs with his fork. A waitress came by and filled his coffee, then asked if I wanted something to eat. I looked up at her and shook my head; either she was oblivious to who I was, or she <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">didn't care. Either way, I was grateful. She wandered off and he continued. "I didn't figure you read that address; it was the one on your site, so I thought it probably just dumped to some lawyer or secretary for scrutiny, so I didn't bother. I knew you worked the con circuit." He smirked darkly. "I didn't know you </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">worked</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> the con circuit. I was... I dunno. I had this vision of a statesman, of a young revolutionary fighting for freedom. I wasn't expecting a gigolo." He spit the words, mocking us both.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I sighed, my ears drooping. MAY I EXPLAIN? I THINK I CAN SATISFY BOTH YOUR INTERESTS AT ONCE.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I passed him the pad and waited for him to read, trying not to look hopeful. I couldn't believe what I was doing, and yet his words had so badly burned me that I found myself wanting to unburden. It seemed almost religious, confessing my sins to a stranger.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">He looked up from the PDA and shrugged, passing it back to me. "Whatever."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">PLEASE. FINISH YOUR BREAKFAST; THIS WILL TAKE SOME TIME. I held out the screen so he could see it, waited for his nod, and than began writing, scrawling the loops and whorls of the palmtop's native recognition software.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">WHEN UPLIFTING BECAME A REALITY, THE SCIENTISTS WENT CRAZY, OVERGROWN KIDS WITH THE BIGGEST TOYBOX IN THE WORLD. WE WERE CREATED, AT FIRST, WITH EVERYTHING THEY COULD WANT. INTELLIGENCE, WIT, CHARM, LIBIDO. WE WERE THEIR FANTASY PLAYMATES COME TO LIFE. WE WERE WHAT THEY WOULD BE IF THEY COULD BE US. THEY WERE PROBABLY IN THE FANDOM.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">THEY STARTED OUT MAKING US DEPENDENT ON SEX. THEY WIRED OUR NERVOUS SYSTEMS TO REQUIRE SEXUAL STIMULUS ON A REGULAR BASIS, ENGINEERED PHEROMONES INTO OUR SWEAT, BUILT US SMART, AS CLEVER AS THEY COULD, GAVE US PERFECT BODIES. THEY TANK-RAISED US TO SIXTEEN IN TWO YEARS, CRAMMING US FULL OF THEIR IDEA OF WHAT WE WERE SUPPOSED TO BE. I CONTACTED A LAWYER WHEN I LEARNED WE HAD BEEN BUILT TO NEED SEX TO FUNCTION NORMALLY. THEY TRIED TO ENGINEER A RACE OF SEX SLAVES.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I paused, tapping the pen against the side of the case. WE LEFT MESSNER WHEN WE REALIZED WE HAD THE FREEDOM TO DO SO, AND WE TRIED EVERYTHING WE COULD TO CURE OURSELVES. DRUGS, MEDITATION, COUNSELLING, EVEN SURGERY. NOTHING WORKS. ALBERT, ANOTHER MEMBER OF BATCH ONE, CASTRATED HIMSELF HOPING IT WOULD GO AWAY WITHOUT THE STIMULUS. HE'S IN THE CLARK INSTITUTE NOW. I closed my eyes, remembering. Albert had been even more harder hit than I had; his eyes looked haunted when he wasn't in the throes of passion, and his days had been spent masturbating or looking for partners when he wasn't eating or sleeping. In the end, he'd taken a knife to himself and called 911. They fixed his body, but they could never fix his mind. The last time I went to visit him in the ward, there was nothing left of him, just a crazed wolfman grinding himself against the wall, the floor, anything that moved. They'd declawed him after the second time he'd tried to kill himself. They would've been more humane if they'd shot him.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I resumed writing while he ate. AFTER SIXTEEN MONTHS, TWO SURGICAL OPINIONS AND TONS OF GOVERNMENT MONEY SPENT ON FAILURE, WE SUED OUR CREATORS. IT WAS MY IDEA, SO MY NAME WAS THE ONE ON THE SUIT. IN CREATING US THE WAY THEY HAD, THEY HAD DELIBERATELY CRIPPLED US. MESSNER DIDN'T SEE IT THAT WAY, BUT THE COURTS DID. BATCH TWO WAS TOO LATE TO SAVE OR ABORT, SO THEY CAME OUT AS DAMAGED AS WE WERE, BUT THE HIGH COURT AND LATER THE U.N. PUT DOWN RESTRICTIONS ON THE DEGREE OF ALTERATION TOLERABLE BY LAW. THEY ALSO RULED THAT WE WERE FUNCTIONALLY DISABLED AND DUE COMPENSATION FROM MESSNER FOR BEING UNABLE TO WORK. THEY HARDLY NOTICED THE PAYOUT, BUT IT WAS THE THOUGHT THAT MATTERED.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I hesitated a moment, chewing on the back of the stylus, then finished the thoughts, explaining the rest. I HAVE TO HAVE SEX ABOUT FOUR TIMES A DAY OR I SUFFER. My ears grew hot as I wrote, holding the equipment with slick paws. THE FANDOM PROVIDES THAT. THEY DON'T WANT ME; THEY WANT MY BODY. I NEED THE CONTACT. I HATE IT BUT IT'S BETTER THAN NOTHING. YOU'D THINK I'D GET TIRED OF THE SEX. I DON'T, AND THAT'S THE WORST PART OF ALL.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I put the stylus away into the palmtop and passed it over, drumming my claws against the tabletop, listening to the soft rhythmic clicks while he read my impromptu essay. "Jesus," he muttered, looking up at me. "Is this for real?"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I nodded and he continued reading. "So that's why you thought... shit."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I nodded again, my ears perking a bit. At least he understood.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">"Jesus," he repeated, shaking his head. "Why not just fuck each other? If you all need it that badly...?"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I sighed and nodded. WE TRIED, I wrote slowly, trying to ignore the pain in my paw from too much writing. IT FELT LIKE INCEST TO ME, OR LIKE I WAS AN INVALID, UNABLE TO GO ANYWHERE. SOME OF US DID THAT, ACTUALLY. I TRIED, BUT I COULDN'T. I WISH I HAD. I set down the pad and passed it across to him, massaging one paw with the other.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">He winced. "Ouch. I'm sorry, man. I didn't know."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">It's alright,</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> I signed slowly, not wanting to write any more. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">You didn't know. And... I'm sorry too. I'm so used to</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">—</span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">He held out his hand. "No, I read it. I understand." He stood up, dropping his fork. "C'mere." And he held out his arms to me.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">In all the encounters I'd had, male and female alike, I'd been asked to hug people before, but it never felt like this. I had always been the object of affection, literally. I was the receptacle for someone else's fantasies. This time, his arms carried not desire, not lust, not even envy or childlike innocence, but genuine tenderness and concern. I sunk gratefully into his arms, resting my cheek on his shoulder. My cock stirred, briefly, then subsided.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">An eternity of moments later, I stepped back and smiled. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Thank you,</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> I flashed with my fingers.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">"Thank you," he returned the gesture. "You gave me my thesis topic." The corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">At that, I laughed, a short repetitive bark that did turn heads at the counter. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Is there anything else I can offer you?</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> I signed. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Oh!</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> I grabbed a napkin, dug a pen from my pocket and wrote my email address on it. "The real one," I wrote below, and passed it to him.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">He snickered; it was the same as the one he had. "Thanks again. Nah, I should sleep. Alone." He dug some bills out of his pocket and dumped them on the table, then waved. "I'll see you, Todd." He smiled and waved to the counterclerks on his way out of the restaurant.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">As I stood there, it occured to me that I still didn't know his name. I wondered if I would see him again around my schedule.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Maybe at the next convention.</span></span></div></div></div></div></div></div>Kristina Tracerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03511740779372210878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6095798730531915831.post-90711389974321112562008-09-11T18:14:00.000-07:002008-09-11T21:09:51.619-07:00Wapani<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Naka pushed back the leather flap guarding the entrance her hut in hopes of greeting the sun, but only snow and the faintly acrid scent of long-dead fires met her in return. She lowered her eyes to the ground and shook her head; she knew, even without asking the winds or the trees, that the hunts had gone badly; there was no food to be found, not with such a heavy winter sitting over the land.<br /><br />Her feet fell woodenly against the ground, leaving holes in the drifts as she crossed the clearing to the elders' cabin. Light flurries swirled around her, leaving a dusting of white in her near-black hair, giving her the grizzled look of one twice her age. More crystals clung to her furs as a wind whipped between the trees, becoming lost and wandering haphazardly between the trees and low houses that the tribe called home. Her hand fell three times against the heavy wooden doorjamb, but her fingers felt nothing, still stiff and numb from cold.<br /><br />With a rough scrape, the tanned hide slid aside from the entrance, revealing Telikai's leathered face. His eyes matched the clouds, grey and brooding, as if at any minute hail and sleet could fall from them and run in rivers down the channels of his aged face. At the sight of his Speaker, though, they lit up like pools reflecting the sun for a brief moment.<br /><br />"Hail, Naka, Speaker of the Wild," he said in his rough-hewn voice, nodding to her, breaking eye contact as a sign of respect; to gaze into another's eyes while bowing a greeting would be to show distrust. He could not afford not to listen to her words, and she knew it.<br /><br />"Hail Telikai, Speaker of Men," she replied, matching his motions gracefully. "The hunts have not gone well." Hers was a statement, not a question.<br /><br />Telikai, leader of the tribe in matters physical, blinked. Her words broke ritual, in a surprising way. He would have offered her a place at his hutfire, supplies from his stores, but she had bypassed the formal ways and gone to the meat of the matter quickly. He fumbled for a few moments, then shook his head. "No, they have not." His head quirked sideways, one eye narrowed. "How had you heard? The men have said nothing to the others yet."<br /><br />Naka smiled. "I have not been Speaker without learning to listen as well; the snows have come early, and strong. The deer have all but silenced. The wolves cry at night. Even the squirrels call out to the trees, begging for food, and the trees have entered their sleep and are dreaming of Father Sun, heeding no-one's call. I know."<br /><br />The Speaker of Men grimaced, then sighed. "You are right, of course. Three parties have gone into the forest in search of game. Two deer have been trapped, their spirits thanked, their bones returned to the earth, and a rabbit as well, but this will not feed enough, or for long."<br /><br />The Speaker of the Wild nodded in response. "How are your stores, Telikai?"<br /><br />The gnarled man turned his back and lowered his gaze. "Three days. Perhaps four. Then...."<br /><br />The pair left the thought unfinished; they knew what came next. Naka shook her head. "As I thought, then."<br /><br />Both stood then, silent for a time, each lost in thought. Telikai broke the silence first. "You have made all the requests you could?"<br /><br />Naka turned away from the older man, looking back across the clearing. When she spoke, her voice carried an odd low rumble to it. "No, there is one last request to be made."<br /><br />"One last?" Telikai sounded indignant. "How long had you intented to—"<br /><br />The Speaker of the Wild turned then, her eyes carrying a gleam that Telikai had never seen before, a hint of something feral, wide, brown and cold, like amber. "I waited until the time was right, Telikai; I know my duties, as you know yours." She faced the clearing once more, looking about the various huts and houses. "Tonight, you will feast. Tomorrow, you will know your tasks. Have Yani brought to my hut; she will understand." With that, she left, leaving Telikai to stand with his hut open to the winds, staring after her in surprise.<br /><br />Naka's preparations went quickly, far more so than she had thought they would. Though she had rehearsed the rite more times than a tree has leaves, she had never performed it, nor, after today, would she again, if all went as it should. Relighting the fire in her hut took longer than she wanted, but once started, the bundles of leaves and hair that she wound burst alight, filling her longhouse with pungent smoke. Painstakingly, she held each limb in the air over the fire as if bathing in the smoke, washing in the heat, all the while reciting the litany of her life and her role as Speaker of the Wild, translator for human ears of the voices they could not understand. Then, when she finished, she snuffed the flame with a fur pulled from her bed, which she then wrapped around herself while still warm.<br /><br />Once outside, the air seemed warm to her, though she knew it was all part of her ritual, and yet a part of her mind was enthralled. The ground was pleasantly cool, a far cry from the icy trudge it had been before. Her steps carried her quickly beyond the domain of humans, into the forests themselves. The trees, sleeping and dreaming of green and of warm and of sun, seemed eerily quiet to her ears, and her nose caught naught but ice and snow and her own scent. A distant corner of her mind worried that her ritual had been in vain, but she told herself with quiet determination that her call would take time.<br /><br />Her senses drifted then, mind losing itself easily to the eternal now as was her wont when isolated from the world of people. How long she walked, breathing and sensing and living in the world of spirits without knowledge of when or where or why, was immaterial. Time was meaningless. The trees were here, the sky was here, the earth was here. All else was distant, unimportant. Her summons was answered; the scent of bear approached.<br /><br />She was tall, her fur more white and grey than brown or black, her eyes clouded. She smelled barren; no cubs had come from her in several years, a fact she did not enjoy but could not regret; she knew her place in the web of existence, and not to be called upon to fulfill her duty was disappointing, but she had birthed cubs in the past and came knowing that her time was nigh.<br /><br />Naka knelt, bowing her head and kissing the earth before the sow, prostrating herself and venerating the lifegiver. The shebear nodded her response, and the Speaker of the Wild lifted her gaze to meet the other's. The exchange from there was brief, Naka apologizing for her presumption, pleading the life of her village, and offering the standard trade. The old one reared onto her hinds, seemingly in defiance, then dropped to the ground again and nodded; it had been a long and hard life for her as well, though a rewarding one.<br /><br />The rock came to Naka's hands even as the shebear lay against the earth, and a single blow was enough to dim the light in her eyes. A second split her skull, her still-warm brains a tasty treat for the Speaker of the Wild. Then Naka lay atop the sow, placing her arms and legs along those of the cooling body. She felt the heat from the lifegiver seeping into her bones, washing through her.<br /><br />Soon she felt too hot even as new snow began to fall and a wind picked up in the air. She tossed aside her furs, layer by layer until she stood naked over the prone form of her mother-sister. Her mind swam in heat, sweating as fur began to pierce through her skin in a grey-brown coat, fingers growing fat and stubby, claws ripping through their tips. Her face distended, body swelling as she became one with those whose voices she had represented. Almost as an afterthought, the short stubby tail popped itself into place, and Naka shook, rearing onto her own hinds and roaring out her acceptance of the gift, even as she knew Yani would be finding herself with child in a few days.<br /><br />Finding game enough to feed the village would take time, but she would have far more success than any of the others could, and tonight, at least, her village would feast on the body of the lifegiver. They would sing her praises, as they sang Naka's. Then, when every last one had had their fill, they would take her bones and, as they would with any sacred elder, they would return her to the earth.</span><br /></span>Kristina Tracerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03511740779372210878noreply@blogger.com0