Five Years and Change

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?"

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.

"So...." I said slowly, letting my voice trail into nothingness. My eyes flicked to the monitor again, tapping on my keyboard. "Mr. Malone—"

The kangaroo winced and held up a paw. "It's not really, any more. Please, just call me Ashley."

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.

I nodded once, more to myself than to him, the smile spreading slightly on my face. "Ashley, is it, then?"

He nodded again, still avoiding my gaze.

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."

His head ducked further, his fingers tensing in his lap. His tailtip hit the floor heavily, followed by both feet. "I'm... fairly young."

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?"

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—"

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.

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.

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.

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?"

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."

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."

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.

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...."

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.

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."

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."

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."

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.

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.

He shrugged. "I was decanted in Canberra, but my fam—my flat was in Hobart."

My eyes widened at the confession. "How'd you get all the way out here from Tazzie?"

The question made him tense, and he turned back towards the door. "Not by begging."

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.

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."

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."

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.

Beautiful World 05: Ascension

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.

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.

"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."

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?"

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."

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 tatami into the main living area, drawing Mitsuko inside and sliding the door closed behind her.

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."

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.

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.

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.

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."

Mitsuko's eyes widened as she tried to catch my gaze, then turned towards the ceiling quickly. "Oh, hai, I agree."

"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.

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.

"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."

"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.

"I got my simulation running," I said; it was all the explanation I needed to offer. "Care to see it?"

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

"That's―" Mitsuko's voice cut off sharply in a giggle of delight.

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.

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.

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."

Her eyes widened, her tail twitching behind her, the words catching her by surprise. "John?"

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."

Mitsuko stepped forward, her paws clacking against the metal walkway. "John?" she called out, her voice trembling. "What are you doing?"

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.

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.

I told you not to be afraid, love, 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.

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.

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.

I want you,I sent to her, flapping my wings and catching up to her, taking her paws in mine.

Mitsuko urged me closer, then wrapped her wings about us. I want you, John, 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.

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.

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. Too much! she sent, trembling from the overload of sensation. Then, a moment later, Please, John... more.

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.

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. Yes, 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.

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.

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.

"Thank you, John," she said, stepping closer to draw me into an embrace. "That was beautiful."

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?

Was there a difference?

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―"

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."

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."

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 futon, 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.

Bonds of Silver, Bonds of Gold 01: Sale

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. Not my concern, their actions said. Nothing I can do.

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.

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.

"Milos, down," called a thin but stern voice from behind the wolf. "Take the boy's cloak."

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.

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?"

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.

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.

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?"

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—"

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—"

"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.

"Oh?" The slaver dragged out the syllable. "And just... what... would you be selling?"

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.

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?"

I shrugged and pulled away from her. "It's none of your concern."

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.

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!"

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."

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.

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."

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."

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?"

I shrugged again. "I've sung in the local choir, and I know all the holes on a recorder."

"Singing and playing?" The raccoon tilted her head to the side. "And can you read?"

"Some," I admitted. "I've led my row in hymnal before."

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?"

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."

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?"

I closed my eyes. "Stannis, son of Jedrick, of Barony Jazinsk."

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."

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.

"Follow me," she said, motioning towards the other exit from the room, the one into the depth's of the Slaver's Guild building.

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.

Beautiful World 01: Intervention

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.

"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?"

I sighed. This is it, I thought. Make or break time. "That's why I'm here, actually."

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."

"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.

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.

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 real."

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."

"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.

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?"

"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?"

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?"

"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?"

His grin widened. "I don't have to."

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."

He turned around, smoothing out his Windsor knot, his expression thick with false innocence. "Serious about what?"

"You... you're..." I didn't want to say it; that might have made it real. "You're going in there. Permanently."

"The industry term is 'upload,'" Johnathan replied, unnecessarily. "And yes, I am."
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?"

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.

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 uchuufuku, 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.

"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.

"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."

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."

"But... but it's not real," I protested. "None of it is! It's all just a game!"
"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?"

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.

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 wouldn't jump at a chance to live forever in a world like that?"

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."

"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."

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.

Expectations

I hate conventions.

If you've ever gone to one, you'll understand exactly what I mean. I'm not real 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

"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.

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.

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. Why're you still over there? I signed rapidly, still in ASL, ears and tail raised.

He raised his arms, and it actually took me a moment to realize he was signing back, in clumsy furlan, I want talk?

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. Of course you do. You could talk from here just as easily, right? 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.

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

English.

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.

Want meet Todd Messner, he replied in his awkward gestures; he probably only barely knew it, but it was endearing so I didn't say anything. Want talk court case, most of all.

Just talk? 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.

He looked surprised again. What else?

Hard to get. I sighed internally but had gotten too good at the game to let it show. Oh, you know... a little of this... a little of that... 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. All you have to do is ask.

At that, he looked genuinely startled. "Say what?" He had slipped back into English.

Oh, don't be so coy. I signed, perhaps a bit testily, my fingers jerking. I know why you're here; it's not like it's any real secret....

"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.

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.

---

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.

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.

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.

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.

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. 

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.

He shook his head and looked down at his plate. "Stop it already, you look like somebody just kicked you."

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. You wanted to talk about—

"Hey, hey, slow down," He snapped, then sighed. "I'm sorry, your paws are shaking and my furlan's not that good."

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?

"Yeah, sorry." He nodded. "About earlier, too. I... I lost my cool back there."

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.

"Shit," was his only reply for several seconds. "You must get hit on a lot here."

I shrugged. IT SERVES A NEED. WHY WERE YOU THERE, IF NOT FOR THAT?

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."

WHY DIDN'T YOU WRITE ME?

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 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 worked 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.

I sighed, my ears drooping. MAY I EXPLAIN? I THINK I CAN SATISFY BOTH YOUR INTERESTS AT ONCE.

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.

He looked up from the PDA and shrugged, passing it back to me. "Whatever."

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?"

I nodded and he continued reading. "So that's why you thought... shit."

I nodded again, my ears perking a bit. At least he understood.

"Jesus," he repeated, shaking his head. "Why not just fuck each other? If you all need it that badly...?"

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.

He winced. "Ouch. I'm sorry, man. I didn't know."

It's alright, I signed slowly, not wanting to write any more. You didn't know. And... I'm sorry too. I'm so used to—

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.

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.

An eternity of moments later, I stepped back and smiled. Thank you, I flashed with my fingers.

"Thank you," he returned the gesture. "You gave me my thesis topic." The corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk.

At that, I laughed, a short repetitive bark that did turn heads at the counter. Is there anything else I can offer you? I signed. Oh! 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.

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.

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.

Maybe at the next convention.