FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

It was raining in Upper Hamstead, a heavy, British rainstorm, as regulated and mandated by the climate control centre. Thick raindrops pattered onto the ground, rolled off into the parks, flowerbeds and long rows of trees filling the many broad avenues that made the city such a beautiful place. It was however just damp in Lower Hamstead, damp and miserable and cold.What water got through from above was filthy and dripped off of the pipes, girders and columns that held up the pleasant upper world.

For Cinnamon it wasn't just damp it smelt awful. His overly sensitive nose could pick up every scent, separate them, and deliver the noxious odours straight to his brain. Scampering along the quiet muddy streets, the young surmelle felt nausea as he always did on his way home. It was still light out, the café had closed early due to lack of customers caused by yet another break down in the gas supply to Lower Hamstead. No gas meant no heat, which meant they couldn't cook anything, which in turn meant no hours and another day were he didn't pull in a full wage.

He weaved past a couple of elderly ladies - a wolfhound and a rabbit, carrying their shopping home. The commotion of his haste and his peculiar body-shaped startled them, resulting in them pointing and jabbering away in a cacophony of Polish and English that the young 'melle couldn't follow. He responded with a polite grin and scampered up the long row of rickety wooden steps that led to his level of the apartment building he called home. It was damp, and it was thirty years past the date when it should have been knocked down. But, like with all things in Lower Hamstead, it had been abandoned in favour of the new buildings up above. Built upon raised platforms above the slums. Glittering spires of light and glass, that now rose toward the clean, regulated skies. The underworld forgotten and abandoned, no longer a problem for the corporate politicians.

Unlocking his door, Cinnamon hurried inside. He was eager to get out of the drizzling ooze spattering down from above, and in his haste stumbled over the pile of envelopes littering his doormat. He picked them up, shucked his heavy over-coat, and once he'd made sure the door was locked cast off the rest of his clothes and flopped onto a tired old beanbag - the only piece of furniture in his three room apartment. Lying on his back, he stared at the ceiling, admiring the network of postcards and old posters. They boasted beautiful, clean, exotic locations; from sunny beaches to snow swept mountains. It had been five years since he moved into this tiny, forgotten apartment and he was no closer to reaching any of his dreams. All except here in his tiny home, that is. It was clean, he'd spent a lot of time and money scrubbing it clean. The bathroom gleamed, the kitchen was scrubbed and shone, and whilst the living room was bare - it was tidy. He even took extra care to hoover up all his shed fur every week, and he was well stocked with air fresheners and potpourri, a welcome relief from the otherwise nausea inducing miasma of the streets outside.

Sitting up, Cinnamon turned his attention to the letters that had arrived, slicing the first envelope open with one of his sharp claws. The first one was a message from Emmanuel, the scientist who had been responsible for the uplift program that had ultimately resulted in Cinnamon and his brother Nutmeg. They had been heralded a success. Full sapient creatures, created from a blending of rat and weasel dna. A hybrid creature that retained useful traits from all the base species. Standing at three feet tall, with light orange/brown fur, the buck teeth of a rat, fangs of a weasel, and short stubby toes and tail. They looked odd. Some regarded them as cute, others called them monstrous. Fingering the hole in his left ear were his ear tag had once been, Cinnamon couldn't help but think back to those days. The warm cozy compound, the long lessons to teach them how to speak, how to think, how the world worked. It had been fun, up until Emmanuel came to them one day. He explained how the funding was gone, how he was being put on a new project, and that they were to be set free. He offered a variety of options. Nutmeg picked one, Cinnamon picked the other, and they went their separate ways. It had been a tearful parting, but Cinnamon hadn't been able to bring himself to embrace the changes his brother's path required. So now he was here - a dishwasher, and sometime waiter, for a tiny underworld café. No hopes, no prospects, and currently no wages.

Sighing, Cinnamon turned to the other letters. They were all bills. Electricity bill, council tax bill, gas rebate - oh that meant he was owed money! He opened that one,read it over, and then tucked it into his pouch. The flap of skin was snug and warm and covered the lower half of his belly, an idea the geneticists had when designing their genome. It had nothing to do with reproduction, it was just a handy place to store food or other things. He then turned to the other envelopes, slicing them open in turn. A water bill, his credit card bill, and a demand for building maintenance fees. The last envelope was different, it was smooth and shiny. A crisp pale green laminate that shimmered as he held it in his stubby fingers. As he broke the seal it unfolded on his own, shifting into a smooth rectangle that glowed gently as the smart material came online. A fancy logo span into sight, a very stylish V linked to an A with the motto, "Improving the world, Improving you!" curving underneath it then the screen cleared and a voice started to speak.

"Hey bro, hope this gets to you ok."

It was Nutmeg's voice! Cinnamon sat up and stared at the screen, this was new, usually these messages were just full of corporate spiel offering him the same deal he had rejected five years ago.

"I hope you got the money too, I wish I could do more to help but a lot of my funds are tied up in work. I was really glad to hear from you, though if you are asking me for money things must be bad, I know you think I should have stayed with you and made something of life for ourselves.

But... well, it clearly isn't working. So please, consider what Vulcan Automata has to offer. They aren't evil or amoral, all the propaganda is nonsense. I've been here years now, and am still very much both free and me. They are still really keen to meet you and talk about hiring you. So, please, just come in and talk to them! It is really cool here, the work I am doing is awesome and the change isn't that bad! They'll help. And to be honest, I'd rather you were here with me - safe and earning decent cash, than trapped in that miserable apartment of yours with nothing. So, just press accept, and they'll send someone to collect you so they can make you an offer.

Love you, see you soon I hope,

Nutmeg!"

The screen returned to the Vulcan Automata symbol with two buttons flashing underneath. He hesitated, looking around the room, then sighed and pressed the yes key. "It wouldn't hurt to at least listen to them," he murmured to himself before curling up. He watched as a new message informed him his response had been heard, and they were sending a car for him. "Maybe they'll feed me before throwing me out when I say no."

-0-

"Therefore, as you can clearly see, my client could not be responsible for the illicit chemicals found on his person," the defence lawyer pleaded. The sharply dressed badger gesturing toward the judge's bench. "The police department's refusal to disclose the CCTV footage, of the scene where my client claims the drugs were forced upon him by someone fleeing, is clear evidence that those images would show my client is innocent and undermine this case."

He took a deep breath before continuing. "This is nothing more than an attempt by Detective Johansson's department to avoid the embarrassment of wrongful arrest. My client is being tried to cover up their corporate failings. Therefore the judiciary cannot find him guilty and I call for this case to be dropped."

The judge inclined her head as the badger sat back down, he offered an encouraging smile toward Whistler and the purple otter nodded. He was too tense and worried to try smiling. He paused to brush some of his long, shaggy green hair out of his eyes, and looked up at the judge. The way the hare's long lop ears poked out from beneath her wig made her look ridiculous, but this stupid rabbit held his fate in her hands. She studied the papers in front of her for a few minutes then nodded to the clerk as she leant forwards and lifted her gavel.

"I have considered both sides in this case, the defence's insistence on the CCTV footage we consider immaterial. We have heard from six witnesses and the police with regards to Mr Uxibarae and the events that transpired on the day he was arrested."

Whistler surged to his feet, "Because they are all in on it! The bastard who shoved those things into my hands was selling! Those construction workers aren't witnesses they are accomplices!"

"Order," the judge hammered her gavel, "Sit back down and be silent Mr Uxibarae, if you interrupt me again I will hold you in contempt," the otter subsided back into his chair, glowering at her as the badger defending him leant over to whisper in his ear. The hare gazed around the room to ensure everyone was being quiet then resumed speaking, "I find the weight of evidence in favour of the prosecution and Trein-Vin Security Services. This court finds Whistler Uxibarae guilty on all charges, possession of illegal nano-narcotics and intent to sell illegal nano-narcotics. This court therefore sentences you to thirty years labour, your rights as a free citizen are suspended at this time."

"NO!" Whistler leapt to his feet, "You can't do this to me, I'm innocent, you can't...."

He was cut off by the judge hammering the gavel, "Silence Mr Uxibarae, I hold you in contempt of this court and its proceedings. Control your client, Mr Frilel, or I shall hold you personally responsible for his conduct."

The badger dragged Whistler back onto his chair and hissed in his ear, "Stop this, we can appeal still but not if you mess this up!"

"As I was saying, this court sentences the defendant Whistler Uxibarae to thirty five years labour. His rights as a free citizen are suspended and his legal status is henceforth reclassified to felon property of the Kingdom of Albia," she stared disdainfully down at the otter and raised her gavel, "His labour sentence will be transferred to an agent of the court for implementation, he shall be taken from this place and given over to their custody," she paused and gave Mr Frilel the badger a sly smirk, "There are no grounds for appeal, case closed."

BAM!

Her gavel hit home and she rose and exited as a babble of voices filled the courtroom. Whistler sat dejected in his chair for a few moments, staring at nothing then lifted his head to look at Mr Frilel, "What happens now?"

"I will attempt to appeal, but that bastard judge has made it even harder," he grimaced and shook his head back and forth, "I am going to have to seek right of appeal from a Peer of the Realm now before I can even start to try and overturn your conviction."

"You did your best, ah... what happens to me now?"

"You'll be handed over to the custody officers for the agents of the court," he glanced at his notes, "Vulcan Automata, they'll take you to one of their processing centres and uh... augment you to be able to work off your labour sentence."

"Vulcan... oh hell no! They are that weird interstellar corporation that turns people into robots! I am not signing up for that, they can't make me, I know those people only take willing people... no way am I..."

The way Frilel was shaking his head made Whistler stop talking, a horrible sinking feeling making his chest feel heavy, "You have agreed, willingly. When the government reclassified you as Felon Property legally you have no freedom, no rights, except for those classified under the constitution. As your owners, the government can assign your sentence to an agent of the court and your agreement is automatic due to your status as a Felon."

Whistler stared in disbelief then stood up and moved to the other end of the defendant's box cursing under his breath. He looked up as someone called his name, it was another otter, with brown fur with purple hair with green tints. Leaning over the railing they waved again and shouted at him to be heard over the babble of people leaving the courtroom.

"Hey bro, so ah... tough break," he blinked tear filled eyes and reached out to grip his twin's arm awkwardly over the railing, "You, going to be ok?"

"No," Whistler growled, "That judge is giving me to Vulcan Automata, please tell me you've found dad?"

"I heard," Newidian murmured, his muzzle wrinkling into a frown, "They have a good reputation, I am sure you'll be fine. As for Dad well no, he's still off planet, Reinhold has sent a message to Uxiaer but his schedules would put him in interstellar space between Uxiaer and Krin it could be months before he returns."

"Sir, please come with us," said one of the court bailiffs by his shoulder, "It is time to go."

Whistler flicked his tail from side to side and stared at his brother, "Work with Frilel, get me out of this!"

"I'll try Whistler, be safe ok! I'll try and come visit you!"

Whistler turned to accompany the bailiffs out of the courtroom without looking back, he didn't want his last memory of his twin to be him crying. Head bowed, shoulders hunched he was thankful they didn't take him outside for the press to gawp at. He was taken down an elevator, escorted through a loading bay and into a nondescript van waiting for him. There was only him in the back and he didn't see the driver. The doors swung shut and the van started to trundle off, leaving him despondent and alone in the back with little hope of being rescued before Vulcan Automata got their hands on him.

End Part 1: