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Chapter 13: Goofing Off

Next thing I know, I'm being gently shaken awake by a movement on the bed. In the darkness of early morning I try to find the cause as I let out a yawn. Someone flips the lights on: I let out an involuntary yip and put my hands to my eyes.

A familiar voice mutters an apology: as my vision clears I see that it must belong to Patrick. Twelve is sound asleep on the other corner of the bed. As I sit up, a dull but persistent ache from between my shoulder blades reminds me of last night's surgery. I reflexively let out a low whine in response, causing Patrick to startle slightly.

"Are you in pain?"

I reply with a nod. He responds by heading into the kitchen. I hear him opening a cabinet, then the sound of running water. Concentrating on the noise helps me focus on something other than the ache in my back. He returns with a small bowl of water, and what looks like a pair of over-the-counter pain relievers.

As soon as Patrick hands me the pills, I toss them into my mouth and he hands me the water bowl. Well, at least it's not from a pet store... I hold it in my hands and lap up the water with my tongue until it's empty. Not hard to do, just a little odd compared to how I used to handle taking pills. I hand the bowl back to Patrick - he sets it aside on one of the small tables next to the fold out couch. As I lay down on the bed, waiting for the pills to take the edge off of the pain, he takes a seat next to me. Next thing I know I'm handed the pad and pencil, a not-so-subtle sign that he wants to talk with me.

I sit back up with a wince. Frankly, I'd rather not have to use writing utensils to communicate with people. It's frustratingly slow compared to just speaking to people, especially if I'm trying to have a conversation with my friend. Right now, though, I don't have much choice; With a sigh that sounds a bit like a whine I pick up the pencil and start writing onto the pad of paper.

'I take it you want to talk? What time is it anyway? I'm kind of hungry, when's breakfast?'

My stomach growls when I write down the last question. I hand him the pad before looking toward the kitchen - I wonder if they have any of that yummy stew left.

"I just wanted to ask a few private questions while everyone else is asleep. It's not quite seven in the morning. Mark should be up and reheating last night's leftovers soon." The news gets my tail wagging. "After we eat, you, me, your friend, and Mark will move on to the next safe house. The other two'll stay here. We got word that someone down south: a group of runaways just escaped from a farm in Kansas and need a place to recover, so they're being sent up this way. As for us, we're going to a small town in North Dakota near the Canadian border. It's about a 10 hour drive." It crosses my mind that the day should be getting started back at the restaurant, minus me and twelve.

I can't help but wonder over how Christopher will react when he finds us gone, with no sign of how we escaped. I start writing as soon as he hands me the pad back.

'What did you want to ask me?'

I hold onto the pad this time, since he won't need long to read it.

"Three things, actually. First, what's your friend's name? Is she really a 'friend'? You two don't seem close. Normally Bio-Morphs tend to sleep together as a way of comforting and supporting each other. After we took out her chip, she took the opposite side of the bed rather than sleep with you."

"Second, do you want to see your mother when you get to the safe house in Canada? Or do you want to wait till you have some solid proof of who you were?" I'm not sure, but I think Patrick is starting to feel embarrassed. If he is, why does that make him look cute? "You know, other than that one incident you used earlier. No one else knows about that, and I'd kinda like to keep it that way." One of these days I am going to have to break the news to him that my mom already knows about it. I'm pretty sure his parents do, too... If they do, they apparently haven't told him yet.

"And the last thing, well, I'm kind of curious about... maybe knowing about it will help with- I mean, help with being around you and not be, um, nervous. How does it feel to be, well uhh... To have... umm..." Instead of finishing his question, Patrick gestures vaguely at me. My ears tilt a bit; I have no idea what he actually means.

I flip to an empty page on the pad and start writing. At least I can answer the first two questions:

'Her name is Twelve. At least, that's the name she was given by that place. Alpha and Red refused to tell me more about her, other than that she's a conversion and was 'broken' by our former owner. He did it after she tried to just walk out the front door when no one was looking. To be honest, I don't know if she is still in her right mind. As for my mother, while I would love to see her again, it's true I have no 'proof' to show her I'm her son. So, yes I want to wait till I have something. Do me a favor and at least let her know I'm alright - more or less. I don't understand your last question: how does it feel to have what? A different sex? A different species?'

"I should have been more clear... Um... both, I guess. It's not every day I find out someone I know got changed like this. Kinda makes me curious, not that 'I'd' want it done to me. Just that I want to know what it's like." He looks nervous as he says this... Or at least, I think he does. I need to find a way of relearning these things, this is getting frustrating.

So he wants to know about the whole package? I can't really blame him; I flip the page and start writing an answer down, without even trying to hide my ears as they warm up. Patrick comments about how I'm 'blushing' as I write.

'I can't give you a complete answer on that. While I've been female for several months by now, I don't think my experience can be called a typical one. I guess the most obvious thing is that I feel weaker physically than before, though to be honest I can't tell you if that's from being female or being a Bio-Morph that is under five feet tall. The weirdest part for me was when I started finding muscular chests, tight abs, cute butts attractive, along with, well, penises.

My breasts get in the way whenever I'm holding things or working on stuff directly in front of me. I understand why women 'need' bras now, since without one the bouncing can be pretty uncomfortable, sometimes even painful. My shoulders get sore when I'm wearing one, sometimes. I'm still confused as to why some of the others would rather not have to wear one.

My nipples are now sensitive to 'everything'. Last night when my fur started poofing up, it was because that thin bra I had on didn't protect them from the cold surface of the table. On the bright side though rubbing them feels absolutely great even though it still feels a little weird when the nipples get hard.'

Just thinking about it makes them start to tingle, so I shift under my shirt so they don't 'tent' it before continuing. If Patrick noticed, he hasn't commented about it, for which I am grateful.

'Come to think of it, speaking of 'getting hard': It was kind of weird at first to be aroused. It's like a diffuse, empty feeling, and a need for it be 'filled'. I can't really tell you much beyond that, since I never really got any, uh, 'experience'. I have tried, uh, playing with myself... It takes more work, but the feeling of release is a lot stronger. That's kinda all I can really think to say about it.' Part of me wants to ask him if he'd like to help me fill in the gaps, but I push the thought aside. As much as the idea turns me on, I know 'doing it' with him right now wouldn't be a smart move. Besides, I really don't want to ruin our relationship.

So why can't I shake off the attraction I feel towards him?

I flip the page and try to focus on answering the second question to distract myself from those particular thoughts.

'As for what being a bio-morph is like... The first thing that comes to mind is the fur. It basically feels like having your own permanent set of clothing. It keeps out the cold, to a degree, and works a bit like a wind breaker, protecting you from the elements. The best part of it is that it makes being touched feel a LOT better. Especially being petted, for some reason that's really relaxing.

The next obvious difference is in the senses. My vision's a lot sharper now, and I can see a lot better in the dark, even though at those times I lose my sense of color. For hearing, the change in quality and sensitivity is like a deaf man getting his hearing back. Same thing with smell - I guess the muzzle's good for something after all. My nose is sensitive enough that I could tell another bio-morph's mood by scent alone, if I wanted to. I can't seem to do that with humans, though. In fact, I've been having a hard time reading your mood.'

I stop for a moment and look at him, I think he is still feeling calm. He's just sitting there, waiting, so I guess I'm getting it right.

'The useful parts, though, are my ears and tail. They show my own mood, which can be annoying at times. On the other hand, on other bio-morphs I can use them to see their mood at a glance. I wish it were still as simple with humans. With the tail, there are some oddities about having one. It's an extension of my spine, so it's more sensitive than some other parts of my body. If I'm not careful it's really easy to hit it onto something while turning around. It also isn't completely under my conscious control, and it's a very odd feeling when it starts to wag or move when I don't want it to. I can control it if I focus, but it's not like moving an arm or a leg, it takes a little more effort. My ears are easier to control consciously, but they'll move on their own without me even knowing. It was weird having them at first, but I kinda got used to it. To be honest, I barely remember what it's like not to have them.

If I have to pick the most frustrating part about being like this, it's being so short. I feel like I'm a kid in an adult's world. I mean, look at me! Your shirt looks like a dress on me! And no, you're not going to see me in an ACTUAL dress.'

It takes me a decent amount of time - and more than a few pages - to write all of this out for Patrick. Upon finishing I hand it over to him to read. To help my nerves I move my tail closer to me and start to gently pet it.

You know, I probably shouldn't have written that last part, Patrick will more than likely try to get me in one, just to say he could. Glancing over at him, I think he's smirking, it kinda looks like what I remember a smirk looking like. Not hard to guess which part he's reading, so I hope it isn't something he's going to tease me over.

For a long time, the two of us sit on the bed in silence, him reading, me petting my tail as I watch him. However, any further discussion is cut short by the sound of the bedroom door opening and then shutting. I look in the direction of the hallway to see Mark walking into the living room, half-dressed in a different pair of pants than he was wearing last night, leaving a bare chest for everyone to see. Even though he's middle-aged and balding, it's obvious he takes care of himself: while he's no body-builder, his torso is toned with defined abs and pecs despite the slight paunch. This makes me feel a bit uncomfortable, but in a strangely good way. Mark for his part just waves sleepily and mutters that he needs some coffee - I've never needed the stuff myself. I don't even realize how long I've been staring at him until Patrick gives me a sudden-yet-gentle bop on the nose with a finger. My tail bottle-brushes and I go cross eyed trying to look at said finger before he removes it. I shake my head from side to side while letting out a snort, then look to him.

"Enjoying the view? Mark would love to know he can still turn at least one woman's head at his age." Patrick's tone is teasing; if my tail wasn't already bottle-brushed, it would be now. Yes, I was enjoying the view, okay? I'm not afraid to admit that I'm female and attracted to men anymore. I know just how to get back at him for that comment, so I pick up the pad and flip to an empty page.

'I know you're a fan of big breasts, so I bet you enjoyed the view you got last night. I'll bet it was real hard to resist getting handsy when we hugged. Go ahead, just this once I'll let you touch them!'

When I finish, I toss the pad of paper into his lap. When this gets his attention, I do a little trick Alpha taught me for entertaining customers when I was doing private meals: I fold my arms in front of me in just the right way to lift up my breasts and squeeze them together. Combining this with an attempt at 'puppy dog eyes' nets me the reaction I wanted out of him. A deep shade of red develops on his face, which I can still recognize as blushing; he stammers incoherently before he turns to look anywhere but my direction. I have a good laugh - well, more like make a series of short, high-pitched yips, which I'd guess is laughter for a Bio-Morph.

While catching my breath, I can't help drudging up memories of how we used to tease each other like this. Of course, I didn't have the 'assets' back then that I do now. I know he's going to get back at me at some point for this, but he's going to have a hard time coming up with something to top it. Just as Patrick starts to finally say something coherent, a small cough coming from the doorway to the kitchen interrupts him. I glance over to see Mark (still topless, which makes me smile) cradling a cup of coffee in his hands.

"When you two are done fooling around, could you please wake up Twelve? Then we can all eat breakfast. We've got a long drive ahead of us, to a not-so-Bio-Morph-friendly town near the border, so I'd rather we get started as soon as we can to get there before nightfall. For breakfast, There's leftovers from last night's dinner and corn flakes. We might have some-"

As soon as I hear that there's some of that divine stew left, I bolt into the kitchen on all fours, brushing past Mark's legs on the way. I hear Patrick laughing once I am in the kitchen proper, probably due to the look on Mark's face. I find the food that I seek sitting inside the semi-barren refrigerator, in a lidded plastic bowl on the top shelf: I have to reach, both to get it out and place it on the counter. My ears lay flat back in anger at this, developing into a small growl when I discover that, even when I'm standing on the tips of my toes, the cabinet with the dishes is well out or reach! I won't let this stop me, I want that food!

Patrick and Mark watch me move about the kitchen, both of them wearing what I assume are bemused expressions as I storm about the kitchen. I have to resort to standing on a chair to get to a bowl, and standing on tiptoes to reach the microwave - still, by the time the timer starts inching down, I don't even bother keeping my tail from wagging in anticipation. Good thing the microwave's dial-operated, I don't trust these clawed fingers on a touchscreen. Before it dings, I can feel eyes on my back, so I put on a smile and turn around. Both Patrick and Mark are watching me, along with a half-awake Twelve. The humans have a strange look on their face - amusement, maybe? In contrast, Twelve is easy to read: her ears, tail, and posture all scream 'pure confusion'. Maybe she's started to realize she's free.

Once the microwave dings, I carefully take out the warm bowl and grab a spoon.

"Someone seems to be a fan of my cooking," Mark says, apparently to nobody in particular.

"Says the chef that can only make that one dish."

I don't care if this is all he can make or not, it tastes great.

Feeling a little playful, I decide to do a little joke as I pass by them on the way to the living room, letting Twelve pass by me to get some of the leftovers for herself. As I pass Patrick, I hunch over and cover my food, then stick my tongue out at him.

"Yea, yea. Nobody's going to take your food, oh mighty vixen huntress" Patrick comments while shaking his head. I reply with an authoritative bark and a wag of my tail. I bump his leg with my tail as I pass by. He feigns a broken leg in response. Mark mumbles something about us getting a room.

With the joke played out, I sit down on the edge of the fold-out bed and dig into my bowl of reheated stew. Just like last night, I finish my meal by licking the bowl clean. Twelve hasn't even gotten halfway through hers, while Mark and Patrick have only just started eating their cereal, looking over a digital map on a tablet propped between them.

When Twelve notices me looking at her, she stops eating and tries to hand over her half-finished bowl of stew to me. What? No I don't want it! Why are you offering it to me? I gently push it back to Twelve. She seems to get the point, and resumes eating. Did she not realize I was joking earlier? As I watch Twelve eat, it occurs to me that if I 'did' want her food, she'd give it to me with no hesitation. It frightens me, to think that I could've ended up like her if I'd been stuck at that place as long as she had been. I have to wonder if she'll ever be normal again.

Come to think of it, will I ever be normal again? Is there enough of the old Jack left in me that I can go back and reconnect with my birth mother? That I don't know. I do know that I want to continue to be friends with Patrick... Or, maybe something more than friends. That's a thought I've been having several times since Patrick rescued me. Maybe I can make a fresh start once I get across the border, if I can't find a way to connect myself to my birth mother.

Wait, Mark said we are going to a Bio-Morph hostile town after this, didn't he? Why? Putting the bowl aside, I pick up the pad and pencil and write this down to show Patrick. When I finish writing, I also grab my empty bowl. On the way to put my dirty dish in the sink, I stop by Patrick and show him the question on the pad.

"To make a long story short, the attitude of the town convinced the folks in charge of border patrol they don't need to expend the resources patrolling the area for runaway Bio-Morphs. The areas to the east and west are crawling with them. As a result it ends up being a good place to cross the border, we just have to avoid any contact with the town's citizenry. Well, excluding the owner of the safe house we'll be stopping at." He hands the pad back; I slowly return to the living room to think it over. It makes sense, kind of. Go where the authorities aren't looking for escapees, which gives them a good chance of success. What worries me is the town itself; it must be pretty bad there, if border patrol is willing to leave an opening there.

I've seen the pictures of Bio-Morphs hanging from trees, the videos of them being shot like animals... Almost everyone has, because when I was growing up they were everywhere. When Bio-Morphs became widespread, a bunch of religious nut-jobs decided they'd had enough of 'soulless beasts' stealing from God's children. Mobs of them burned down Bio-Morph-staffed businesses, before slaughtering them on camera and hoisting them up on poles. Then they would block the fire department and the police while holding them aloft with signs claiming they were sins against nature and man shouldn't play God. The images were all over the news, since this was the reddest of meat for the media. Partially censored images were plastered in newspapers for weeks, and websites had the full, uncensored videos - at least until the T.A.N.K. act. All of this sours my mood, to the point where my tail and ears droop while I head back to the fold-out bed.

Mark notices my mood from the dining room table, and comments: "We'll be fine, Jack. We've used this route many times already, and we've never had more trouble from the townsfolk than a few stares." His comment doesn't reassure me, as I know experience won't always determine what the future holds. Still, I force my tail and ears back up. I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth; Patrick's 'friends' arranged this entire endeavor as a favor to him for helping them. They could just as easily have turned us loose last night after pointing vaguely in the general direction of Canada, and let us fend for ourselves as far as getting there. It's a few hundred miles from here to the Canadian border, and there are several towns in between. All of those will be filled with people sympathetic to Bio-Morphs and others who'd be outright hostile...

I sit down on the corner of the foldout bed, and consider turning on the video screen to see what's on. Since I don't know how long we have before leaving, I decide against it, and instead just watch Twelve finish eating. A few minutes later Patrick finishes his breakfast and takes his bowl back to the kitchen, along with Mark's and Twelve's. Mark stands and walks over to us.

"We'll be leaving for the safe house soon. You should get ready in the bathroom while Patrick loads the car up. Once we get started, we'll only be stopping for gas, lunch, and bathroom breaks. Keep that in mind while you're getting ready." As if on cue, Patrick walks by, heading for the main bedroom.

"When both of you are ready, we'll have some clothes for both of you that'll give you a better chance at making it across the border. Hopefully neither of you are attached to what we rescued you in, we'll be burning those later today. Don't want them to be found and tip anyone off to where you two went."

I stand and head for the bathroom first. Upon closing the door the first thing that catches my eye is the mirror and the image of the Bio-Morph in it. I haven't seen myself like this since before the conversion. A Silver-gray fox Bio-morph stares back at me, looking like she's wearing her father's MUCH bigger t-shirt as a nightie. I stand there, ears up, tail still, taking in the image of myself and trying to find anything that would remind me of how I used to look. I don't see anything; even the look in my eyes is different. I'm distracted by the way my breasts make the shirt tent up, as it's not made to accommodate a bust my size. No wonder Patrick was nervous: I'd have been, too, as it leaves nothing to the imagination.

I tilt my head in different directions to get a better look at the sides, top, and the back of my head in the mirror. Seems like I have some lighter shades of fur on the top of my head: it can't be called 'hair' because it's barely longer than my fur, but still too long to be fur. This includes patches of white on the tips of my ears. My curiosity gets the better me: I take the oversized shirt off and drape it over the sink. Once it's off, I turn around and look over my shoulder to see what my back looks like, only to wince as the surgical wound protests. Still, I manage to get enough of a glimpse to see that my back fur is a darker shade of platinum than my belly: it forms a smooth gradient as it wraps around my midriff to the pale fur on my abdomen. The lighter fur extends upward as far as my collar bone, and down to around my crotch and inner thighs before ending at my knees, as well as for a short bit on the underside of my tail near the base. Interestingly the lighter fur inlays the semi heart shape of my rear. I also get a better look at the black fur covering my feet, extending up the back of my legs to the inside of my knees.

Standing back up and putting my underwear back on, I turn so my side faces the mirror and wag my tail a couple of times. I try to strike a bit of a pose with my backside pushed out and my chest thrust forward. Standing like this, I don't look half bad... I bet if I did this in front of Patrick and Mark, they'd like it. Of course the real reason I had for coming in here makes itself known, so I use the facilities to take care of it. While I'm cleaning my hands, there's a knock on the door, so I rush to dry them before opening it. On the other side I find Twelve standing there with the look of seriously needing to use the toilet. A little embarrassed I stand aside to let her in before I exit the room, closing the door behind me. I really shouldn't have spent so much time tying up the bathroom with my vanity.

Looking back and forth down either way in the hallway, I notice Patrick carrying some hiking backpacks. I follow him to the garage, partly out of curiosity, and partly because he might need help. As soon as he puts one down to put the other into the car, I pick it up. When he turns around and sees me, he stops moving and what I think is the look of surprise covers his face. It's quickly replaced with a smile as he reaches out for the backpack I am holding. So I hand it to him and watch as he puts it next to the other one in the trunk of the car.

"Thanks, Jack. That's all the stuff you two are going to need after you leave the safe house near the border. You'll have to go through the wildlife park northeast of the small town before reaching a safe place to cross the boarder. It's a pretty big stretch of wilderness, so the backpacks have food, a few canteens of clean water, water purifies, a tent, and a thermal sleeping bag. Nothing for a camp fire, though, that would attract attention. One of them has a map and compass, don't loose them."

This shouldn't have surprised me, since it's not like we could casually walk across the boarder in some small town sitting on top of it. If it was that easy, Mark and Patrick would just drive us into Canada directly. I've never even been camping before, let alone hiking, and the idea of a trek across a wildlife preserve makes me nervous. What if we get lost, or separated? What if we run into people hostile towards Bio-morphs? How am I going to defend myself, let alone Twelve? I let out a whine and allow my ears and tail to droop; this draws Patrick's attention, causing him to sigh and pull me into a hug.

"For a while there I'd assumed you were exaggerating how much you'd changed. It seems you were right if a simple hike scares you like this. It'll be fine, Jack. The morning after we drop you off at the safe house, all you two have to do is just hike northeast, then straight north once you enter the reserve, until you exit the park on the other side of the Canadian border. From there it's a simple walk across some farmland to reach a two lane road. Someone will drive by to pick you up, either Mark and me, or my parents. In all, it'll take you three or four days at the most."

At least you know I was telling the truth... Despite your assurances I'd bet money that something will go wrong. It always has up until now, so why should it change? I know you realize that it's our hides being risked, while the both of you drive off to safety... Well, unless they get caught by the police. Then I don't know what would happen to them.

His body warmth against mine soothes my frustration and nervousness, but before I can start to really enjoy this contact he breaks it. Standing there I glance at the car and then back at him only for him to shake his head.

"We're not leaving yet, just one more thing to do. We can't drive you around while you're wearing only dirty underwear and a borrowed t-shirt... Or the robes the people that owned you made you wear." That last sentence has enough venom to tell me exactly what he thinks of Christopher. "We brought some fresh undergarments from Canada, made to fit Bio-Morphs, though not being psychic we had to guess your sizes, so they may be loose or tight. Just bare with it for a few days, then we can take you to get better-fitting ones. We also had clothes made up to look like the official uniforms for Bio-Morphs employed by the state department to make sure no one bothers the both of you on the way through the parks. They won't pass a strict inspection, but should be enough to stop anyone with half a brain from messing with you."

He pats me on the head, causing my ears to stand back up and my tail to wag a little. I grab his hand and follow along as he leads me back to the living room. The sight that greets us is Mark trying to convince Twelve, rather unsuccessfully, to take off her clothes so she can put on the new ones. He stops when he sees us enter the room; Twelve uses the opening to put the bed between Mark and herself, her ears flattened back and her tail lashing about.

"Oh hey, the lovebirds are back from their tryst in the garage." Mark's tone is teasing. Patrick blushes in response, while my fur poofs up.

I get a good look at the clothing on the fold out bed: it's exactly as Patrick described. A couple pairs of panties, two bras, and two sets of knock-off national park uniforms. I can't let that little joke slide, so I take off the t-shirt, ball it up and hurl it at Mark's face before saying 'Bad' at him. He just lets it hit his face and lets out a chuckle. When he looks back to Twelve, before he can say anything to her, the robe she'd been forced to wear hits him in the face, hard enough to send him staggering backwards. Patrick bursts out laughing - hell, I find it funny enough to laugh a little (well, more like yip and gecker, which I guess is the Bio-morph equivalent).

"Boy, did that backfire, eh Mark?" Though my ears pivot towards Patrick and Mark, I walk closer to the bed and pick up some of the undergarments to look them over. Till now I was only given the simplest and cheapest underwear to use, a sports bra - just a circle of flat, elastic fabric attached to some shoulder straps over my shoulders - and unisex underwear with a notch in the back for a tail. What I have in my hands now are undoubtedly a pair of panties and a strap bra, both in plastic packages. I don't know why, I just stare at them: maybe what's left of my old self doesn't want to admit to needing to wear them. With a sigh, I realize I can at least wear these and still keep my pride, without being too 'girly'. Besides, they're clean, while the stuff I'm wearing is already starting to smell.

I give Patrick and Mark a look that ought to say 'Say or do anything and I will bite you, hard', then wait for them to nod. Once I'm sure they understand, I pull the sports bra off, barely noticing the way my breasts bounce, then smooth out the fur on them and my upper chest. Next, I slip out of the underwear, balling it up with the bra and tossing the resulting wad to a corner of the room to be rid of them. I open up the panties' packaging with a claw; they are simple and white, with elastic bands along the edges of the waist and legs, and a tail hole with Velcro to open and close it. I put them on with a shrug, though it takes me a few attempts to get my tail to stay in place long enough to close the strap. Otherwise, I don't know what I was going to expect, they feel like normal underwear. The bra is next, and to be frank I haven't a clue on how to put it on correctly. At first, I try to pull it over my chest, then reach where the clasps lay on my back. Not only are they out of reach, the attempt makes the surgical wound throb. Then it dawns on me: turn the bra around and fasten the clasps when they are in the front, turn it around again, then stick my arms through the holes. Once it's generally in place, I try to adjust it into a more comfortable position... It's definitely too small, as it's tight around the chest and the straps dig into my shoulders.

After I've gotten the underwear on, I glance over at Patrick. His face is beet red, so he was probably watching the whole thing. Why don't I have a problem with that? On the other hand, Mark seems to have politely stared at a wall. I bark to signal to Mark that it's okay to look, then pick up the ranger uniform. It's a simple two-piece arrangement, both are forest green in color, cut for a typical female of about my height, complete with a hole for my tail. What surprises me are the set of official-looking badges on the shoulders and the number sewn onto the back. Putting it on is easy enough, up until I have to button it: despite being female-cut, it was apparently made for someone with a bust an inch or two smaller than mine, meaning that it takes a little effort to button it up to my neck. Thankfully, they used metal studs woven directly into the fabric, so the shirt shouldn't pop open when I move about.

While I tuck my shirt into the slacks, I watch Twelve dressing herself in a practiced fashion, without any aid from Mark. It makes sense, since unlike me she was a female before the conversion. What's strange is that she fought against being dressed in these clothes until after I'd done so. Before I can ask her about this, Patrick hands me the pad and pencil, and Mark ushers both of us back to the garage. Mark hits the garage door opener once we're inside, then gets into the driver's seat of the sedan. Patrick opens the rear passenger-side door for us. He tries to get Twelve in first, but she won't budge until I look at her and repeat the motion Patrick made. She then settles into a half-sitting, half-standing position behind Mark. I follow suit and sit the same way on the other side. Patrick and Mark, lacking tails, get to lean into their seats. Lucky bastards. Once I'm in, Patrick closes the door behind me and takes shotgun.

As Mark starts the car and pulls onto the driveway, Patrick cranes back and comments to us: "Both of you should just lay down on the seats. It is going to be at least a nine hour drive, at least, since we'll have to keep to the speed limit. Standing up like that's going to wear you out well before our only rest stop." He must not realize this position isn't as uncomfortable as it looks.

Still, he's right. It's going to be a long drive, so I curl up on the seat cushion. The dip in the seat acts like a bowl and keeps me more or less in one place. I'm under no illusions of how unsafe this is in actuality: if the car makes a sudden stop, without a seat-belt on I'll go flying forward. I reach up and grab the belt; laying on the seat like this makes the shoulder belt useless, but the waist belt seems to keep me mostly secure to the seat on its own. After putting mine on I reach over and help Twelve with hers, as she seems to be having trouble. Only when I am done do I call out 'good' to Mark, who closes the garage door via remote and slowly drives onto the suburban street. As we pick up speed I move to sit up on my haunches and look out the window, since I'd like to see where we are and where we are going. Almost immediately, Patrick reaches back, gently takes hold of my head, and moves me back down below the window.

"We'll have to drive through downtown to get to the highway, you should stay out of sight until we're clear of the city. You've got a pretty uncommon coloration for a vulpine Bio-Morph, so it's a lot more likely that you'll get pegged as one of the two on the runaway alert they'll have put out by now." He pulls out a phone with his other hand and taps a few places before showing it to me "In fact, it looks like they posted an alert for you a couple of hours ago... Huh, you must be valuable to them, they're offering five thousand for your safe return. Only a thousand for Twelve, bastards. Don't worry though it'll be only a few minutes before you can enjoy yourself like Twelve is." Sighing, I curl back up. Patrick lets go before putting his phone away. I should have realized, yet for some reason I just couldn't help myself. It's a little annoying that I have to stay low, while Twelve gets to keep looking out the window. Her ears are erect and forward, kinda like some of the dogs I used to see in passing cars.

By the sound of the engine I'd guess we're moving onto major thoroughfares rather than side streets, shouldn't be long till we hit the highway. Mark soon confirms this observation when he starts swearing about rush hour drivers following the sound of tires squealing nearby. Patrick doesn't add anything to Mark's comment; instead, after a few minutes I hear a softly spoken word in the tongue from Twelve.

'Free?' I hear Patrick shift in his seat to look back at us as the engine revs. For once, Twelve is looking at Patrick as if she actually sees him.

"Yes, you're free now, so is Jack. Speaking of which, it's safe for you to look out the window now Jack." I watch as Twelve actually smiles at Patrick.

'I am free!' Twelve says a little louder before turning to look out the window again. Her tail is wagging hard, filling the car with a thumping sound as it hits the seat. This is the first time I've heard her speak with this much passion since meeting her. The situation must have finally dawned on her... Now, if only I had a larger vocabulary in the Tongue... I have so much I want to ask her. Instead, I settle for looking out the window while Mark moves us into the highway's fast lane.

Why are we driving such an older model car? It seems to be attracting attention from some of the people in the other cars, unless they are looking at me and Twelve. I doubt it's us, though, as Bio-Morphs aren't that unusual.

Come to think of it, not counting last night, this is only the second time in my entire life I've ridden in a car. The last time was back when I was a little kid: I was riding with my mother in a cab on the way to the jobless center after she and my father separated. We could only bring what we could fit in two suitcases... Funny, how that car was taking me to a prison, and this one's taking me to freedom.

A loud beep from the dashboard's center console drags me back to the present: I stare at it as text scrolls by on the screen. Mark is listed as the car's owner; it's make and model put it at nearly a century old, made in the 1970's and is listed as a 'classic' on its registration. It also mentions that Mark has been charged a usage fee due to taking an internal combustion engine onto the highway. Heard they were doing that now to phase out gas-powered cars like this one, but never seen it in practice. I turn my attention back to looking out the passenger window. The view of the cars jockeying for position on the highway fails to hold my interest for long. Eventually I lie back down and stare forward at the dashboard, watching Patrick surfing through the radio stations for something to listen to, then checking inside the glove box. While it's open, I see a pistol laying inside. I quickly scratch out a question on the pad of paper he gave me earlier, tap Patrick on the shoulder, and pass it to him.

'Is that a real pistol in the glove box?'

Partrick nods, but says nothing further before going back to hunting for something to listen to. To be honest, I didn't 'need' to ask Patrick that. I know that what they've been doing makes them criminals, but it's not just the drug trafficking. It's also stealing property, specifically Bio-Morphs - not to mention rendering them undetectable by removing the bracelets and R.F.I.D. chips. Besides the cops, we could also run into rival traffickers, and they wouldn't be as forgiving as the police.

Letting out a sigh, I continue watching Patrick mess with the radio, only now realizing just how long this ride is going to be. The sound of Twelve yawning catches my attention; when I turn to look at her I get a very good view of her mouth. I get a sudden flash of the first physical examination after my conversion. That's it! I grab the pad of paper and write out my memory of the event to Patrick. "Wait, what about your lower set of molars?" He turns in his seat, just enough to look back at me, ignoring the radio for the moment. With a huff I flip the page and write more. 'When I woke up, they said someting about how they didn't change, or didn't fall out, or something. They didn't bother pullin them out because they're also a recessive trait in natural Bio-Morphs.' Something like a smile forms on Patrick's face as he reads this. "Those teeth might still have enough of your original DNA intact to get a match with your mother - that'd prove you're her son. Of course we'd have to pull a couple once you get to Canada." I nod in understanding; a bit of pain like that'd be easy to bare if it'd mean I could prove that I'm telling the truth about who I am. I lay back down with a sigh. My excitement doesn't last long, especially in the face of the hours of boredom stuck in the car stretch ahead of me.