CREATURA Novel Excerpt
CREATURA Novel Excerpt
This is an excerpt form my novel CREATURA, originally printed by Hard Shell Word Factory in 2005. Toumal has graciously granted permission for me to post this here.
I'm afraid I'm contractually obligated to put up no more than the prologue and first three chapters, so this is the extent of the story as it can appear here. However, if you find the story interesting and want to read more, feel free to follow the links below to order the novel itself, available both in trade paperback and ebook editions. You can also order CREATURA from any book store or outlet, such as Borders, Barnes & Nobles, or Amazon.com.
Ebook:
http://www.fictionwise.com/ebooks/eBook31673.htm
Trade Paperback:
http://www.hardshell.com/ProductInfo.aspx?productid=0759939489
I've also included the back-cover blurb and a review of the book, since a reader purchasing the novel would typically be able to read both as well.
Blurb:
Part human. Part animal. These are the genetically-engineered races of the Creatura, the only survivors of a global pandemic, who slowly try to rebuild a world left empty and devastated by the death of the human race three hundred years before. Shana Feles, a scrappy Felinoid relic hunter, just wanted to finish the mission to the Buffalo ruins, collect her money, and maybe snuggle up to that cute medic Twilight. But then she and her friends stumble across an ancient secret dating from before the Pandemic. A secret some of her fellow Creatura will do anything--and kill anyone--to gain for themselves. In a perilous quest across a new American frontier, Shana's small band of outcasts try to stay one step ahead of a murderous conspiracy to discover the last great secret of their creators--a secret that may threaten all Shana holds dear...
Review:
(4 stars out of 5)
"CREATURA illustrates the common line of questioning that plagues humans today as it has since the beginning of our race. Where did we come from? What happens once we die? Do we have a spirit? In this case, however, humans were the creators so the question is are humans gods to their creations? This leads to a whole new set of questions such as what makes a person human? Ultimately, asking whether humans, creatura, etc have the right to create new life, to clone, or to genetically alter existing genetic groups. Some very intriguing lines of questioning and some very interesting concepts presented with a new twist on the planet of the apes notion." --Tami Brady, TCM REVIEWS
PROLOGUE
--From the recovered journals of Dr. Samuel Leonine:
A tiny, three-fingered hand reached up and clutched at my pinky. The puppy-faced newborn looked up at me from his crèche with enormous, all-too-human eyes. He crinkled his canine muzzle, as if not quite sure what to make of this giant alien creature looming above him.
The moment would was one of the most incredible in my life. To actually feel one of Mouse's creations, skin on skin, to see it living and breathing and thinking behind those enormous eyes...
Maybe, just maybe, the human race had a chance after all.
"Amazing, isn't he, Sam?" I glanced back at Min Hee, better known as Mouse, as she hovered close behind. I was always amazed at how such a diminutive woman could sport such an enormous smile. Yet she had every right to be proud; it was her brilliance with genetics that had made the project possible. She had worked non-stop ever since the crisis began, even with a pregnancy swelling her belly to unseemly proportions.
Dozens of attendants, many coughing and red-eyed with late stages of the Pandemic, scurried among the hundreds of cattle housed in the enormous aluminum enclosure, checking and re-checking the readouts of the dozen sensors in each stall. To most outside the project, this was simply one of a dozen such experimental farms set up by the government in the past year in an ultimately futile attempt to breed a vaccine to the Pandemic. Little did the few surviving residents in the area suspect that each of the "guinea pig" cattle in this particular facility was bringing to term the embryonic results of a year's frantic efforts of genetic tinkering, like the one who now gripped my finger so tightly.
"He's from the fourth group to be born here," Mouse continued. "We'll be moving him to the safehouse at the Campus as soon as we're finished with all the standard diagnostics." She sighed. "If only our artificial womb technology had kept pace with our genetic science. I would rather have resorted to less, um, unusual methods to gestate our little miracles. But they'll need a large gene pool to remain viable, and the few artificial gestation chambers we have back at MIT just couldn't handle those numbers. Even with multiple births here we're cutting it close. If only we had more time to...Oh!" Her tapering fingers clutched at her abdomen. "Sorry. Just a little kick."
I frowned at her. One thing I could not understand was why such an intelligent woman would allow herself to get pregnant now, of all times. The Pandemic attacked the young mercilessly. Her child would live a few weeks at most.
But as the end of the world became a certainty this past year since the Outbreak, insanity was almost as common as infection. Who was I to judge?
At least she wasn't a Doomer.
I shrugged. "At least I'll have good news to tell the big bosses when I go out west tomorrow. If there's any of them left, that is. But I have to ask: Why a thumb and three fingers? I thought dogs had four digits and a dewclaw..."
She gave a little laugh. "This is genetic engineering, not evolution. To many they might seem similar, but they're not. We're not required to use what's already there, like nature. We can kind of cut and paste what we want right onto the genome. I always thought that the pinky was kind of useless. The gene sequencing for losing it was actually kind of basic, at least compared to the other mind-boggling problems we've had with this project, so out it went."
She hugged herself, tilting her head affectionately at the small creature before us. "They're different enough from us so the risk of cross-infection is near zero. But I wish I had more time to make them more unique. If you ask me, they're too human."
"What's wrong with that?"
A half-dozen pops ripped away in the distance, cutting off her reply. Gunfire. The staff froze for a second, then scrambled as one toward the exits with surprising speed. "Doomers!" someone yelled as they ran for the racks of rifles near the door.
Mouse's face went ashen. "If they get to the herd grazing outside..."
I took a step toward the weapons, only to be held back by Mouse. "Please, Sam, don't. You're too valuable. Hopefully this is just another nuisance raid. We'll chase them off easily enough."
"I should do something..."
"I know the feeling. Buddha, I know. If I was not in this condition, I would be running for the guns myself." She sucked her lip as she regarded her distended abdomen. "But I must be careful now, more than just for myself."
"But why?" I blurted. "The child's practically dead, anyway, isn't it?"
She gaped for a moment at me, then shook her shoulders with a bemused chuckle. "Oh, Sam, don't you know? I thought someone would have told you, or at least you'd be able to figure it out for yourself."
"What?" I looked at her quizzically, trying to read her inscrutable expression. "You mean the child won't die? But the only way that could be is if..." My words faded to nothing as I looked around at the cows.
No. She couldn't have.
Mouse reached down and picked up the small, genetically engineered newborn, cooing and comforting him until he yawned contentedly. "Really, Sam, what did you expect? Cows and plastic-walled chambers aren't the only means of gestation available to us. We have to use every resource we have to make this work, and I'm far from the only volunteer."
She looked up at me with hard, Pandemic-red eyes, daring me to defy her. "I know to you and those officious jerks at Mausoleum they're just a means to an end, but to me, to everyone who's worked here, they're much, much more. They're our children. If I could, I'd bring them all into the world this way."
I opened and closed my mouth several times to reply, but no words came.
Far off, the gunshots continued unabated.
CHAPTER ONE
I hunkered low behind an ivy-choked corpse of brick wall, a quiet prayer to Saint Cobain on my lips. Appropriate, since I hid in the shadow of a crumbling human church. The wall fragments bled gold blurring into red as the sun descended behind the steeple.
I carefully slid the guass pistol from my hip holster, hoping the low whine of the magnetic coils priming would not give me away. Meters away, my pursuers, four Lupinoid mercenaries, snuffled loudly at the cool spring air for my scent. Their own unwashed wolf-smell, pungent with wet fur and rank sweat, burned in my nostrils.
Damn Roadkill and her stupid tests.
The gruff voice of the largest Lupinoid, Frostbite, boomed off the rotting buildings. "Hey, kitty! Come on out! We got some catnip right here for you!" The other Lupinoids snickered. I could imagine the lewd gesture Frostbite made to accompany his taunt. He had quite a talent for them.
My muscles tensed as I heard their feet scuffle on the rubble just beyond the wall. I would be their prey in seconds.
Doubling my legs under me and uncoiling them with all my strength, I vaulted straight up and over the two-meter high wall. I barely cleared it. By some miracle I landed nimbly on the uneven rubble, facing the Lupinoid pack. Startled, their triangular ears tapered back. Their kind always seemed so surprised at a Felinoid's natural agility.
My gun roared a wide arc on full automatic fire. The needle bullets exploded through them, giving each a halo of crimson sparkling in the rays of the setting sun. They crumpled, one still trying to bring his rifle to bear.
Whistling low, I shook my head at their still-twitching carcasses. I was surprised that worked. My old Militia sergeant would have screamed my tail furless for trying such a stupid and reckless stunt. These Lupinoids were idiots anyway, falling for so basic an ambush. Being Man's Best Friend once upon a time obviously didn't require much in the IQ department.
Wait. Only three of them? Weren't four after me?
I whirled to my left just in time to see the blur of a rifle stock and Frostbite's wicked, yellow-toothed grin. A freight train slammed into my chin, and the whole world exploded into a roar of static and leaden darkness.
Gray streaks of light slowly, slowly trickled back into the world. Consciousness was trying to claim me again, and I was very sluggish to respond.
"Frostbite, what the hell do you think you were doing!" a female voice barked, close-by.
Frostbite piffed, unconcerned. "Hey, you said you wanted her sim to be realistic."
"That didn't mean rifle-whipping our guide, dumb ass! You've just kissed bye-bye to a thousand credits of your pay! More if she's seriously hurt! And you're on latrine-pit duty for the rest of the mission!"
Frostbite growled. "What? Like hell . . ."
"Commander!" A new voice sounded, right over my ear. "She's waking up!"
My eyes fluttered open, revealing a universe full of fuzzy shapes pulsing in rhythm with the throbbing in my skull. It took many long seconds for my eyes to finally focus and bring the world around me back into some semblance of clarity.
We were back at base camp, with the rest of Roadkill's mercenary company. The collection of rag-tag tents was located in a decrepit, overgrown parking lot in some obscure suburb of the ancient city called Buffalo. Trees and underbrush surrounded us on all sides, but if one looked hard enough one could spot the remains of a stone foundation here, a heavily cracked sidewalk there. At the far edge of the clearing, a rusted-through chain-link fence leaned like a friendly drunk against a towering maple tree.
Five meters in front of me, framed by my boot-clad feet, were the sources of the two shouting voices. The taller Lupinoid was Frostbite, sporting a coat of pure white fur under his faded camouflage fatigues. Like all Lupinoids, he possessed an angular wolf's head, made proportionately bigger than nature intended to support an enlarged bio-engineered brain. He walked upright, like all Creatura, but stood with a slight stoop to compensate for the digitigrade stance unique to his race. A bushy tail poked out of his fatigues just below his belt. He clutched his assault rifle hard in three-fingered hands to contain his boiling rage.
He still wore the VR goggles we used in the sim, flipped up onto his sloping forehead. The goggles used computer imaging to "paint over" images from the surrounding environment, to simulate gunfire and other effects of mock-combat. They could network with other goggles in use, and went completely opaque if you were shot in the sim and didn't lie down and pretend you were dead. My own goggles lay orphaned and forgotten several meters away.
Facing Frostbite was a smaller Lupinoid, female, with scraggly brown fur and an eyepatch over her right eye. She stood toe-to-toe looking up at the male, nearly twice her size, with crossed arms and a nonchalant stance, like he was no threat. Only her deep scowl and twitching tail gave away just how pissed she was.
Roadkill spat. "If you have a problem with my disciplinary measures, Mr. Frostbite, you can take it up with our employers when we get back to New Albany. But right now, you better get to your new duties before I dock all of your pay and send you walking back to the Salamanca outpost in your skivvies!"
Frostbite responded with a hellfire glare. But after several tense seconds he turned curtly and stalked away, grumbling to himself as he flung the VR goggles from his head. They bounced high on the cracked tarmac.
Roadkill walked over and squatted down next to me. "How you doing, kitten?"
"I'm fine, Roadkill." At least, that's what I meant to say. It came out more like, "Urgmmphl."
Roadkill addressed the medic. "Well?"
The medic's name was Twilight, a Felinoid like me, with well-groomed dark gray fur and oh-so-velvety green eyes. Unlike Lupinoids, Felinoids had very human-like head hair, but he wore his closely-cropped so it blended in seamlessly with the rest of his coat. He was a young recruit six months out of his mandatory stint in the Coalition Militia, and desperate enough for college tuition money to take a job like this.
Twilight had been the subject of discussion between Roadkill and me several times during the two-day cargo-zep trip out here. He was easily the most attractive member of the company as far as we, the only two females present, were concerned. He seemed honestly unaware of just how cute he was, which, of course, made him all the more adorable. He did seem a little shy, almost secretive at times, but that could be overcome by any sufficiently insistent female.
Myself, for instance.
"She'll be fine," Twilight said, running a gauze pad over my wound. "I did a quick ultrasound with the portable. Skull and jaw infrastructure's sound, and there's no sign of a concussion. I've shot her up with tissue knitters and some happy juice, so she won't start feeling anything until tomorrow morning. She should be fully functional by then, if a little sore. There'll probably be a little bruising, though."
Roadkill nodded. "Nice work, kid. For a hacker you're making a pretty good medic."
"Wannabe hacker," he corrected. "I feel I have to remind you again that medical wasn't my MOS, it was my secondary, so I really hope for everyone's sake that this is the worst injury I have to treat."
"I hope so too, kid." She smiled her tight, black-lipped smile at me. "Sorry, kitten. That Frostbite's a bastard. Maybe I should dock him another five hundred creds. Hell, maybe I should just beat the fucking crap out of him right now and get it done and over with."
"N-naw," I stuttered. I discovered that if I took it real slow and concentrated, my mouth could form coherent syllables. "He's just pissed because I 'killed' his three critters in that sim."
Roadkill chuckled. "You did frag them good, kitten. Those egotistical butt-sniffers will be days living it down. Getting mowed down by a female, and a Felinoid besides. Serves them right." Her smile disappeared as she lowered her voice. "And if I didn't need Frostbite and his little three-critter crony squad, I'd frag them right now for what they did to you."
"Excuse me, commander," Twilight said in a hushed tone, pulling out supplies from his med-kit. "May I speak freely?"
"Of course."
He swabbed my wound some more. The gauze pad he pulled away was awash with tufts of tawny fur and small blotches of crimson. "Yes ma'am. That Frostbite's going to be trouble. His little gang doesn't talk much with the rest of us, and when they do, they're usually bad-mouthing you or the mission. They especially don't like having Ms. Feles here-"
"Rakshana," I mumbled. "Friends just call me 'Shana.'"
"Uh, yes ma'am. They don't like having, er, Shana here with us because she's an old friend of yours. They think you're playing favorites."
Roadkill scratched an old scar on her muzzles. "Damn right I'm playing favorites. Rakshana here is the most valuable critter we've got. She's the only one who's actually been to these ruins before, and if she can whip three of their asses in a training sim, then she's a hell of a lot less of a liability than they are.
"Yes, ma'am, I have no trouble with that. But Frostbite..."
"Don't worry about him, kid. He's just big, mean and stupid. Likes to hurt critters for fun. I've seen a lot like him in this business. But I guarantee you that if he pushes me too far, he'll find out there's one critter in this company who's a whole lot meaner than he is." She smiled broadly, making a show of baring her canines. An unsettling sight to those who didn't know her well, and a terrifying one for those who did.
"You rest up, kitten," Roadkill said, patting me on the shoulder. "We need you chillin' and killin' the day after tomorrow. After that, we can get back to civilization and terrorize the males in New Albany like we used to." She straightened and gave me a broad wink as she walked toward her tent.
I should have never taken this job, escorting a dozen cranky mercs into the wilds surrounding Lake Erie. But Roadkill and I went way back, and we liked to think of ourselves as closer than sisters. Roadkill's hastily-assembled company needed a relic hunter who was familiar with the area, and I had been through these ruins several times, years ago. Besides, Roadkill said she couldn't think of anyone else she'd rather have along to watch her back. And I needed the money.
So here I was, lying wounded before anyone had even fired a shot. As omens from the Martyrs went, this one was pretty clear.
But some good came out of my incident with Frostbite. Twilight paid me a whole lot of attention for the rest of the night, and that was just fine with me.
CHAPTER TWO
I perched myself on a fallen tree and pitched rocks into a stream while the rest of the camp went through its pre-dawn reveille routine. I had already been up for half an hour. Discipline among the mercs was still somewhat lax, with our target not expected to arrive in the vicinity of the ruins until the afternoon of the next day. The company was not planning to start its march for the heart of the city until mid-morning.
Gray from the east smudged the starry sky, lending a graphite luminescence to the countryside. A gloomy time of day, lending itself well to my melancholy mood. I carefully positioned myself so that I could see the sun rise between two ancient buildings on the far bank of the stream, the only two that had survived semi-intact in the downtown of this forgotten little suburb. Watching the day begin this way was a ritual of mine ever since I started regularly visiting ruins as a relic hunter.
I never told this to anybody, not even Roadkill, but I had one great, goofy dream in my life.
For a few brief seconds, as the sun silhouettes the buildings, I could almost imagine them whole again, as they were before the Great Pandemic, before the year of the Six Billion Martyrs. I could almost see the city as it once was, bustling with humans, who would smile at each other in greeting and blithely go about their early-morning business. In that moment of blinding sun and deep shadows, I swear I could almost feel them, haunting their city.
My one great dream, you see, was to talk to a human being.
For just a few minutes, to understand what it was like to be who they were. To understand who created us.
But this was the closest I would ever get.
Being in the midst of ruins like this always made me dream of my father. The night before was no different.
The dream started, as it usually does, with a far-away voice in the darkness. My father's voice. "Never forget, Rakshana," he called, "that the human race died for our sins."
I was alone in the shadowy void. I gasped in joy at the sound of his voice. I had not seen him for so long, since mother had driven him away, screaming and yelling and blaming like she always did.
The void melted away and I was a kitten again, snuggled securely in my Daddy's lap, looking up a his friendly, mahogany-furred face. It contrasted sharply with my own tiger-style fur, dusty orange with bold black stripes, the only feature I inherited from my mother. I was glad for that quirk in genetics, because I wanted to be like my Daddy in every way. He was so much smarter than a silly kitten like me. If I had a question, any question at all, he always had just the right answer. He cradled my tiny head in his gentle three-fingered hand, and I felt warm and safe in his strength.
We sat in my family's old apartment in New Albany, on the relic human couch Daddy always cherished. Mommy hated it, the way she hated everything of his. It was beaten-up and splotched with three centuries worth of stains. The soiled wooden frame was out of place with the rest of the apartment, which was furnished with modern plastics of Mommy's choosing.
But I didn't care what Mommy thought. Daddy didn't. And what Daddy thought was the only thing that mattered to me.
"The humans made us in their image," he continued in his deep, sing-song voice, "as their last, most perfect act of creation. They died so that the One Soul could be passed onto their children, the races of Homo Creatura."
"That's us, right Daddy?" I squeaked in my little kitten's voice.
He nodded, standing up. I slid from his lap to the cold floor, holding his hand. He was so tall and straight, like one of those human heroes in the ancient flatvids. "Never forget what they died for, Rakshana."
"Daddy?"
Suddenly my hand was empty, his fingers slipping away like smoke. I searched and called for him desperately, but I knew, somehow, that he was not coming back.
Ever.
The void returned, its darkness enfolding me. Empty, desolate, and unforgiving.
"What's up, kitten?"
I yelped and swore to every saint I could name, heart jackhammering in my chest.
Roadkill smirked. She sidled up and sat down beside me on the log. "What's got you so worked up?" she said.
She didn't need to know about my dream. I indicated the ruins with my chin. "I was thinking about them."
"Them who? The humans?"
I nodded.
"You think about them a lot, don't you?"
I drew my knees up to hug them. "I guess I do. Probably because I spend a lot of time around human things. I just wonder a lot about what they were like. Really like, as people. It's weird, Roadkill. Sometimes, when I'm alone in the ruins, I kind of get these feelings. Like I'm not alone. Like maybe all the humans who died are still there, walking around and watching me."
"Sounds creepy."
"Sometimes it is, like you're walking on someone's grave. But other times--" I turned my head away. "I don't know."
"What?"
"Well, other times it seems like they're there to guide me. To help me see the right path . . ."
Roadkill rolled her eyes as she pulled a cigarette from her vest pocket. "I thought you gave up that Humanist crap years ago."
"So did I. But lately, I don't know. I've been trying to work through exactly what I believe in. My father was a Humanist."
Roadkill lit her cig with a flick of her pocket torch. "And look where that got him, kitten." She puffed a few times. "Me, I never bought into that humans-were-the-agents-of-God crap. They just were who they were."
"But they were our creators. My father always said that they gave us not only our forms but our souls, the breath of life. I have a friend in the Church of the Martyrs who believes..."
Roadkill crinkled her muzzle. "Please, kitten, you're giving me a headache. Humping through the woods and shooting guns, that I know. But God and souls and stuff? Give me a break. Now, that kid Twilight, I'm sure you can talk his tail off with it since you've completely stolen him away."
"Stolen him!"
"C'mon, kitten. I saw how you charmed him with your little miss injured kitty routine so you got a bunch of 'extra medical attention' from him last night."
"All we did was talk! Right out in the open!"
"Oh, sure. For now. This wouldn't be the first time you hogged the best-looking one for yourself." She let a sly smile spread under her scarred muzzle. She offered me her smoke. "Want a puff?"
"No thanks."
"Your loss. This will be the last one for a while."
"Why's that?"
After one final drag, she stood up and crushed the cigarette under her heel. "I'll explain at assembly in fifteen minutes."
Roadkill and I stood on the bank of the stream as we watched the males strip in the cherry-colored sunrise and splash into the hip-high water. Spinner, one of the rabbit-like Lapines, arced his usually droopy ears high as his more sensitive regions contacted the chilly water. The other males weren't any happier.
"And scrub everywhere," Roadkill growled at them. "Don't give me that look, Twilight, Boomer. I won't watch. Me and Ms. Feles will be upstream doing the same duty. And if I catch any of you brainsucks peeking on us, I'll cut off your nuts and use them as bear bait. Get me?" She patted the carbon-steel knife on her hip for emphasis, the one as long as her forearm. "You got an hour to do yourselves, your bedrolls, and your uniforms. Get to it!"
Roadkill turned and tugged on my arm. "C'mon."
We hiked several hundred meters upstream, hugging the bank closely as Roadkill led the way. In our backpacks we carried our spare clothing, sleeping rolls, and rain tarps. The trees and underbrush closed in around us, and soon we were walking through tall grass along a deer path. Outcroppings of heavily-overgrown buildings could occasionally be seen through the trees. Birds chirped merrily overhead, and insects buzzed around us. The whole area was permeated with the lusty fertile scent of soil and aging grass. "Is it really necessary to do this so soon?" I asked Roadkill as soon as we were out of earshot of the males. "From what I remember of my Militia training, scent neutralization should only be done when . . ."
"The Militia's stupid," Roadkill retorted. "They're still too hide-bound to old human tactics. They don't teach what's practical in today's world." She tapped her nose. "They simply don't take the sense of smell seriously. Most Creatura got a sense of smell much, much better than the humans ever had. We know from our employers that Musteldae's got at least one Lupinoid with him, and he's a ferret, which is almost as good. They'll smell this shit-breathed company kilometers away unless we take precautions early."
We came to a broad section of the stream, where the water was slow-moving and deep. Roadkill turned toward me. "This looks as good a spot as any."
We each laid the clear plastic tarps we brought with us on the uneven ground and emptied our packs onto them. One by one, we took each piece of clothing, dunked it in the stream, scrubbed it down with astringent soap on the plastic, dunked it again, then hung it on a nearby branch. As soon as the uniforms were dry, we sprayed them with scent neutralizers. We repeated the process with our sleeping rolls. When that was all finished we stripped and did the clothes we were wearing. I was half-way through doing my last shirt when I glanced at Roadkill.
The commander was already done and waiting for me to finish. She sat naked against a broad pine, sharpening her knife--like any of her knives really needed sharpening--with a small whetting stone. I always admired my friend for her compact, muscular frame that came from a lifetime of street brawls and military service. Numerous scars and bald patches splotched the smooth line of her fur here and there. Below her small breasts four vestigial nipples were visible through her thin stomach fur. Lupinoids had been the first of the Creatura races to be bioengineered, and were the least refined as far as human-like features were concerned. They had more numerous animal-like traits than most other races, except maybe the Myotans. Digitigrade stance, multiple nipples, long muzzles, no distinctive head hair beyond their natural fur covering, they looked almost like the Hollywood version of the classic werewolf, though of course smaller and far less homicidal.
Roadkill's body was quite a contrast to my own. I was tall for a female Felinoid, nearly 160 centimeters, and a bit lankier and bustier than I'd like. Creatura genetics were a little more refined when the human scientists got around to my breed, and they were able to give my ancestors more human-like characteristics. Although our facial features were still very distinctively feline, the muzzle was flatter and the eyes and lips more expressive than Lupinoid specimens. We had human-style breast and legs, though of course fur-covered like the rest of our bodies.
Despite the hellion bitch image she liked to cultivate, Roadkill never lacked for bed partners, male or female, when she wanted them. In fact, when we were younger and in secondary school together, I got the feeling Roadkill wished I would be much more than just her friend. Neither of us ever had a problem going cross-species for partners, but I never found myself attracted to other females. So she and I settled on being best friends instead.
"Say," I said, sitting up from my scrubbing. "It just occurred to me that the males should have done their uniforms and stuff like us, before you ordered them into the water."
Roadkill continued her steady strokes with the whet stone, mischief sparkling in her eyes. "If I'd done that we couldn't have watched them strip."
I snickered as I hung my shirt and ambled over to the stream. Roadkill sprang to her feet and joined me by the bank. My fur stood on end as I tentatively dipped a toe into the crystal water. It was freezing. I hated water unless it was steaming hot and coming out of a shower head.
Roadkill snuck her arm behind me and shoved me at the stream. I gyrated around and teetered on the very edge of the stream bank, my toes clenching at the muddy bank and my arms windmilling wildly. Hardly the model of legendary Felinoid grace. Roadkill, smirking, leaned over and puffed air into my face.
I tumbled backwards and splashed into the frigid water, sputtering vehemently as I broke the surface. Laughing, Roadkill cannonballed into the stream, hitting me with a tsunami of freezing water. A splash fight of epic proportions ensued, both of us giggling like we were still school girls.
It was a side of herself Roadkill rarely exposed to anyone, even me, nowadays. She would never dream of letting the rest of her troops see her like this. To them, she had to be the Commander, the snarling, scowling hellion bitch who would make even their worst nightmares huddle in a corner and cry. But for just a few minutes, secluded away from her responsibilities, she could relax enough to laugh and play a bit with her best friend.
Our ruckus eventually died down, and we got on with the serious business of scrubbing ourselves down with astringent soap and rinsing off. We tramped back onto shore, shook ourselves semi-dry, and settled down next to a tree to wait for our clothes to dry.
"So, how's the relic hunting business been lately?" Roadkill asked. "We haven't really had a chance to really talk since we were lifted from New Albany."
"Mostly not too good," I said. "I haven't found anything more valuable than a Barbie doll in the last three months, and the market's already glutted with those. That's why I pounced on this job. I was one lame excuse away from being evicted from my apartment. Not that I'm there all that much lately, anyway."
"Travel a lot, huh? I know what that's like. I pretty much bounce from one contract to the next. It's mostly cake work--training private security, scouting, shotgunning supply runs, stuff like that. Once in a while we're hired to root out some marauders the Militia doesn't want to dirty its paws with, but most of the burr-footed yokels we go up against wouldn't know their tails from tree stumps."
"Is that how we're supposed to act tomorrow?" I adopted my best Gomer Pyle voice, from the old monotone flatvid I loved as a kid. "Gah-olly, sarge, which end of this here rifle do I shoot with?"
Roadkill snorted. "We're supposed to look like marauders, not act like them. But to tell you the truth, Shana, there's a lot about this contract that bothers me."
"Like what?"
"Like I still don't know exactly who hired us. They're paying extremely well and supplied us with all this top-grade equipment, but beyond the title of 'some concerned citizens' and a few scrambled vidphone images, I have no idea who our employers are. The mission seems simple enough--scare off a bunch of university types from the Buffalo ruins--but what's the purpose of it? And I especially don't like having most of my troops chosen for me. Except for Spinner and Black Bart, I've never worked with any of these critters before. Most of them seem pretty straight, but Frostbite and his little circle-jerk buddies--hey, what's so funny?"
"You full-time mercs. Do you always have to pick such goofy working names?"
Roadkill opened her mouth to reply when her eyes suddenly narrowed. She stared intently into the forest, crouching forward onto her feet. "Wait a second." She picked up a stray fragment of ancient concrete and whipped it into a thicket of nearby bushes.
One of the bushes yelped, and I could just barely make out a gray-furred figure as he jumped up, rubbing his backside.
Instinctively, I covered myself, as well as two hands and a meter-long cat's tail could cover a body like mine. But Roadkill stood straight up, starkers and all, and spat. "Twilight, what the hell did I tell you about peeking? You're lucky that isn't my knife buried in your ass! Now get back to camp and consider yourself docked two hundred credits!" She stabbed a finger at a nearby pine tree. "That goes for you too, Spinner!"
The tree grumbled, then went quiet. I heard footsteps crunching the leaves on the forest floor, eventually fading away.
Once we were sure the males were out of earshot, we laughed ourselves blue. We spent the walk back to camp arguing which of us Twilight had spent the most time ogling.
CHAPTER THREE
We marched single-file through the wilderness leading to the Buffalo ruins proper, strict scent discipline enforced. The pace was kept leisurely, to avoid overheating in the warm springtime afternoon. The humans who created the Creatura, as revered as they were, did make one, universally-acknowledged mistake: they gave us fur and sweat glands. The glands were inactive except where our fur was thinnest, on our faces, hands, feet, and groin, but that was enough to raise quite an odor if one wasn't careful. We all knew the humans' sense of smell wasn't that great, but still, what were they thinking?
Spinner, the tawny-furred Lapine, was on point twenty paces ahead of our column. He nudged the tall grass aside with the muzzle of his guass rifle, clearing a path. He had his long ears tied back in a mock-pony-tail. His skull sported many old human mystical symbols shaved at random into the smooth fur, and affectation he swore brought him luck.
I was right behind Roadkill, in the lead of the main body of troops. I fiddled with my inertial locator, keeping track of our position, and occasionally gave Spinner instructions via our radio headsets of upcoming obstacles I remembered from my previous visits. Frostbite brought up the rear.
The sky was dull with gray clouds, the sun playing peek-a-boo for most of the afternoon. The landscape alternated between forest-choked ruins and ruins-choked forest. Nature was slowly winning the tug-of-war for living space against the crumbling remnants of human civilization. In another thousand years, no visible trace of the old human cities would remain on the continent, except, perhaps, what we Creatura chose to preserve.
By dusk we had reached the outskirts of the Buffalo city limits. By our best estimate, Musteldae and his expedition was still at least a half-day behind us. Even though he and his group were using wheeled ATVs, the overgrown terrain would slow them down to a relative crawl. Assuming they stopped for the night like we did, we would have plenty of time to penetrate into the main city and set up the ambush for the next morning when they were expected to pass through.
Attending to, ahem, excrement duties while under scent discipline was an adventure in itself. The routine was to dig a small trench for yourself, line it with ash collected from campfires of several previous nights, squat down, do your duty, clean up, spray the hole down with scent neutralizer, cover it back up, and, finally, spray the whole mess as well as your private parts. It was not something one could do quickly or easily, especially on the march, so basically everyone had to hold it in until we camped for the night. After camp was set up, everyone not on immediate sentry duty went into the woods to tend to their business, leaving the sentries to rub their thighs together and fidget impatiently for someone to get back and relieve them. A large, central trench toilet was suggested but nixed early on by Roadkill, as it would have been too difficult to scent-neutralize such a large concentration of waste.
I sought out Twilight when I returned from my escapade in waste extraction. Neither of us was scheduled for sentry duty until later that night, so that gave us a few hours of free time. I found him talking to the two Lapines, Spinner and Hodge-Podge. Upon seeing me, however, conversation stumbled to a halt. The two Lapines each gave Twilight a broad grin before they conspicuously ambled away, Spinner elbowing Hodge-Podge and snickering.
I knew that Twilight had caught a lot of ribbing from the others that morning, especially after being nabbed by Roadkill for peeking on us females. You simply can't suppress that sort of thing in a group this small. Earlier in the day while I was talking to Roadkill on the fallen tree, Spinner, the eternal joker, snuck into my pack and stole my tampons. At the midday rest break, he promptly inserted them into ears and nostrils and wobbled a maniacal face at Twilight. Twilight blushed bright red around his eyes.
Roadkill barely looked up from her ration bar. "Good going, Spinner. Maybe now you can finally soak up some real brains."
Hodge-Podge, Spinner's best friend, made a sound like he was choking on a frog and fell back on his tail laughing. The others joined in, and it was Spinner's turn to blush. For the rest of the day, everyone called him Brainsuck the Wonder Bunny.
"Hey, Shana," Twilight said as I approached.
"Hey. What were you guys talking about?"
"Hodge's wristcomp is on the fritz, so he asked me to take a look at it. Looks like a software glitch. I'll probably have to spend half the night debugging it."
"And here I thought you were just a talented medic."
He spread his hands. "Computers were my MOS in the Militia. I guess I've always been kind of a prodigy with them. Medical was just my secondary specialty."
I sat down beside him on the fallen log next to his tarp. "So how come you went mercenary? I'd think someone of your talent could easily find a legitimate job."
He shifted uncomfortably. "You'd think so. But hackers are a credit a dozen in this job market, and the best I could do was assistant programmer at some mom-and-pop electronics shop. And my folks were getting deeper and deeper in debt trying to put my older sister through college, so I couldn't go to them for money. I found out about this contract through Spinner, who was in my Militia unit. Roadkill needed someone who was at least rated a level two in Medical, and that was me. Hell, Shana, this job'll net me more money than I'd make in six months at the electronics shop."
I wrapped my tail around the log to keep it from twitching. I wanted this conversation to go in a certain direction, and I didn't want to give away how nervous I was. "So, um, what are your plans after you get back to New Albany?"
He shrugged. "Go visit my folks, I guess. Maybe try to get into the University."
"The University of New Albany? Isn't that where Musteldae is from? The guy who we're supposed to ambush tomorrow? Aren't you afraid you'll run into him someday and he'll recognize you?"
"Not really. We're supposed to wear those filter masks, and everyone's using code names. Besides, we're just supposed to scare him off, maybe steal a few things to make it look convincing. It's not like we're going to murder anybody, right?"
I kept quiet.
"So how about you?" Twilight asked. "What are you doing when you get back to civilization?"
"Well, I'll pay off my debts, and probably invest in some new relic-hunting equipment. Maybe even get a rover. I was thinking of heading out west, setting up shop in the new San Diego Enclave for a while. There's some ruins out on the west coast that have hardly ever been touched. Prime pickings, if you got the right gear." I smoothed out an imaginary crease on my fatigues. This is it, I told myself. "You know, I could, um, use a partner. When we get back from this job, you'd still have four months until the fall semester. That is, if you wouldn't mind being alone with me for all those weeks . . ."
He blinked wide eyes at me, ears starched straight up. He was perplexed as to what to say for a number of heartbeats, and opened and closed his mouth a number of times trying to form the words. I did my best to suppress my amused smirk at his priceless expression. Obviously he wasn't used to females coming on to him so blatantly, if at all.
Finally, he took a deep, steady breath and met my eyes, but anything he was about to say was drowned out by yelling from across the camp.
"Get your fucking paws off me!" someone screamed, followed by sounds of scuffing and fighting. We scrambled to our feet and ran over to see what was happening.
The others were crowding into a circle around Roadkill and one of Frostbite's cronies, Random. We pushed our way through just in time to see Roadkill deliver a vicious spinning kick to his face. The thick underside of her boot thwacked him across the jaw, his blood-flecked spittle flying three meters into the air. He crashed backwards like a cut oak, bouncing hard on the carpet of rubble and roots.
To his credit, Random tried to shake it off. He attempted to clamber to his feet, but he was too hurt to do more than lurch drunkenly to his knees before collapsing back to the ground.
Frostbite pushed his way through the circle of gawkers. "What the hell is going on!"
Roadkill's fur bristled. "That asshole started groping me! Ran his hands over me like I was a cheap whore!" She spat in disgust. "Tell that pervert when he wakes up that he's docked half his pay and the next time he tries something that stupid, I'll break every bone in his shit-smelling carcass."
Roadkill turned and stalked away. Frostbite moved to block her path. "You stupid uppity bitch!" he yelled, looming over her. "Who the hell do you think you are? Someone should beat some respect into you!"
In a blur of motion Roadkill drew her knife and hovered the point just below Frostbite's chin. The big male's tail froze and his ears tapered back. "Try it, asshole," she snarled. "But I know you won't. You know why? Because you're a whimpering coward. All males like you are. All tough and big with a gun in your hand and your ass-sniffing friends around, but if I ever got to tear into you alone your poodle-sized balls would try to hide themselves up your ass."
Frostbite snarled and his hand spasmed into a fist, but his movement was cut short when Roadkill inched her knife into the skin under his chin. A small trickle of blood meandered down the blade. "Try it, Frostbite. Go ahead. Make my life easier. If it comes down to it, yeah, you got a few people on your side, but all the others will side with me because I'm the meal ticket here."
Frostbite's tail buried itself between his legs as he unclenched his hand. He was mean, but he wasn't stupid. "This isn't over. When we get back--"
She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, when we get back to New Albany you're going to kill me a dozen times over and rape my smoking corpse. I've heard it all before, and from better males than you." She lowered her weapon, but not before gently poking it into his groin. "But they, at least, had weapons I had to worry about."
The other mercs snickered. Roadkill turned and walked away. Frostbite glared icy murder at her back, but in the end he stalked off toward his small band of followers. For the rest of the night they stayed to themselves, occasionally looking over the rest of us with tight, black-lipped smirks.