EXODUS

— by Jeff Karamales

Chapter 16
Airlift
 

“Wyatt, tell your people to stay completely calm when the planes land,” Farbes warned as the savannah cat checked on the female that was in the bed on the other side of the man. She looked similar to Wyatt and had a bandage over her right breast from a gunshot wound. Her breathing wasn’t the best and the man wondered if the almost dainty looking female was going to make it. “The guys that are going to be running security for the transports are hardcore. Swedish Special Forces, SAS. They don’t screw around and won’t have any problems filling any of us full of holes if they think we’re a threat.”

“That’s kind of a scary thing to hear coming from you,” the cat man told Farbes. Wyatt stroked the fur along Julie’s face and head before turning to the injured human. “You had a bullet rip through you so bad that I could park a car in the hole you’ve got in your stomach and you’re telling me these guys are hardcore?” He tried for an amused expression but it faltered and the uncertainty he felt filled his yellow and brown flecked eyes. “Todd? Am I making the right choice?”

“There aren’t a lot of options available here, Wyatt,” Farbes pointed out. “Go and hopefully live, or stay here and wait for the US Marines to hit the beach. You’ve got Bingham, but that bargaining chip only lasts as long as you’re holding him. Once he’s out of your control you all become a bunch of targets. Regardless of what other factors are involved, a US Senator was involved in this, it happened in America, and that’s a situation that could be really embarrassing for the rest of the jokers in Washington. They can’t afford something like this to leak out. My opinion is they’d bomb this island into rubble and bury all of us to keep it secret. At least the Swedes are willing to help.”

The savannah cat nodded, a grimace twisting his feline mouth into an expression of reluctance. “I guess. I just can’t shake the feeling that none of this is going to end well.” He hesitated, wanting more advice, but shouting from further down the corridor pulled his attention away from the man on the medical bed.

“Wyatt! Wyatt! The planes are here!” Ramad began calling from down the corridor well before reaching the medical chamber that had been carved out of the rock the island was comprised of. The snow leopard’s eyes were bright with nervous anticipation, something the other hybrid really couldn’t fault him for. “There are four of them,” Ramad said in a more subdued volume despite his panting after running from the outside and into the bunker as he came through the doorway. “Large transport aircraft. They have Swedish Royal Air Force markings.”

“Sounds like they’re keeping things straight with you guys,” Farbes said. “So far. Find the officer in charge and brief him directly, Wyatt. It’ll show not only that you’re respectful, but also that what’s being done is appreciated.”

“Okay.” The striped and spotted anthrocat turned to his friend. “Everyone else knows that there’s not going to be any stupidity tolerated?”

Ramad nodded. “They know. We’ll all follow your lead.”

“Alright,” Wyatt said. “Let’s go see what happens.”

The air outside the main blast door was filled with the sounds of jet engines, the deep roar of large planes so low causing the very ground to vibrate and Wyatt looked up as the first of the huge transport aircraft blotted out the sun. It had lined up on the paved airstrip that ran along the northeastern stretch and the two catmen stared as it slowed to a point that most planes would stall at and began to drop straight down. Wyatt was sure that the huge plane was crashing, but Ramad only smiled as the ungainly aircraft settled gently.

“They sent CP-559’s,” the snow leopard said with surprise. “Albatross cargo planes. They’re sort of an off-shoot of the Eurofighter program from way back in the late Twentieth and early Twenty first Centuries. The Albatross is one of the first non-fighters to use stealth technology, hydrogen engine nacelles and those new repulsors someone invented. That’s what those three bubble-like shapes on the wings and by the nose are. Better than VTOL. Helps them carry greater weight for longer distances.”

“So…it’s not crashing?” the savannah cat asked with disbelief, the second of the quartet of planes already coming in and beginning its descent to settle next to the first where the wheels and landing struts were taking its weight. No sooner had the first come to a rest than a side door opened and several uniformed men rushed out, short, lethal looking rifles with integrated scopes held at the ready. Their uniforms were a mottling of various shades of grey that grew lighter in the low setting sun and darker in shadow.

Wyatt approached, his arms held out and up with his paw-like hands open to show he wasn’t holding any weapons. Several of the soldiers, their dark blue berets making them look more intimidating than they already were, raised their rifles and pointed them at the strange creature. Wyatt expected any moment to feel his body being ripped to pieces by high velocity bullets until the officer, a large man in a pristine uniform right in the center of the cluster of soldiers barked a short series of words at his men and motioned for them to lower their weapons. The officer didn’t stop walking until he was a little more than two feet from the anthrocats and stood for several moments surveying the landing strip and blast door leading into the small mountain before looking at both catmen. Whatever his actual feelings were towards the two hybrids neither could tell as his bare face betrayed no emotion whatsoever.

“I am looking for Wyatt Renner,” he delivered, his words barely containing a hint of an accent.

“I’m Wyatt,” the savannah cat said. “Would you like me to, uh, brief you on what’s going on here?” he asked nervously.

“Actually, you may brief Mister Helganson,” the officer replied curtly. “My men and I are here only to act as security while we transport you and your people to safety.”

A man that Wyatt hadn’t seen due to the clumping of the SAS troopers pushed his way through. He wore a blue overall, but under that was the collar of a dress shirt in periwinkle and dark indigo tie. The man looked a little pale but also as if he was rather anxious. He stepped around the SAS men and paused only a moment as his washed out blue eyes swept over the two anthrocats. He transferred a black anodized aluminum sheathed briefcase to his left hand before extending his right. “Mister Renner? I’m Under Deputy Arno Helganson from the Swedish Foreign Service. I’ve been sent along to aid in the relocation of you and the others that are requesting asylum. Unfortunately time is of the essence and we need to get your people and the pertinent data that you offered to hand over loaded as quickly as possible.”

Wyatt nodded as the man spoke even better English than the officer, neither man’s accent as thick as the freighter captain’s had been. “Everyone has been told what’s happening,” he informed the thin bureaucrat. “Um, we also have some of the staff that’s requested asylum as well and there’s the matter of the US Senator that was…uh, taken prisoner when we got free.”

“Yes. Senator Harold Bingham, I believe,” Helganson said as he slipped a small personal data assistant from his pocket and thumbed the code after shaking hands with the savannah cat. “Yes. Arrangements have already been set in motion for his dispensation.” The man nodded at something he saw on the screen and looked back up with a smile at Wyatt. “Now then, if you could get your people to assemble outside we’ll begin the process of getting all of you onboard the planes after a series of simple inoculations. It sounds odd, I know, but Swedish laws are rather strict that all visitors have up-to-date immunizations.”

“We also have injured,” Ramad added, casting a curious glance at his fellow hybrid.

“Our medics will see to your injured,” the officer interjected tersely. “Please, I know there are questions, but our time truly is running out. We need to act with all due haste,” the tall SAS officer instructed as he motioned his subordinates into the bunker complex. “That is, unless you want to take a chance on what your own government will do to you when they arrive.”

Acquiescing to the officer’s suggestion, Wyatt and Ramad went to get the other prisoners and within fifteen minutes all of the hybrids stood along the edge of the tarmac where the medical personnel had each line up to get their name, age and administer injections with pneumatic dispenser units before soldiers led them to the planes. There was no real order to who went to each aircraft and Wyatt found himself being escorted onboard the last of the planes to land with one each of the other types of hybrids that had been experimented on. With him was a female that had the outward appearance of a red fox, a male that was rather short and wiry with most of his bulky appearance being made up of fluffed out fur and looking as if he’d been combined with golden brown chow, and another woman that looked, of all things, like a black bear. She was fairly large, but her weight was distributed in a way that, like many of the other once-human women, had a definite feminine shape.

“Mmmm-Mm! Now I’m wishing I’da been put in with you cats!” the fox said with a leering expression as she watched Wyatt precede her up the ramp.

Her triangular ears were perfectly erect but the insides had strange markings that none of the other hybrids bore and it took Wyatt a few minutes to realize that it was the stretched remnants of ear tattoos, a recent trend with certain street gangs in the portion of Florida that Wyatt had lived in. It wasn’t something that was limited to one gang in particular, but it had been started by a group that believed in white supremacy. Wyatt thought she might have been one of those that believed in racial separation as her human style hair was long enough for him to discern it was a sort of mousy brown, one of those indeterminate shades between true brown and blond. When she turned one of the stretched out smears of ink turned into a stylized ‘88’ in thunderbolt letters. It was a known mark for some of the more militant pseudo-Nazi groups throughout the Midwest. 

The fox smirked as she took a seat next to Wyatt, shamelessly pulling his tail into her lap while flipping her own saucily across the cat’s thighs. “This way no one can see if you wanna get a little touchy-feely with me,” she said while leaning closer. “I promise I…won’t…mind in…the…”

The anthrovixen’s eyes fluttered closed before she could finish her sentence and Wyatt wondered what was going on as he, too, began to feel lightheaded and lethargic. A glance told him that the canine hybrid was already out as well, his head tilted back, mouth open and his tongue dangling out.

“They drugged us!” the bear woman exclaimed in a husky whisper, swearing darkly as she tried to stand and failed when her legs gave out, her bulk crashing back into the troop seat along the fuselage of the cargo bay. She landed roughly against the chow hybrid but the male didn’t stir in the slightest. “Weren’t…immunization shots…drugged…” she muttered before falling unconscious.

The savannah cat knew that she was right, but much like the injection he’d received during his staged execution, Wyatt found he really didn’t care as the sedatives filled his brain and pulled him into a sort of warm darkness. Before he fully passed out, he saw soldiers running to and fro with piles of equipment from inside the bunker. 

*** 

“I just got word that the planes with the refugees are well into their return flight,” Thorvald told his cousin as the two met in his office within the Foreign Services wing of the Riksdag. “They should be down by three AM our time.”

Ásmundr Gustavsson nodded, though a frown pulled the corners of his mouth down in a rarely seen scowling frown. “And the other measures?”

“Surgical teams are standing by.” Thorvald looked at his cousin as he passed a cup of tea over in an ornate glass cup nestled within a sterling silver frame, the chisel and chase work appearing more delicate than the glass itself. “You don’t approve?”

“Of course I don’t approve!” Ásmundr snapped in seething anger. “I know that it was ordered by the Prime Minister herself, but how does performing surgery without their knowledge make us any better than the ones that forced these poor people through genetic experiments? It’s wrong, Thor, and you damn well know it!”

Thorvald set his cup down and stared at it for a long moment before lifting his head and eyes and staring hard at his cousin. In order to control his own increasing ire he laced his fingers together and when he began to speak it was with a flat, cool tone of voice. “And what would you have me do, Ásmundr? We are letting people into our own country that were condemned prisoners. Each one of them was slated for execution because of terrible and violent crimes, and you think that we’re just going to let them past our borders without safeguards? Hmm? Or do you think it wise to let in something that can be as vicious as any animals while still in possession of high intellect to possibly run amok and threaten our own citizens?”

Before Ásmundr could answer, Thorvald leaned back in his chair, turning it towards the window that looked out onto Stockholm and gestured with his arms in an encompassing display.

“Yes! By all means let us release murderers and rapists and child molesters that are now stronger, faster and much more deadly on our own people! The Ministry has been very patient with you, Ásmundr. They can see the reasons that you wanted to rescue these individuals and the advances that can be made through what has been done to them and have supported some of your outlandish ideas. But make no mistake, cousin! The first time one of these…these creatures, these furmen as you call them, steps out of line, every single one of them will be destroyed.”

“That wasn’t our agreement, Thor,” Ásmundr told the other man just as frostily.

“Perhaps.Perhaps not. The Ministry feels that the prudent course of action to follow is a memory wipe. We have all of the pertinent data on all of the individuals, and the more intractable we feel one of them may be, the further back the memory wipe will go.” Thorvald sat forward. “Ásmundr. Please. Think on this carefully. The only other option if they do not receive a surgical memory wipe is execution. Execution, cousin. By doing this, you are saving their lives, you are getting the information that you need, and theywill never need know. There is no reason that after the procedure that any of them must ever discover what was done to them, or even why they were in prison awaiting death! Which do you think is more humane?

“Or,” Thorvald continued, “would you rather they live with the trauma of what was done? To recall that pain and agony over and over for the rest of their days, however long that might be? Really, isn’t our way much kinder to them in the long run?” The man got up and walked around his desk and placed his hand on the shoulder of the other. “Ásmundr, this really is a kindness that we’re doing.”

Nodding reluctantly, Gustavsson finished his tea and set the cup down despite the urge to smash it on the floor and storm out. “We’ll do it your way,” he conceded. “But there are a couple of them that I would like to speak to before they go through the surgery.”

“Of course. We already have their names.”

Ásmundr stood. “Thank you. Now then, if you’ll excuse me I still have preparations to make regarding their stay. If there’s nothing more I would like to see how things are progressing at the Village.”

“That’s right,” Thorvald said as he moved back around to reclaim his chair. “You purchased the old Olympic Village from the Summer Games some years back. I assume that you’ve taken all of the recommended steps for security? I wouldn’t like to think what would happen if teenagers stumbled into what we are doing or the reaction of your Furs if they found intruders.”

“All the necessary steps have been taken,” Ásmundr agreed. “Oh, and if I may ask? What’s going to happen to the staff that also requested asylum and Todd Farbes?”

“The staff technicians are at your disposal, of course. Mister Farbes will become a guest of the Ministry, as will the good Senator. When the time is right and after certain precautions have been managed, we’ll see to their repatriation to America.”

Ásmundr nodded once more and excused himself from his cousin’s office and left in the most dignified fashion he could muster, though once he reached the parking garage where his driver and limousine waited his steps became far more agitated as if he were trying to translate his anger into physical activity. “To the Village, Stori,” he told his driver as he ducked into the back seat. As soon as the car was in motion, not even the rush of the humid summer air outside making it past the sound dampeners, and the privacy screen engaged between the front and the passenger compartment, Ásmundr let loose a verbal tirade that should have singed the leather and velvet interior before he sat back and fumed for the forty five minutes it would take to reach the former Olympic venue. Once he’d vented his anger, Ásmundr was able to turn his thoughts back to the issues at hand with a more rational mind.

No matter what he felt towards his cousin and decisions that had been made without his knowledge, the man bent his will on what he could do and those that needed him at the moment. He might be limited in the amount of help he could provide, but that wouldn’t stop him from doing what he could for the time being. 

*** 

Wyatt came to in a bunk that was far more comfortable than the one he’d slept in while undergoing the process that mutated him and blinked several times. He could tell by the scent of the surrounding area that he was no longer in the bunker, and he certainly wasn’t on an aircraft as the curved ceiling high overhead with steel construction beams attested to. As he rolled to a sitting position, his mouth feeling slightly dry with an odd sweet flavor that had a hint of plastic to it, he tried to recall what had happened.

His last coherent memories were of the planes that landed and Swedish soldiers and officials, or at least he thought they were, lining him and the other prisoners up and giving all of them injections that they’d been told were simple immunization shots. Once that was done all of them were lead into the waiting aircraft and strapped in while outside the various soldiers that had disembarked brought out equipment, crates and boxes of all sorts accompanied by flat carts loaded with computer terminals and processing hubs. He remembered seeing Julie being wheeled out to one of the other planes along with Farbes, but after that everything went black.

A mild wave of dizziness swept through him as he sat there, but it cleared after only a few moments allowing him to stand without fear of toppling over. Breathing through his mouth at the unexpected warmth of the room, Wyatt slowly looked around at his immediate surroundings. He’d grown accustomed to the austere and rather severe surroundings of his cell in the bunker and half expected to see the naked rock and grey concrete of the Group 1 chamber with the cells that came complete with panels of glassteel. He was not expecting cubicle panels of a rather soothing teal or an actual bed with honest sheets, cased pillows and comforter. While looking like the same things he could have gotten at a large wholesale warehouse in Florida, or any other portion of the US, it was still far better than what he’d had under Emily Lesko’s care.

Along one wall was a small, inexpensive desk and reading lamp and old flat screen TV and a sort of modernized poppa-san chair in dark red. The fabric was a little worn, but it was still quite serviceable and there weren’t any screws missing from the plastic joints that bound the metal frame together. The doorway to the cubicle was a simple panel of heavy fabric that blocked out light and muffled sound, but nothing that would do anything more than provide a bit of privacy if he so desired it.

The fabric did not deter the mélange of smells that wafted through from the other side, the scent of bacon, fresh bread, tea and coffee making it through and causing the savannah cat’s belly to rumble dangerously with a sudden, empty gnawing sensation. Unable and unwilling to pause and consider the situation any further Wyatt pushed through the fabric divider and followed his nose to the source of the smells tantalizing his senses only to find a large buffet table waiting with trays, plates and utensils on one end and a bevy of selections to peruse.

At the end of the buffet were a series of small round tables that could sit four comfortably, more if they were friendly, though the only person that sat in the folding plastic chairs available was a trim looking man, perhaps in his late twenties or early thirties with shoulder length blond locks that was swept back behind his ears in a way that only those with exceedingly fine hair could manage. The man looked up and smiled as Wyatt emerged, the expression causing his eyes to squint slightly and pointed at the selection of foods with his hand.

“Please, Mister Renner. Avail yourself to some breakfast first. Once you’ve eaten your fill then we can talk, unless you’re one of those people that prefers conversation while dining.” He watched as the savannah cat nodded mutely and headed to the beginning of the set up and pulled a tray and plate off their respective stacks and winnowed his way through the extensive offerings.

Wyatt was far too accustomed to the ration packets that he and the other prisoners had been given to eat during their period on the island and wanted to eat something from every tray he saw. He knew that if he gave in to temptation and followed his impulses he’d literally eat himself sick and reined in his wants, satisfying himself with eggs, thick European sausages and a cup of black coffee with only a few slices of still warm bread and real, sweet cream butter. With a solid breakfast, Wyatt made his way to the table the man sat at and tentatively took a chair opposite the man, making sure that his tail was out of danger from being pinched.

“I guess that takes some getting used too?” the man asked good naturedly.

The savannah cat nodded. “I still forget to move the stupid thing from time to time,” Wyatt told his erstwhile companion in a soft voice. “I’ve even stepped on it in the shower a couple of times.”

The man nodded sagely. “You do know that it’s actually a very useful part of your anatomy when you’re running on all fours?”

The anthrocat’s paw with fork paused halfway to his mouth, the bit of egg on it trembling slightly as Wyatt felt a thrill of nervousness roll through him at the observation. “How do you know this?” he whispered, his pupils narrowing to thin slits.

“I’ve gone over the materials that came from Fort Freedom,” the man answered simply, his tone conversational. “Granted, I haven’t been able to view everything yet, but I have seen the physiological studies that accompanied the records of your transformation.”

Wyatt set the fork down and readied himself to push away from the table. “I’m sorry,” he said defensively. “Where exactly am I and who the hell are you?”

“Sorry. I’m being a rather terrible host, but I am quite honored and excited to meet you.” He held his hand out across the table, his facial expression warm and amiable. “Ásmundr Gustavsson. I was brought in by the Foreign Services department of the Swedish Riksdag to assist in your request for asylum and see to it that your accommodations are safe and comfortable.”

“You’re Gustavsson?” Wyatt asked, his lower jaw dropping enough for his lower fangs to be visible as his pupils widened.

“You’ve heard of me?”

The savannah cat nodded. “No one in my part of Florida hasn’t. You’ve got a plant in Jacksonville that makes parts for rockets and orbital spaceplanes, and it was the artificial reef you helped put in off Cocoa Beach that revitalized fishing off that part of the coast,” Wyatt said with surprise. “You’ve got a really big pharmaceutical plant in Augusta, Georgia and that big sea farm off England. You’re becoming more popular than Disney. So, yeah. I’ve heard of you.”

The blond man smiled as he picked up a cup of tea that sat before him. “I’m one of those strange people that sees the world for its whole, Wyatt, not the lines and boarders of nations. Some of the things that I do are to keep the only real home we have going.” Ásmundr went quiet as the anthrocat finally began eating his breakfast. “I’m the same way with people.”

“What do you mean?” the hybrid asked around a combination of egg and sausage.

“It’s rather simple, actually. The Earth has finite resources, Wyatt. We have surpassed the sustainability factor and have been past that point for several years. In order to support the presence of humanity, measures must be taken to maintain what remains until the pressure that exists from present population woes are alleviated through interstellar development. In order to do so, the best must be obtained from each land and the people there while doing everything we can to push into the vastness of space and find new worlds. Being an American and your culture’s love of euphemisms, colloquialisms and quips, it’s simply best not to keep our eggs in one basket.”

Ásmundr smiled warmly as he sipped from his cup.

“I think that this includes you and your compatriots, Wyatt. I think that you and the rest of the prisoners that underwent this process may be precisely the answer that can save all of us.”

“Save?” Wyatt asked, his breakfast forgotten for the moment. “How? Better yet, why?” He set his fork down, the fur along his spine trying to stand with the first hints of anger. “I don’t think many of us are feeling particularly savior-like.” He resumed eating before setting his fork down with a loud ‘CLINK!’ “Do you know what was done to us? The torture?The pain?!? Do you know what it’s like to be prepared to die only to wake up and find that you’re smack in the middle of a nightmare and life’s become a literal hell?”

The fur bristled all across Wyatt’s shoulders, his meal forgotten as memories seemed to hit him in the forehead like a hammer blow. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and his heart rate almost tripled as he was cast back to the early days of Lesko’s experiments.

“It would’ve been kinder to shoot us all! Even though all of us were condemned to die, it wasn’t right! Instead we became science projects, paraded about like her prize pets with things done to us that I don’t even want to think about! Given time that bitch would’ve bred us like you do animals! We lost everything! EVERYTHING! Our dignity! Our humanity!” He held up trembling paws, tuning them slowly as if seeing just what he’d become for the first time. As he looked at the fur that covered his wrists and fingers, the dark pink pads and the hidden claw tips at the ends, nestled in the slightly coarser strands of hair, but ready, always ready, the anger drained and despair poured in to take its place. “Not human, Mister Gustavsson,” Wyatt whispered. “Never again human…”

The savannah cat slumped forward, the fur under his eyes dampening while his shoulders shook. He’d seen some of the video the rogue scientist had compiled from her experiments, and Ásmundr knew that the people he’d convinced his government to save had endured an ordeal that ranked right up there with some of the worst atrocities in history. That all of the hybrids, the furs as he dubbed them, hadn’t gone completely mad was nothing short of a miracle. Despite his desires of seeking their help for the betterment of all, there was a part of him that wailed at what it had cost, the pain and the suffering.

“Wyatt. Listen to me,” Ásmundr began, waiting until the anthrocat looked up, his feline eyes full of pain and the relived fear that the man had inadvertently dredged up. “I am bending all of my wealth and resources to see to it that what you and the others have gone through is not in vain. I am helping establish laws that will protect you and the others that suffered through Emily Lesko’s experiments.” He paused before shifting his seat a little closer to the traumatized hybrid and leaned forward. “The ones that ordered this to be done to you, the ones that supported it will be brought to justice. I promise you this. But what you and the others like Perry Layton, Julie Valance, and the ones from the other three groups can do may go far to help the world and yourselves.”

Ásmundr held out his hand for the savannah cat, nothing more, and waited while Wyatt fought with himself before accepting the gesture of friendship. When the paw was placed in his hand, the man curled his fingers around the nonhuman one, squeezing it with just enough force to show that he wasn’t afraid of the hybrid, but respected him.

“I will do everything I can to keep all of you safe. I swear this to you.” Ásmundr smiled warmly when the anthrocat nodded slowly, silently. “Good. Now, my friend, there is much to discuss, but right now I’d like for you to enjoy your breakfast. I didn’t know that you and the others were going to be sedated for you flight here, and the best thing you can do is to eat, and the best thing I can do is let you eat! Though if you’d prefer, I can go see if the kitchen staff is willing to make something different-”

“This is fine,” Wyatt informed the man as he calmed, the storm of emotions passing and left him feeling drained and tired. “Just…just let me get another cup of coffee…”

“You start eating. I’ll get it,” Gustavsson said as he immediately stood and picked up the generic white mug. “How do you take it?” he asked, already at the urn and filling it with the hot, aromatic brew. 

*** 

Ásmundr Gustavsson was not what Wyatt would’ve expected in a man that could readily wield so much wealth and power. The man seemed to genuinely care about what happened to him and the other hybrids. The man had psychologists and psychiatrists brought in to provide counseling and therapy. Physical exams weren’t the painful undertakings that they’ been under Lesko and it was explained to him why blood might have to be drawn or a scan performed.

Put simply, he and the other hybrids were treated like people and not simply animals or test subjects or objects to be used and discarded. When Perry Layton began sneezing a bevy of doctors descended to ascertain the problem before discovering that it was simply an allergy to some of the plants around their new home. The tiger hybrid was given a liquid antihistamine until his symptoms vanished, but nothing beyond that. It was as different from their time at Fort Freedom as night was from day.

Wyatt was often kept from the others as he spent a great deal of time around Ásmundr Gustavsson and he hardly got to talk to any of the other former prisoners. When it came to the ones that he’d been in Group 1 with, Wyatt didn’t see any of them at all unless it was in passing, and never got a chance to speak to them. For a number of days and nights, the savannah cat spent time at the magnate’s home as his guest and spent long hours answering questions, many of them having nothing to do with what he and the others went through. By far, the best day for the feline hybrid was when Ásmundr invited him to take a tour of the yacht that he’d had delivered the previous year, the man’s understanding of Wyatt’s love of watercraft. What little time he did spend near the others found Wyatt marveling at the extent that was being taken to make his fellow prisoners comfortable.

As far as the hybrids’ new accommodations went, they were being housed at the old Olympic Village that had been built for the Summer Games years before when Stockholm had been the host city. Some of it was still in dilapidated shape, but enough amenities had been quickly refurbished with some of the venues so that to Wyatt and the others it almost seemed to be a resort. They learned that Gustavsson had purchase the village specifically for them and every day more construction vehicles arrived to establish new structures while those that couldn’t be salvaged were methodically destroyed and carted off. They all had private rooms within the building that had housed the gymnasium, the largest structure in the entire place, a pool that was so large Wyatt was fairly certain he could sail a small boat in it. There were tracks for running, exercise machines brought in and the hybrids even had a dedicated kitchen staff to provide hot meals or even late night snacks should any of them want it.

Apart from their treatment at the hands of the wealthy Swede, another change was taking place and that was how the other hybrids had started identifying themselves. Ásmundr had called them furmankind, furman, furmen or just Furs, and the names were sticking. Some of the individuals from Wyatt’s group and several of the others seemed to walk with a little more confidence when the cat man saw them about on the grounds of the Village, to exhibit a bit more surety when they or someone else referred to them with these new labels. When he asked the man about it, Ásmundr laughed warmly, his deep baritone actually soothing to Wyatt and the savannah cat found himself smiling as well.

“My friend, you might not look like the rest of humans on the Earth, but you are still people. Fantastic people at that. Why not call yourselves what you are? You have been reborn, maybe not by choice, but you are truly fantastic!”

“I’m…I’m not quite sure I follow you,” Wyatt admitted as he absently scratched behind his ear.

“Come. Walk with me,” Gustavsson said as he placed a hand on the savannah cat’s shoulder and directed him outside. They walked along a path that passed through temporary planter boxes of flowers and tall decorative grasses. “Look at each of the other Furs we encounter. Just look, mind you. Observe.”

Wyatt saw other hybrids engaged in different activities as they meandered through the former Stockholm Olympic Village. Some were simply lying in the summer sun on refurbished grass, others were playing in the gigantic pool. On one of the higher diving boards the savannah cat saw the forward little fox hybrid that had tried blatantly flirting with him when he and the others were given injections and loaded onto the cargo plane. She took several quick steps before bouncing off the end of the board and launching herself into the air, her body rotating perfectly before she straightened to vertical with her long tail streaming behind her before she broke the surface of the water with her outstretched paws and arms. Despite the drag on her reddish brown fur coat she made it to the other end in a surprisingly short amount of time and effort and climbed out on all fours before shaking herself vigorously. Her only form of clothing was her own luxurious fur that fluffed out in damp little spikes all down her body and she padded back to the ladder that led back to the diving board to do it all over again.

“Do you see what I see, Wyatt?” the man asked, his expression one of bemused awe.

“I see people that are pretending to be animals…or animals pretending to be people,” the cat replied sourly. “Or made to do that.”

“Then you aren’t seeing anything.” Ásmundr shook his head and kept walking. “What I see is people, Wyatt. People. You have the same level of intelligence, if not more, than any other person on this planet. All of you are an amalgamation of experiences that make you unique individuals. But now, you have a body that is stronger, faster, more adaptable. If anything, you really are superior to us humans. You can do things now that a man or woman can’t. You can run faster than a man or woman, yes?”

The savannah cat nodded slowly. “Yeah…I guess so.”

“And you can jump higher, correct?” Again Wyatt nodded. “What else?”

The savannah cat shrugged. “My eyes seem better, like everything’s a little sharper, more focused. I…I can tell things from smell.”

“What kind of things?” Ásmundr asked, genuinely interested.

“I can tell if the smell is new or old…I don’t really know how to explain that one. When it comes to certain emotions I can tell what someone else is feeling by the way they smell sometimes. Especially if it’s one of the girls…um…” He smiled shyly at recalling the first time he knew that Halley was affected by his presence.

“Oh?”

Wyatt’s brow furrowed as he tried to find words for what he wanted to describe. “Well, it’s…it’s like their scent changes. It…it’s comforting and sort of makes me want them, too. I’ve talked to a few of the others and it seems that whenever we’re near someone that’s in the mood, the smell is similar to the things we liked best. For Ramad it reminds him of fresh out-of-the-oven bread. For Julie it reminds her of good, new leather. Maybe a little kinky, but that’s what she’s reminded of. There’s also a sort of, I don’t know…urgency, I guess?”

The man was thoroughly enjoying the conversation. “And what about you, Wyatt? What does a female that is interested in you remind you of?”

“The sea…the ocean,” Wyatt answered with another shy half smile. “Primal, changing. Like the feeling I’d get when I headed out on the boat, that sense that almost anything could happen and that I really didn’t control anything when it came down to it.” Wyatt shook his head as he tried to organize his thoughts. “It sort of feels like before all this that I was only going through the world with everything set to half of what it could be.”

“A most excellent analogy!” the man said with a grin. “And hearing. It’s better as well, isn’t it?”

The cat nodded. “I heard something the other day that I’d never heard before. It turned out to be a squirrel putting a nest together about sixty feet off the ground. I didn’t know that they were so noisy.”

“They always have been, but as a man you couldn’t hear it. Now that you’ve been changed you can because your senses are so much better!” Ásmundr saw that he was getting his point across. “And how many times have you tripped or stumbled into something since your transformation was completed?”

Wyatt had to think about that one and realize that he really hadn’t. As a human he’d stubbed his toes an average of once every couple of weeks, but since the alterations wrought by Lesko, he hadn’t once run into anything. Even what should have been complete darkness didn’t conceal things from his new eyes. “I haven’t.”

“Now, look at the way your friends move,” Ásmundr said, stopping and turning the savannah cat so that he could observe Perry Layton and the still recovering Julie. “Look how every motion is fluid, precise, you can see the strength, the sheer power. There is a certain beauty to it all, Wyatt. But there is so much more to it that you are missing.”

“Someone else once called us beautiful,” the anthrocat breathed, suddenly aware that he hadn’t seen Halley since arriving and waking up in his personal cubicle.

“And you are, Wyatt. The best of human potential combined with the most successful predators the planet has to offer.” The man gently guided his companion back to their walk. “And that leads me to something that I need to ask you. Something most important.”

“Oh?”

“Indeed,” the man said as he steered the feline to the entrance of the Village. “While I’m sure all of you are more than happy to run around in your fur, something that you shouldn’t be ashamed of in the slightest, it is causing some of the staff to, well, to put it bluntly it’s a little embarrassing to them.”

“Why should they be embarrassed? We’re the ones that are naked!” Wyatt replied with a laugh.

“Perhaps,” Ásmundr agreed. “But many of you males are distracting the women,” he told the Fur in an exaggerated whisper behind a theatrically placed hand to the side of his mouth. “And all of you are making many of the men feel…inadequate.”

Neither stopped laughing until they reached Ásmundr’s car.

— NEXT CHAPTER —

Unless otherwise noted, all material © Ted R. Blasingame. All rights reserved.