EXODUS

— by Jeff Karamales

Chapter 17
Reunited
 

Wyatt woke and slid to the edge of the bed feeling more tired than he had when he lay down, his night plagued with nightmares of his time under the ministrations of Emily Lesko. No sooner did the pads of his feet touch the carpeted floor of Ásmundr Gustavsson’s guest room then his left paw-like hand reach for the pitcher of water on the nightstand between the headboard and curtained window. He was still panting from the last of his nocturnal ramblings as the cool liquid splashed into the short tumbler and he brought the short crystal glass to his mouth to lap. The changes he’d been subjected to had made drinking in a normal fashion impossible and instead of tipping the glass as a person…a normal human would have, he used his tongue precisely the way a cat would, curling it under to grab the water and getting it down in small swallows.

Past the curtains the world was brightening with the rising of the sun and despite the exhaustion that was felt both physically and mentally, he stood, the anthrocat stretching the tightness from his lean form before he grabbed the robe one of Ásmundr’s servants had provided him. It felt oddly comfortable, though there were places that the simple clothing didn’t hang properly and he tugged and pulled at the fabric until it felt settled. It was odd, he thought to himself as he knotted the belt. He and the others had gone clad in nothing but their own fur several times, but the addition of clothes was calming. It almost made him feel as if he were still a person, a man.

For almost a week Wyatt had been the guest of one of the most wealthy and influential men in Northern Europe, and while he and Ásmundr worked on things the others might find useful such as clothing that would suit their new frames but not be stifling, Wyatt was grilled on everything that transpired while he and the other prisoners had been at the repurposed Fort Freedom bunker. Nor was the man hesitant to inquire as to what Wyatt’s opinion on his fellow Furs might be considered, what his thoughts on a number of potential futures for him and the others might entail. Wyatt was made to feel as if his opinion actually mattered.

A short walk down the hallway from the guest room and down a circular stairway put the savannah cat in one of the smaller dining rooms of the house that, while modern with every possible technological amenity one could desire, was filled with relics and artifacts that spanned nearly all of human history and the whole of the world. Granted, the Egyptian sarcophagus across from the room that Wyatt used was a little strange, it was rather majestic and the feline was sure that there were pieces that any museum curator in the world would kill for. Suits of High Gothic armor from Germany stood sentinel over display cases that contained Native American tools and leatherworks. A full panoply of samurai armor consisting of enameled steel and lacquered leather and silk occupied a stand complete with swords next to a lion skin that a Maasai warrior killed with one of the two hand-wrought spears. Wyatt might have appreciated the display a little more if the lion didn’t resemble Paul Nixon from the surviving prisoners of Group 1.

At a table that overlooked the gardens and strange, black colored pool behind the main house, Ásmundr sat with a breakfast of pastries and broiled fish and eggs. There were items that Wyatt would have considered more normal breakfast fare, but as hungry as he normally was upon waking, all of it looked and smelled good. The savannah cat was allowed to sit and begin the process of loading a plate and pouring a cup of coffee from an urn that looked as if it were made of antiqued silver, though the built in heating element that sat in the bottom attested to it being anything but old.

“Rough night again?” the man asked as he slathered marmalade on a British style scone and cast a surreptitious glance at his house guest.

The savannah cat nodded slowly before speaking. “Yeah. I…I can’t seem to shake the nightmares. Some nights it’s like every time I close my eyes I’m right back in the lab.” A shudder threatened to slosh coffee on the tablecloth but Wyatt was able to keep any from dribbling over the edge.

Ásmundr set the scone down and turned off the electronic slate he’d been looking at when the Fur came down. “It may take time, Wyatt,” the man said softly, though the empathy in his voice was clear. “One doesn’t get over what you’ve been through in a matter of days or even weeks. Sometimes it takes years, other times even longer.”

“Maybe…” Wyatt answered a little dejectedly as he slid a fillet of cod and eggs onto a plate before retrieving a muffin and adding a bit of butter to the still hot pastry.

The man waited until the other was finished with his breakfast and had poured a second cup of coffee, both of them discovering that the simple application of a drinking straw greatly helped the Fur when it came to beverages, before starting their morning conversation.

“I…I have something that I need to tell you, Wyatt, and I’m not really sure how to go about it. It’s information that you should hear, and some of it will probably anger you, heaven knows it did me, but after thinking about it I might be forced to admit that perhaps it was a mercy in the end, particularly in light of your own suffering.”

Blinking in curiosity while a sort of nervous flutter caused his stomach to tighten along with his genitals drawing up, a reaction that Wyatt had since learned was now part of his fight-or-flight response, his tail lashing nervously behind him under the robe, the savannah cat eyed his host. “That bad, huh?”

“To be honest, I don’t know, but as I said, I can understand the why of it.” Ásmundr took a sip of his tea before setting it down to the side and clasped his hands together, unable to meet the eyes of the furman across from him as a small furrow formed between his brows. “The past week has seen you either with me or giving testimony to someone about what was done to you. You haven’t really had a chance to interact with your fellow Furs. This was, I’m sorry to say, mostly by design and something that I agreed to. Perhaps reluctantly, but I still agreed to it.”

“How bad can it be?” the savannah cat asked when the other man paused to let his words sink in.

“It might be bad, or maybe not. I’m still not sure,” Ásmundr said with a slight frown.

Wyatt took a deep breath and let it out, more to settle already frayed nerves from a restless night, and tilted his head quizzically. “Just be honest. After everything else I can’t really ask for anything else, can I?”

Gustavsson smiled. “After what you and the others have gone through, I think all of you are entitled to ask for anything you please.” Ásmundr sobered after a second and continued. “One…one of the reasons that you’ve been sequestered from the others is that nearly all of them are recovering at the moment.”

Wyatt’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Recovering from what?”

Though the question was simple, Ásmundr winced inwardly at the frail tone that could be heard under the Fur’s words, the sort of hurt sound a child had when he or she was expecting severe punishment despite doing everything it could to please an abusive parent. Hearing that in the voice of the Fur tore at the man and he feared that he might be destroying the trust of a fragile individual that he felt had paid for any crimes committed in his previous life. Few things ever made Ásmundr want to weep, but the look in the savannah cat’s eyes, the tone in his voice tore at the man.

“The Prime Minister, and others of the Riksdag, the Royal Parliament and government, saw fit to enforce memory wipes on many of your companions. It was felt that if their memories could be modified so that they not only recalled their time on the island and what was done to you, or even their time in prison and the reasons of their incarceration, it would be best for both all of you and the people of Sweden.

“I asked for, and received, permission to withhold some of you, yourself included, from the memory wipe process. Part of that was so we could better learn what exactly you went through, part of it was my own guilt at what I felt was my betrayal. You called for help and I was the one shouting the loudest to give that help to you. I didn’t know it would be coming with conditions.”

Ásmundr shook his head and stood, stepping to the window so he didn’t have to look the anthrocat in the eyes. He didn’t see the colors of the flower beds or the full, green fruit trees that formed neat patterns on a lawn of emerald grass.

“Another reason that you and select others haven’t been subjected to a memory wipe is that things are progressing quite quickly and before too long you and the others will be needed to testify in Geneva against Andre Bolivar and the Terran Colonial Coalition and then you’ll have to go to America so that you may also testify against Senator Bingham. Obviously you wouldn’t be able to do so had you undergone the operation with your fellows.”

Ásmundr turned to face the Fur, feeling about as low as he ever had in his life, only to find the savannah cat within arm’s reach, though there was no sense of anger or hatred from the Fur.

“It isn’t very fair, Wyatt. You have lost so much and this simply gets tacked on as well by people who aren’t affected by the decision. Instead it gets added to the list of injustices that you and the others have already suffered.” He gave the cat a half smile. “For what it’s worth, I’m truly sorry.”

“They don’t remember what was done to them?” the cat man asked softly. “They don’t remember the tests? The pain? They’re still…them, though? Right?”

“Oh, yes,” Ásmundr told the Fur. “You see, the process is very precise. It’s painless and once done, there’s a sort of memory building therapy that’s also applied. They are still the same people. The operation just blots out what all of you were put through. Then, a sort of new block of memories are given to ease the missing time each of them will experience. As far as any of them are concerned, they volunteered for this of their own free will. No one will even remember that they were in prison or that they committed any crimes at all.”

Wyatt had visions of Julie and Perry being reduced to simpletons, little more than full grown children, though not even with that amount of development. He wasn’t sure if they’d even remember him, but maybe that was for the best? “And what will happen to them after that?”

Ásmundr sighed and wished he could have another cup of tea before having to answer, or better yet, a good, tall brandy. “That, my friend, is still up for debate. We, not only myself but also members of the Riksdag and a few others, are working on getting laws passed to protect you and the others. International laws, I might add. We have to ensure certain safeguards are enacted before you and the others are made known to the world.”

“Why?” Wyatt asked with a hint of sarcasm. “We aren’t human anymore, Ásmundr.”

“You are still people, Wyatt. And,” the man reached out and took the Fur’s paw in his hand, “and you are my friend. I want to do everything I can to protect my friends.” 

*** 

When the process for a memory wipe was first used, it had been to help a girl in Brussels that had been molested then hideously disfigured by an individual that she and her family trusted. Since its first success, the process had been used to treat others that had suffered extreme mental and emotional trauma, even being employed for veteran soldiers to help them reintegrate into society. The more he read and learned about it, the more Wyatt understood that it probably was the best thing for the other hybrids. The first patient, Aria Rochelle, was now a happy first year university student with a promising career and normal life with no recollection of what had been done to her.

It was a surprisingly non-invasive operation. The centers that controlled memories were isolated using a variety of stimuli from sounds and smells to recorded conversations and images while the responses were mapped through neural sensors that had been in use for decades. Once the specific portions where the memories resided were thoroughly mapped, a combination of medications were given to the patient while a thin probe was inserted into the subject’s brain through the nose, the eye socket, or, rarely, through a small hole drilled into the skull. The probe was a combination of microfiber camera and surgical laser and would be used to cauterize the receptor groups in the brain that certain memories were affiliated with. The pharmaceuticals that the patient was given would degrade the specific chemical chains associated with the memories that were being purged. The process only took a few hours and once completed the patient would be back to a functioning capacity within hours if it was a single event that was erased. For the different Furs the process was completed over the course of a few days as most of the subjects were having entire years removed from memory.

Once the operation was complete, each of the Furs was then put under a sort of hypnosis while a rudimentary block of new memories were implanted. Using this method, therapists could fill the vacant area with a sort of mental framework that wouldn’t leave a huge block of emptiness that could fragment the patient’s psyche and would enable a variety of suggestions to be implanted as well. For the Furs, there was nothing left of the experiments that had been done on them and they were seeded with the notions that all of them had volunteered for a revolutionary program.

For some of the hybrids, it was necessary to re-install some basic scholastic skills using therapeutic pharmaceuticals and subliminal lessons, as their criminal pasts had started early. Wyatt, with Ásmundr accompanying him, was allowed to see that the people he’d been through so much with were healthy, even happy in most cases, and adjusting well to their situations. No one that Wyatt spoke to recalled their time on the island or even that they’d been in prison. Most believed that for the past several years they’d been undergoing genetic therapy to become what they were now and looked forward to the training that would soon begin, though none of them really knew what that training was or what it was for.

It pained Wyatt that Julie Valance recalled seeing him before, but not that that they’d been intimate at one point. “I think I remember seeing you about,” the female savannah cat told him as she sat at a table near the pool that had become something of the center of the Furs’ social world within the former Olympic Village. “You know, you’re kind of cute. Would…would you like to get together sometime? If it’s okay, I mean?” Her expression was hopeful and a little shy, something that was certainly out of character for the strong willed female. She acted with a level of nervous temerity that caught the other savannah cat off guard.

“Sure,” Wyatt agreed, trying to keep the feeling of loss out of his voice that the other hybrid couldn’t recall him clearly. “I think we could do that.”

“It’s a date, then!” she said brightly before realizing what she’d said and let her ears droop as her tail dropped to the ground. “I mean…maybe not a date date.” As she stood there plainly wishing she could vanish Wyatt did his best to reassure her, touching the back of her paw-like hand.

“You can call it a date,” he said softly, watching Julie for several long moments before she lit up with enthusiasm then got up and sauntered off to one of the buildings that had different amusements that had been brought in for the Furs to while away their time with.

As he sat there quietly, Ásmundr reached over and touched Wyatt’s arm. “She doesn’t remember your time together, my friend. It was too closely tied to the trauma that all of you suffered.”

“She’s like a girl again,” Wyatt stated. “Like…I don’t know.” He frowned and wasn’t sure to be happy for the female or furious. He let out a sigh and with it the tension in his shoulders and the knot in his gut. “Innocent again.”

Ásmundr nodded slowly, watching the savannah cat carefully. “Innocent is a good description. The things that made her into what she was haven’t happened to her. She remembers none of it.”

“Then how does she recall me enough to know that she’s seen me about? She doesn’t remember being with me, but this is the first time I’ve seen her since we were rescued.”

“I think a part of her recalls that the two of you shared an intimate bond, but not to the full extent,” the man said with a frown that indicated he was thinking hard on the matter. “You will be familiar to her, even desirable, but that’s the extent of it. No matter what some people say, when two people make love there is a substantial emotional investment, and the memory wipe doesn’t really change emotions. That is an entirely different portion of the brain and a wholly different set of conditions.” Ásmundr turned to the savannah cat. “If it helps she’s certainly interested in you, though.”

Wyatt shook his head and for a fraction of a moment his finger claws slid out involuntarily in a surge of irritation and regret. “But it’s like she’s there and not at the same time!” he whispered heatedly. “Like I’m talking to an imitation!”

“In a way you are,” Ásmundr said. “The part of her that formed a rapport with you is gone, or at least mostly gone. Julie is aware of you, in fact, she’s aware of quite a bit, but many of the portions of her memories were purged, including the ones that date all the way back to when she was barely an adolescent and her father forced physical attentions on her. All of that is gone.”

“She doesn’t remember her father raping her?” the feline asked as his ears stood on end in interest.

“No. Nor of her criminal endeavors. Those parts were also removed. That has had the effect, unforeseen as it was, of reducing her to the emotional and mental capacity of a fourteen, possibly fifteen or sixteen year old girl. She is developmentally at the point where her first forays into the world of adult pursuits would normally start.” Ásmundr shook his head. “To be honest, my friend, I am far more comfortable with the hard facts of other sciences than the gelatinous and speculative world of psychology and psychiatry. I never really had the talent for those areas.”

“But, uh, you know about her past, right? The things that led her to smuggling and her time on death row?”

The man nodded. “I do. Julie’s was a rather sad case, to be sure. But she remembers none of it, now. Now she can become the person that she should have been allowed to become without the darkness from her past distorting her perspectives and choices.”

Wyatt looked back to where the other savannah cat had gone, catching her gazing at him to make sure he was watching her before flicking her tail up saucily prior to entering the building everyone was calling the arcade, the roll to her hips and rump meant to be enticing, but reminded him of a little girl that was trying too hard to act like a grown up.

“And that was about a blatant invitation to follow her as I have ever seen,” Gustavsson said with a smile. “She truly does like you. Or is interested enough to be highly intrigued by you.” The man looked at the Fur solemnly. “Just remember, Wyatt. If you do pursue her, she’s at a crucial point in her new life. Julie is young. In body certainly, but even more so mentally and certainly emotionally. Treat her gently.”

Wyatt’s throat worked as he tried to swallow around a mouth that had suddenly gone dry. “Can we go now?” he asked in a small voice.

“Absolutely,” Gustavsson said, getting up from the umbrella shaded table and turning to head for the gate of the Village.

Not sure how to feel about what he’d just experienced, Wyatt followed woodenly. Julie seemed healthy and happy after her memory wipe, and that the dark things of her past were now gone could be a good thing according to some venues of thought on the subject. But they had been experiences that had taken the woman that had been and shaped her into the tough and resilient individual that Wyatt had counted on while they’d all been prisoners. The individual he’d spoken to was like an imitation Julie, and the anthrocat wasn’t really sure he liked the new version. He realized it could simply be his own perceptions that were coloring his opinion, and wondered if he would be the same when he finally underwent his own memory wipe. Where Julie was concerned and her behavior towards him it felt like he was the object of a school girl’s crush. It was flattering, enticing, but there was something about the situation that felt…wrong, as if to act on it would be an action as despicable as what her father had done to her in her now forgotten past.

So lost was he in his own thoughts regarding the other Furs in general, and Julie in particular, that Wyatt didn’t hear the Ásmundr’s phone chirp for attention nor of the brief, cryptic conversation. He wasn’t brought out of his dark musings until the man touched his shoulder. “It seems that things are progressing much more quickly than I anticipated.” He looked at the Fur with a sober expression. “We need to hurry home. Would you mind meeting a few others? I can’t guarantee that their reaction to your appearance will be the best, but it’s necessary.”

“Others? Is something wrong?”

“Not wrong, just unexpected.” Ásmundr clapped the savannah cat on his shoulder. “Come along. There are things we have to prepare for and we’ll have rather important guests for supper tonight.”

Wyatt only nodded and followed his benefactor out of the Village and to the waiting limousine. 

*** 

Ásmundr Gustavsson had sent one of his staff out to canvas the city of Stockholm for very specific things before calling in a professional seamstress that he had access to. Supper was an eight course affair fashioned by his personal chef and contained a variety of summer dishes with the entree being langoustine, a saltwater crustacean that reminded Wyatt of a cross between large shrimp and small lobsters, salad, different selections of fruits, chilled sweet and dry wines and cheeses that came from all over Europe.

As the kitchen took care of the meal, Ásmundr had his personal acquaintance show up to provide the Fur with what he felt would be appropriate clothing. She was a rather unflappable older woman that only blinked once at the man’s guest before taking a tape measure and getting Wyatt’s measurements before making him move around while clad only in his own fur to get an idea of points she’d need to pay attention to before grabbing the bolts of fabric that awaited her touch. The different cloths were light and airy, but opaque enough that they wouldn’t be completely transparent. In a far shorter time than Wyatt would have anticipated the woman had a complete outfit ready for him well before dinner was to be served and the guests for the evening would arrive.

With instructions from Ásmundr to go ahead and dress, Wyatt took his new clothing upstairs to the guest room he’d been staying in and showered, something that wasn’t all that necessary as he didn’t perspire anymore, though the process did make him feel better as a sort of reaffirmation that part of him was still human. Drying, even with the summer heat, took longer than he’d anticipated as he tried to remove all the dampness from his fur by way of a handheld blow dryer and brush. His hair, considerably longer than he’d worn it as a human, was now lengthy enough to tie back into a tail which he secured with a bit of blue ribbon. Only then, completely devoid of moisture, did the savannah cat try on the clothing that had been made for him.

Wyatt had been dressing in sports clothes that had been picked up in Stockholm for his use, most of it light enough with team names for sports that Wyatt had no idea about and everything was brightly colored to the point of being almost garish. Not so with his new ensemble.

A pullover shirt with sleeves that ended at his elbows went on first, the fabric the color of unbleached linen and an abbreviated collar with offset opening that lay left-to-right with three buttons. Over that he slipped on a sort of sport coat with narrow lapels in a green so dark in subdued light it was almost black. A pair of loose slacks of actual black went on next. There was a notch for the feline’s tail and a pair of strings were available for him to tie together to keep the pants from slipping. It was the last articles that were the most curious, and Wyatt slipped them on with a quizzical expression. They were like socks in black, but the soles were quilted with bottoms of suede where his pads would be with openings for his toes. They reminded the Fur of soft shoes or sandals that had been crossbred with socks, though they did make him feel more…human.

It was interesting how clothing could alter his own perceptions of himself.

Once dressed, Wyatt made his way downstairs to the salon where Gustavsson waited. The man had been in lengthy conversation with Helva Ginzler, and was showing her a small sketch book with simple, colorful designs when the savannah cat reappeared. The older woman looked at Wyatt with approval while Ásmundr simply stared and smiled.

“This should do, I think,” the woman said with the kind of look that was a cross between approval and serious scrutiny one would get from a doting grandmother. “Now that I know what I am to be working with, I am thinking it will not be so hard to produce the clothes that you are wanting, or the variety of sizes. I am wishing that you were not wanting so simple of things, ‘Mundr,” she told the man reproachfully. “Look at this wonderful cat-man and tell me that I cannot enhance even his magnificence! I am taking the already remarkable and making it extraordinary!”

“Helva, if anyone could take the remarkable and make it look extraordinary, it is you,” the man beamed as he kissed the old woman’s gnarled but still dexterous knuckles. “However simple would be best. I think that I would like to order the winter clothing as well.

The woman made a dismissive sound that was part laugh, part snort and pulled her hands back, though not before she cuffed Ásmundr on the arm affectionately and said something in either Swedish or German, Wyatt couldn’t tell which, but whatever said, it was warm and friendly. “I will need helping with the sandals you have drawn. I am a seamstress, not a cobbler.” The woman then stepped up to the savannah cat and looked at the way the garments hung on him critically, her fingers touching and brushing, adjusting and ensuring the fit. “It is not too hot?”

“Uh…n-no. They feel fine, ma’am,” Wyatt said as she slid the back of her fingers along his cheek before tweaking an ear playfully.

Helva grinned and nodded, please that her work was accepted by both and picked up an old cloth shoulder bag that Wyatt knew had enough needles and notions in it to equip a small tailoring shop and carefully stuffed several of the drawings that Ásmundr had made into one of the available pockets. “I shall have more for you in a few days. Wash gentle and in cold water, no bleaching, pretty cat-man.”

With those last instructions and another petting of his cheek the woman left, tossing a negligent wave up as way of good-bye to Gustavsson who was busy laughing. “Helva likes you, my friend. If I’m not careful, and you let your guard down, you’ll wind up in her house with the old dear spoiling you outrageously!” Ásmundr stepped to an antique desk to put the sketch book away. “She was the only one that would be allowed to make my father’s suits. Personally I think there was more to their dealings, but by then my mother had passed, so who was I to balk. She is a terrible flirt, though. She learned fashion design in Italy and had several shops throughout Europe before retiring, though she’ll still do me an occasional favor.”

Before Wyatt could even formulate a response the doorbell chimed, the partial tune familiar, though the savannah cat couldn’t quite place it, and Ásmundr clapped his hands together lightly.

“Ah. That would be our guests.” The man gestured to a side bar that had all manner of decanters, each different but obviously meant to be a set. “Wyatt, if you’ll be so kind as to get yourself a drink, I’ll fetch the others and we’ll visit a while before we all retire to the dining room.”

Again Wyatt was left without a chance to respond as the man stepped out of the room. Moving to the bar, the Fur looked at the bottles that awaited his pleasure and wondered if he should hazard something with some kick to it, though it had been quite a while since he’ had the opportunity to enjoy anything potent and settled for a decanter that turned out to be a clear gin and added a copious amount of soda and ice to it before dropping a twist of lime to top it off. When he turned around it was all the savannah cat could do not to let the glass slip from suddenly numb fingers as he found Halley standing in the doorway in a dress and looking positively stunning, her own shocked expression mirroring his own. 

*** 

Wyatt tried to sit near Halley, that moment of seeing her in the doorway being the closest the two of them had been since just before leaving the island and the savannah cat realized that just the presence of the young woman filled a vacancy that he hadn’t known existed. The seating placed her diagonally at the other side and opposite end of the table from where he sat so all they could do is look at each other. The feeling of being so close and yet still separated showed in the girl’s blue-green eyes as much as they did Wyatt’s. They’d both tried to greet each other but their efforts had been thwarted by a man who looked to be in his late twenties, dark hair and healthy looking skin with waves of glossy black hair and piercing grey eyes. The man had been introduced as Wiktor Fortescu, a Romanian by birth and one of the international lawyers that would be helping to represent the Furs during the trial of Andre Bolivar and the actions he initiated through and on behalf of the TCC. His brother, also a lawyer by the name of Anatol, would be overseeing the entire trial preparation while representing the different technicians and human staff. With them was a young woman that had been introduced as Amelie du Mournet.

While young, the woman was deferred to by the elder Fortescu brother for her knowledge of international law and the rights the Furs might qualify for under the European Union charter. The time before dinner was spent discussing the overall strategy that would enable the former prisoners special consideration for the changes that had been wrought by the forced genetic mutations all of them had undergone. The discussion was halted when serving was announced and all of them sat and didn’t resume until the last course was cleared and they waited upon dessert. It had been a trying meal for Wyatt as the younger of the two Romanians flirted outrageously with an increasingly uncomfortable Halley.

“You see, Mister Renner,” Wiktor said as he and the others let their food settle, his accent almost causing Wyatt to smile every time he spoke as it reminded him of every bad Dracula movie he’d ever seen, “the problem is that the Terran Colonization Coalition is the result of international support and cooperation. As essentially an unofficial child of the UN, the charges that are leveled must be in accordance with several nations and their views on genetic research. Our problem is voicing our arguments as human rights violations and an exercise that surpassed the limits of Human Dignity laws while still protecting you and the others who, obviously, are not human. This will have the affect of angering a number of governments and persons of considerable wealth and power.”

“They began as humans,” Ásmundr pointed out, irritation clear on his face.

“Yes,” Wiktor said as he gestured with his wine glass. “But he and the others are, most obviously, not human anymore. That is one of the many problems our respective offices are facing.” He looked at the savannah cat, his mouth cocked into almost a sneer. “Mister Renner, just what would you call yourself now? Please, be honest. Do you still consider yourself a man? Or are you a cat?”

Wyatt blinked, unsure why he was being treated with such disdain until he saw Halley flinch noticeably before it looked like she brushed something off her lap and Wiktor placed his hand back above the table a moment later, the whole time his eyes mocked the Fur and took on a challenging gleam. Grinding his teeth slightly, Wyatt let his gaze become something akin to what a feline’s would become as it regarded prey. “I’m still the same person I was. The same memories, the same thoughts and feelings. The outside might be very different, but inside I’m still Wyatt Renner.”

“The problem is how do we prove this to others, and, being Wyatt Renner, convince others that your debt to society as a death row prisoner has been served.” Wiktor finished off his wine and held it up arrogantly for one of the servers to refill, all the while his eyes remained locked on the anthrocat as another sneer tugged at his full lips while he intentionally placed his free hand over Halley’s.

Once more the young woman flinched as if something unsavory had brushed against her and she firmly set her own glass down and looked apologetically at Wyatt, then Ásmundr. “I don’t mean to be rude, but would you excuse me?” she asked, her own eyes darting to Wiktor before casting a pleading look to the host of the evening. “I’m afraid I’m not feeling well.”

“By all means, my dear,” Ásmundr replied with a genial smile that masked what he was actually feeling. “Ulfi, will you show Miss Kane to one of the guest suites? The one with the eastern view would be to her liking, I think.”

The house butler stepped up and nodded curtly, sliding Halley’s chair out for her and extending his arm as the other men around the table stood politely as was appropriate until the young woman was escorted from the dining room.

Once Halley was gone, Wiktor said something in Romanian that caused his brother to scowl and Ásmundr’s face to darken with red across his cheeks and forehead. A heated exchange began between the two brothers ending when Wiktor threw his cloth napkin onto the table with a smoldering glare directed at the other Romanian. It went one for several long moments until Gustavsson took advantage of a pause in the obvious argument between the brothers.

“Anatol, I brought you and your firm in because I felt your experience with international law would be a boon to our cause,” Gustavsson said, his tone cool and precise belying the anger that was a strong scent to the cat man. “I’m sincerely hoping that I wasn’t misguided in my decision. As it is, I believe your brother is more concerned in trying to seduce one of the clients I’ve retained your services for.”

The older of the Romanians stood with an apologetic expression. “Forgive my brother, Ásmundr. Had I known that he was going to behave this way I’d have left him back in Bucharest to drink himself foolish as he staggered from brothel to brothel.” When Wiktor attempted to say something Anatol stormed around the table and growled at his brother before striking the younger man across the mouth. He stood up straight once he was assured of Wiktor’s silence and compliance. “I think, as senior partner of my firm, that it would be best if my brother waited in the car while we discuss the matter further.” Wiktor tried to protest until his brother said something in a hushed voice that even if the anthrocat had spoken Romanian he wouldn’t have heard clearly, though the tone and scowl left no doubt as to his words being a serious threat.

Ásmundr nodded and watched as Wiktor stood and let one of the staffers show him out, his brother following to ensure he and the others would suffer no more interruptions and that Wiktor’s antagonizing of Wyatt would stop.

Once the brothers had departed Gustavsson drained the contents of his wine glass in a single swallow and winced before turning to Wyatt. “I can’t begin to apologize enough for that,” he said softly. “Anatol’s a good man and well versed in both international law and politics. Unfortunately he also shows a little too much loyalty to family, though I think tonight has revealed Wiktor’s true colors. He said his brother could be an embarrassment at times. Now I see what he meant.”

“He was an insulting little snot,” the savannah cat agreed. “I got the impression he didn’t like me at all, and he liked Halley too much.”

“Wiktor has a weakness for pretty girls, and there’s no doubt that Miss Kane is precisely within his preferences. I think once we call this evening over, you should go see how she’s faring.” Ásmundr smiled knowingly at the Fur. “I’m sure that tonight might have been even more traumatic for her and it will do her good to know that you are hale and hearty as well, my friend.”

Wyatt nodded with a smile tossed at the man. “Thank you, Ásmundr.For everything.”

The man only waved in response, a chuckle sounding deep in his throat as he reached for one of the bottles of wine and looked at the label before holding it up for the others as Anatol returned and took his chair. “I think we should have this opened and begin our discussions in earnest. Do you all agree?”

As soon as the large Romanian had returned, Amelie du Mournet spoke up, so far having been a silent observer throughout the evening. “I will admit, despite his boorishness, that Wiktor’s question does have some merit on what we are trying to accomplish,” she said, her voice clear and crisp with only a hint of an accent. “What would you consider yourself, Monsieur Renner?”

Wyatt thought about it, his tail lashing the air and carpet behind his chair where it stuck out from the backrest. “I…I really don’t know.” He slumped a little with a slightly forlorn expression. “Like I said, I’m still me, but I don’t know where I fit in anymore.” He sighed. “Or even if I fit in…”

“Then we must discern where it is that you do fit in,” the woman said. She picked up her wine glass and moved closer to Ásmundr and the anthrocat, not even waiting for the men to show proper etiquette towards her before she plopped down, flinging the skirts of her gown out of the way in irritation. “Forgive me. I am not used to such finery. Despite the reputation most Parisian women have, I prefer jeans and loose shirts.” Her smile was quick and sincere, doing wonders for setting the others, particularly Wyatt, at ease. “I feel that we can utilize the Human Dignity Laws to our advantage in this situation. While Monsieur Renner is, as has been so rudely pointed out, not human, he is, very much, sentient.” She looked at the savannah cat. “Soon we will go to Geneva and before the Word Court. I would like for you to stay hidden, Monsieur Renner. You and the others that have not had the operation to erase memories. It is my intention to keep you hidden just before our final arguments. That is when we shall bring you and the others out. Then, and only then, will the world be made aware of your existence. To help we shall ensure that everyone knows and understands just what it was that was done to you, the pain, the suffering. To make this work, we will need to generate the sympathy that you and the others are very deserving of.”

“Do you think it will work?” Wyatt asked, a spark of hope flaring to life.

“I trust Amelie,” the remaining Fortescu brother said firmly. “If this is what she counsels, then you must do it. For your sake, and the sake of the others.” The man declined a refill of his wine and asked instead for either a tea or coffee and leaned towards the savannah cat. “Often the judges that sit in for the Court tend to be conservatives, maintaining the letter of the law with respect to the nations that are affected. Fortunately for us recently the bench has been filled with those that are less inclined towards the letter of the law and are more concerned with the spirit of the law.”

Wyatt blinked in confusion until Ásmundr touched his arm to get his attention. “What Anatol is saying is that several of the judges that are presiding over the Court at the moment are a little more liberal than they have been in the past and are more concerned with what is right.”

“We can take this and use what has been done to you to protect you and the others,” Amelie said as she resumed the thread of the conversation. “We shall take humanitarian laws and reword them so that you and the others will also enjoy the protections that humans do.” The woman smiled, her expression turning her from being somewhat plain to almost radiant as she had an idea. “Instead of humanitarian laws, Monsieur Renner, we shall be the first to establish, as Ásmundr puts it, Furmanitarian laws.” She lifted her glass towards the feline. “Not human, perhaps, but equal to humans.”

Ásmundr nodded in agreement and touched his own glass to the young expert, his own smile helping to quell some of the tension the Fur felt. “Very good, Mademoiselle.To Furmanitarian laws!” 

***

It was after midnight before the small party finally broke up, Amelie du Mournet heading to her hotel room in Stockholm to rest before heading back to Paris to begin work while Anatol Fortescu took his brother to the airport to return him to Bucharest. The elder Romanian then placed several calls to have the bulk of his personal legal staff begin the process of relocating to Stockholm and a small house that Ásmundr had on his estate that would become the headquarters for their upcoming legal battle for the Furs. With little more to contribute, Wyatt turned to return to his suite, though not before his host stopped him and pressed a pair of glasses into the Fur’s paws along with a dusty bottle.

“I’m sure that Miss Kane would be appreciative of a little something to help her sleep the evening through. Also, if you could let her know that I’ll have my man bring her the rest of her things. It wouldn’t do to let my guests do without, would it?” the man asked with a grin.

The savannah cat took the bottle and a pair of glasses before heading to the wing with the guest rooms, not really sure where Halley had been escorted to. Before finding someone to ask, Wyatt thought it prudent to change into something more comfortable first, wanting to keep the clothing that Ásmundr had had made for him as clean and wrinkle free as possible and went to his room. As soon as he opened the door to his suite, Wyatt’s question as to where Halley might be was answered as he found her lying upon his bed. Her eyes were puffy and a little red but the ravages of earlier crying vanished as soon as Halley saw the anthrocat.

“Wyatt!” the girl cried in relief, launching herself from the bed and seeming to land in the Fur’s embrace. “Oh, Wyatt! I’ve missed you!”

The savannah cat closed his arms around the girl, the bottle and glasses all but forgotten as Wyatt rubbed his cheek against Halley’s, his nose taking in her smell, finding her personal scent beneath the floral soap and light perfume she wore. It was a warm, living smell, slightly salty and sweet at the same time and filled him with a comforting warmth like standing before a fire after a day spent in the cold and damp.

“Shh. It’s okay, Halley,” he whispered, his eyes closing as her fingers gripped him, working past the thin fabric of his clothing and pulling the fur of his back in a manner that was surprisingly comforting. “You’re here, now. It’ll be alright.”

They held each other for long minutes, both recalling their last words together back on the island, though all of that was moot, something that felt like it was a lifetime in the past. Halley was the first to pull away but only so she could press her lips to the feline’s, the simple contact becoming more passionate with each heartbeat that the two shared with the other.

“I wanted to see you,” the girl said when they finally parted. “A man named Thorvald who works with some office in the Swedish Ministry told me that I had to give the people he’d contacted all of the information I could. That’s how I wound up talking to the Fortescu brothers. I couldn’t tell them everything because Ásmundr has the computer records, but I was able to give them enough.” Haley shivered, nestling further against the savannah cat. “Anatol is a good man but Wiktor was a complete beast!” she blurted, her words muffled slightly where she pressed her face against his chest. “Always looking…staring, like he was undressing me with his eyes and always trying to touch me.” She shivered again. “He made me feel dirty.”

Wyatt squeezed her tighter, trying to impart silent comfort, feeling the young woman return the gesture.

“He said he wanted to sleep with me. He wanted me. He even offered money like I’m some common prostitute! I slapped him and told him I belong to another,” Halley persisted. She leaned back within the Fur’s arms, her fingers tightening desperately, her eyes uncertain and filled with fear. “I do belong to you, don’t I? You…you still want me, don’t you?”

“Always,” Wyatt husked, his eyes warming, the brown flecked yellow irises seeming to glow from within. His pads caressed the skin of her cheek. “I love you.”

The words were like a catalyst and before long both were devoid of their clothing, the garments falling where they may and the two lovers rediscovered each other, this time without the fear of being caught and punished for their sharing of affections. There was no thrill of fear mingled with their lovemaking as there had been on the island. Instead their joining was a languorous display of deep emotion and provided a tender night that ended too soon for either. When they slept it was in each other’s arms and the world felt better for it.

— NEXT CHAPTER —

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