EXODUS

— by Jeff Karamales

Chapter 22
East Meets West
 

“Gone?” Ásmundr said slowly, his eyebrows moving inexorably closer together in a scowl. “What do you mean gone?”

The State Department representative that also functioned as the head of the security detail continued to glare at the other man while a pair of his men helped a third to his feet, the one that accepted the assistance squeezing his eyes shut when one of the others jostled his dislocated shoulder. “I mean your…whatever he is…attacked one of my men and left.” The agent glanced to the trio of underlings. “One of you get him to the hospital and let me know what the doctors say. Full X-rays, this time. Any of you cause me more paperwork than I’ve already got to fill out and you’ll be riding desks for the rest of the year.”

The Agent in Charge turned back to the Swede. “Do you know how long, Agent Crossman?” Ásmundr asked curtly.

“Maybe an hour,” the man said, both his tone and face exhibiting a sour attitude.

“What else?”

The State Department man bristled. “What do you mean ‘what else’? That animal attacked one of my people! If I’d seen the attack I’d have put it down!”

Gustavsson pulled the tie off he’d been in the process of knotting when the Agent in Charge banged insistently on his door as the Swede had been preparing for the scheduled interview. Ásmundr glared at the man, his strong hands crushing the tie while his knuckles popped with the force of his squeeze and the Agent realized that perhaps he’d gone too far in voicing his opinion. The taller European spoke in soft, precise words. “Furs are not animals, Agent Crossman. They are protected by international law, and at the present time are also protected by diplomatic immunity. You are an element of that protection. The safety of Wyatt and Ramad are your sole concern.” Ásmundr straightened, putting his eyes a good six inches higher than the other man’s and exercised the projection of his presence that hadn’t been developed through managing multimillion dollar industries, but he’d learned during a summer spent with the Stockholm Theatre during his first summer at university. “Now then, I recommend you leave one or two of your men here and send the others out to find Wyatt.”

“Now see here Mister-” the Agent began, pointing his finger at the other man rudely.

“No!” Ásmundr roared, his deep voice felt as much as heard. “You will do your job or I will have you brought up on charges of dereliction of duty! Am I clear, Agent Crossman?”

The man backed up half a step at the sheer volume of the command, relinquishing the position of authority and dominance. Crossman realized that Gustavsson could easily complicate his career should he wish, the man not just having sway with financial companies that had numerous interests within the borders of the US, but substantial power through the governments of both Sweden and the United States. After eleven years with the State Department he didn’t have quite enough of a cushion of time-in-grade to ignore events that could possibly end everything he’d worked for. Switching on his radio to contact the rest of the detail, Crossman decided that he would follow this particular duty detail to the end, despite his feelings on the unnatural origins of two of the charges his team had been assigned.

Heading down the hallway to the rest of the suites as he triggered his radio and ordered the remaining men of his team with the exception of two of the most junior agents to remain on the floor while directing the others to fan out and track down the errant creature the Swede called a Fur. 

*** 

Ásmundr looked around the main salon for moment, his hands curled into fists and resting on his hips. Scattered all over the top of the salon’s bar and over the floor was a single empty glass bottle and numerous smaller sample bottles that had held no more than half a measure in each. On one of the lounging sofas a cushion had been shredded into ribbons, the cloth covering and stuffing spread over half the room. Frowning in a moment of extreme pique, Ásmundr scanned the room once more before leaving and heading to Halley’s personal suite. His knuckles rapped the wooden door sharply several times before the girl opened the door to her room.

Halley blinked bloodshot eyes, the skin of her lids and sockets red and puffy with the smears of makeup remnants and dried tear tracks on her reddened cheeks. “Á-Ásmundr?” she asked in a raw, scratchy voice, noticing the pinched expression on the man’s face. “Is something wrong?”

“I was hoping you could answer the same question for me,” the man replied in clipped tones. “The salon looks like the destruction left from an American fraternity party and Wyatt is missing. Care to shed some light on the situation?”

“Wyatt’s missing?” the woman said in confusion. “How long?”

“Long enough to deplete most of the salon bar.” Ásmundr replied. “Long enough to decide that he wasn’t done wrecking himself. It seems Wyatt also assaulted one of the agents assigned to protect him and Ramad. Dislocated the man’s shoulder just to get past him.” His eyes narrowed as he fought to maintain his temper. “Halley, how long ago did you leave him, and what happened to cause this?”

Halley shook her head as she tried to think. “I…I guess about an hour and a half ago. Maybe a little less.”

“And what caused Wyatt to try to embalm himself in so short a time?”

The girl could tell that Ásmundr was growing thin on patience as she stammered a muttered answer before the man told her to repeat what she’d just said, though more clearly. “I broke up with him!” the woman blurted finally. “I…I-I heard you telling one of the agents that you wanted th-them to keep an eye out because you were already getting messages about people wanting to hurt him and the others!”

“You ended your relationship? Tonight? Of all nights, you had to do it tonight?!?”

“I did it to protect him!” Halley claimed defensively. “If people are already thinking about killing him and the other Furs, what do you think they’ll do if they knew about me and Wyatt?”

She pushed on, reciting all of the same arguments that she’d given the savannah cat. When she was done Halley saw that Ásmundr was still angry and his face had lost none of its tightness. When he spoke, the Swede’s voice had almost the same thrumming quality that the Fur’s had as he fought to maintain a civil tongue. “Your reasons are some of the most selfish, thoughtless excuses I have ever heard. Did you think it was going to be easy once you were rescued?” he inquired frostily. “Were you expecting a storybook ending? And you did this on the night that I had an interview scheduled that now has to be postponed. That isn’t what concerns me, though. What does concern me is that Wyatt is missing in a city that can be dangerous. Deadly dangerous. And it could have been avoided.”

Halley would have been able to cope with the man yelling at her. She could have dealt with furious ranting. But as the man went on, his voice maintaining a flat, even tone was far worse than if he’d railed at her. His systematic destruction of her arguments with cool reasoning brought home the fact that she had been acting selfishly, realizing that everything she’d told the savannah cat had been in her best interests, how she would have been hurt if the events she’d postulated came to pass. At no point had she considered how Wyatt would have felt, thinking that he would be able to find a more suitable partner in one of the other Furs.

By the time Ásmundr was done the girl had once more been reduced to tears and her face again reddened, though this time in shame.

“Wha…what can I d-do to help?” she finally asked in a husky whisper as the Swede turned to go.

Ásmundr didn’t even break stride as he continued down the hallway and looked back over his shoulder. “I would say that you’ve done quite enough this evening, wouldn’t you?”

There was nothing more for the man to do until word came from the State Department agents on Wyatt, one way or another, and the Swede relegated himself to his own suite until that word came. Ásmundr wasn’t accustomed to waiting and found that being in the middle of a situation that he had no control of caused a level of frustration that he was uncomfortable with. He pulled the tie he’d taken off earlier from his pocket and wrung it in his hands to bleed off some of the nervous energy that filled him, his efforts destroying the silk accessory in the process. Ásmundr looked at the permanently wrinkled and shredded three hundred dollar tie and scowled at it before throwing it in the general direction of the room’s garbage can. When the offending strip of cloth fell short it was all that the man could do not to snarl in impotent rage and if glares could start fire the tie would have been incinerated.

Ramad tried to speak to the man for a moment before Ásmundr drove the snow leopard away with a tirade of multilingual profanity that could have scorched the paint from the hotel room walls. Unaware of the cat man’s exit, the tall Swede tried to vent his nervous energy between pacing with agitated vigor and flopping onto the available sofa in moments of worry and dread.Almost two hours slipped by when a sharp knock sounded on the door and the man found himself with his hand on the knob and staring at the head of the security detail, Crossman looking absolutely furious.

“We found your cat,” the man told Ásmundr, barely refraining from adding profanity to refer to the savannah cat Fur. “He’s down in the lounge entertaining a bunch of tourists.”

“He’s what?!?” Ásmundr sputtered, his blue eyes bulging so for out of his head that Crossman worried for a fraction of a moment if they would fall out of his head.

Agent Crossman sighed and rubbed at his temples with both hands. “The stupid cat is in the hotel bar letting people buy him drinks and give him belly rubs.” He dropped his hands as his mouth twisted into a frown of disgust. “That and I found out that your man…cat…thing…he…he didn’t attack my agent.”

The Swede looked at the other man quizzically. “Then how did your agent get injured?”

Crossman shook his head in disbelief. “Agent Loomis was talking to his wife on the phone when…Wyatt approached. Apparently he moved so silently that my man didn’t know he was there until he turned around. He was startled and fell over the large planter near the elevator, landing on his shoulder and dislocating the joint.”

Blinking several times, Ásmundr felt his anger returning. “So, you were going to accuse my Fur of attacking your agent, possibly causing an issue between your State Department and the government of Sweden over someone’s clumsiness?”

“I told you the truth!” Crossman shot back, bristling in response to the other man’s ire.

Ásmundr didn’t respond verbally, his answer being to slip his phone into his ear as he stared at the Agent in Charge. His glare didn’t waver as he spoke in Swedish to someone on the other end of the connection. There was a short response and the man nodded as he spoke a single word that sounded like an affirmative before disconnecting. “I have requested a different agent to be assigned. One that isn’t bigoted or hostile to the Furs and is much more forthcoming and honest. I would say it’s been a pleasure, but both of us know that would be a lie. Now, if you’ll pardon me I’m going to go and retrieve my friend.”

Agent Crossman only ground his jaw as the other man brushed past him, though he did turn when Ásmundr began to speak from the open door.

“You may want to try and rein in your prejudice, Agent Crossman,” Ásmundr advised. “For good or ill, the existence of furmankind is now a part of our world. This is a fact. As such you may find yourself having to deal with them in the future in a professional capacity.”

There was nothing that Crossman could say and watched as the door shut, wondering if it was a sign of his future career with the State Department. 

*** 

The view from the balcony of his room had caused Wyatt’s state of depression to worsen as he watched the traffic pick up with the setting of the sun. People replaced cars and he watched as small groups of friends and couples began to appear, moving up and down the sidewalks of this part of Washington. The weather was warm enough so that light clothing for the men and summer dresses for the women were common, some even wearing shorts that were just this side of being scandalous. As he continued to observe, no one looking up to see the strange creature that had gone so far as to perch on the balustrade, Wyatt was overcome with the need to be around others…any others. He would have preferred Halley, but the young woman had made her opinion crystal clear.

As he jumped down to the floor of the balcony, his padded feet enabling him to do so quietly, his knees and hips flexing to take his weight, Wyatt considered that perhaps what the woman he loved had done was for the best. Maybe thinking about what had happened was ill advised with the amount of alcohol coursing through his system, but she’d brought up some valid points. They would never be accepted by the rest of the world. He’d even had relatives that frowned upon interethnic marriages. To think that people could understand that he was still, on some level, a man and not just an animal that could mimic humans would have been a stretch. He and Halley could never have children together. While there might be some genetic compatibility somewhere in the mix, it wasn’t enough to grant fertility. Even if they could, Wyatt didn’t want a child that looked like him. He knew the struggle that he and the others would have to gain acceptance, something like that would be impossible for a child and exceedingly cruel to ask a potential son or daughter to endure what he and the others already had and the things yet to come.

It was a chore, but the savannah cat managed to get out of the clothes he’d had on for the hearing and found a pair of the shorts and light tops that Fräu Ginzler had furnished based on designs by Ásmundr Gustavsson. They were airy, comfortable, and wouldn’t cause him to overheat nor would the fabric pull on his fur. The vest belted at the waist and gave the savannah cat the benefit of coverage without feeling confining, both the shorts and top being a sort of cerulean. Wyatt hoped that with the clothing any people that he encountered, particularly the ones assigned to the security detail that watched them, would be less inclined to shoot him on sight. Thus dressed he opened his door and stepped out into the hallway and headed to the elevators.

The agent that stood post at the set of double doors was busy on the phone, Wyatt having no trouble hearing a woman’s voice on the other end, his triangular ears twitching as he heard both sides of the conversation clearly.

“You know we were supposed to have dinner with my sister and her husband tonight, don’t you?”

The man nodded. “I know, honey, but when your supervisor says you’re going to be on a detail, you do what he says. You go ahead and go, though. I’ll just have to find some way to make it up to you.”

“Darn right you’re going to make this up to me!” the woman on the other end said with a distinctly playful tone. “Ever since she started those cooking classes we’ve become her favorite people to experiment on. I don’t know how Jim can stand it!”

“He probably bought stock in some company that makes indigestion medicine,” the agent replied with a grin. “That or he’s got a stomach pump hidden in the garage.”

The man turned just as Wyatt stopped, his paw-like hand reaching to push the button to call the elevator, his grin faltering as is eyes widened and his hand groped automatically for the sidearm under his blazer. It was the step back that caused the trouble, though, and Wyatt, not wanting to spook the man anymore than he already was, watched as the back of his right knee caught the heavy terracotta planter and tumbled backwards. The sound of the man’s shoulder joint popping was clearly audible as he hit the carpeted floor.

“Sorry about that,” Wyatt slurred before nodding apologetically and stepping into the elevator. With a sigh, the savannah cat pressed the button that would send the car to the lobby and shook his head. The agents that were supposed to be in the hotel for the security of Wyatt and Ramad made it clear that this wasn’t what they would consider a desired posting. Hostile looks met them whenever they appeared and both anthrocats had heard some of the mutters that were traded about what should be done with them. Wyatt would have helped the agent, but considering the general opinion of him and Ramad the savannah cat felt it best to simply walk away. Then again, considering his inebriated state, Wyatt wasn’t sure he could be all that much help. Standing without swaying too much was already a challenge unless he went on all fours.

The elevator doors opened with a musical chime and Wyatt stepped out into the lobby. It seemed that great pains had been made on the behalf of an interior designer to give the hotel something of a modern European feel, but after spending time in Stockholm, Wyatt knew the difference between the real thing and a cheap imitation and the lobby only seemed garish instead of elegant. There was no one in the immediate vicinity as the savannah cat stepped from the car and looked around. While there weren’t any signs that led the way to the lounge he knew was somewhere on the main floor, the sounds of music caught his attention, Wyatt’s ears twisting to better pick up the energetic sounds of skazza, a blending of ska and upbeat jazz, though there was a sort of mellowness to the normally lively music that one normally didn’t encounter.

The lounge was lit just enough to provide ample light to see, for human eyes at least, while maintaining a subdued level that was almost intimate. People would have to sit close together to make out minute details in another. The room was also sparsely populated, though it was the middle of the week and most people were probably outside and enjoying the summer evening instead of wanting to be indoors. Keeping to the edge of the room, Wyatt made his way to a small table that would let him see the stage, nodding to the bartender as the man stared openly at him, the glass that he’d been cleaning with a towel going unnoticed until he dropped it on the floor. The sound of breaking glass didn’t make it much past the bar proper, the acoustics of the room centered on making the band the focus of attention.

The bartender could only stare with a blank expression, unsure if what he was seeing was real. Although the staff at the hotel knew that the Furs were staying there, all of them getting a security brief prior to their arrival, Lawrence Daws hadn’t expected to actually see them. Knowing these strange creatures that combined human and animal were here was one thing, seeing them in person was something else. The bartender, however, wasn’t the only one that saw the Fur laying claim to the back table.

To the left of the stage was a small knot of people talking, the center of the group comprising several women. The one that stood out the most was oriental and Wyatt saw her sit up straighter in her chair as she saw him, her expression changing from one of boredom to complete surprise. The savannah cat watched as the young man that was speaking to her seemed to twitch in surprise and said something that wasn’t intelligible but the tone was clear. The woman looked at her companion for a moment, her expression one of displeasure, then stood and gathered her drink and handbag in one smooth motion before heading for the Fur in the corner. 

*** 

Aki Matsudo sat across from the young man at her table and exercised every bit of self control she had in an effort not to shudder in revulsion and pasted a false smile on her face to hide her anger. Eastern Connections, the dating site she’d booked the tour to the United States with had failed miserably in verifying the men from Aki’s list of potential dates were ones that she would approve of and now she was stuck with a man for the evening that didn’t interest her in the slightest and actually caused a feeling of revulsion. While the young woman liked tattoos and body modifications that were artful, Darryl Gibbs had taken the somewhat benign subject of self expression to a level that could only be called grotesque. The young man had more metal in his face and ears than Aki had ever seen and his tattoos all revolved around skulls and bones or other dark images.

Certain that there were some girls from the Industrial Death movement that would have found Darryl edgy, adventurous, attractive, and even desirable, Aki was not among them. She also learned that he’d misrepresented himself by stating on his profile that he had a position in sales with a technology based firm and lived in an exclusive condominium complex. The truth was that he worked as a sales clerk in a video game store and lived in his parents’ basement though his true passion lie with playing in the band that he was a part of. Never mind that his educational level was questionable as Aki’s command of the English language was better than her mismatched date’s.

“So just before the show we hung a bunch of bones from everything! It was too morbid!” Darryl, though he’d asked to be called by his online name of Thanatos, informed the young woman. “We had bones from everywhere, man! Chicken bones an’ stuff, bones we got offa roadkill. We even had bones an’ skulls from some dogs that had died in th’ woods an’ were all grimy an’ stuff! It was totally morbid!”

Aki nodded, trying not to let not only the story ruin the dinner she’d had earlier. Unfortunately Darryl’s use of the word ‘morbid’ was finally grating on her resolve and his descriptions of obtaining set decorations for concerts were enough to challenge in the most solid of constitutions. It seemed that was the only descriptive the man was capable of using.

Just as her date for the evening launched into another nauseating and disturbingly dark story, Aki happened to glance up at motion towards the bar and stared for several seconds at the figure that made his way slowly to a small table in the far corner. She’d seen the strange, wonderful creatures on news casts and had replayed the footage from various reporters over and over on her computer for the past month. The revelation of furmankind had set the Land of the Rising Sun afire with almost unparalleled fervor for all things involving animals and manga characters that had fallen out of popularity suddenly found an entirely new generation of fans.

As she made her living as the artist and creator for a popular series of Japanese graphic novels involving cat-like creatures, Aki Matsudo was naturally attracted to the beings that were being called Furs. She already had the premise sketched out for an entire new storyline on her drawing table back in her Tokyo studio. Be that as it may, though, she hadn’t expected to encounter one of them while in the US, one of the catmen that she’d seen and had so many pictures of, and felt her heart beating faster as Darryl ‘Thanatos’ Gibbs droned on about how he just knew his band was going to make it big with the underground music scene.

“I would like to thank you for an…interesting evening,” Aki said politely as she stood and collected her things. “As I still have other dates to make I am not sure when I will be able to contact you again. Goodnight, Darryl,” the young woman said with a bow before she strode off to the back of the bar, leaving a very confused and irritated young man staring after her. 

*** 

Wyatt watched as the woman that noticed him made her way to his table, a look of surprise and delight on her face. She wore a skirt that ended well above her knees, her exposed legs lean and shapely. She wore a puffy sleeved blouse in white under a sort of cropped jacket that was mix of 1940’s American haute couture and modern Japanese schoolgirl uniform, complete with the sailor motif that had resurged in popularity. She placed one foot in front of the other, her mincing steps causing her hips to sway quite nicely. Her hair was the most striking feature, though. The pixie cut was spiked out a bit from her head and the bangs swept from left to right. All of it was dyed a dark metallic pink not unlike the shade and style of popular cartoon characters.

“Pardon the intrusion,” the young woman asked with sparkling eyes and a half smile on her full pinkish-red lips as she drew up to Wyatt’s table, “but are you with anyone, or would you be inclined for company?”

Wyatt couldn’t help but smile, careful to keep his teeth from showing. She spoke excellent English, though there was a definite accent to her high, breathy voice as she clipped some consonants while letting most vowels roll off her tongue languidly. “I’m alone and I wouldn’t mind company.” He told her and stood enough to move a chair out for the girl, others from the group she’d been a part of finally turning to look at the savannah cat with a mix of different expressions, foremost being interest and awe. “I think the guy you were talking to is a little cheesed about you coming over here, though.” The savannah cat’s eyes widened slightly as the young man turned around all the way to cast a hard glare at the Fur and young woman, astonished at the amount of piercings that glittered in the lounge’s subdued lighting. “Whoa. That’s a lot of metal,” Wyatt whispered.

The girl only smiled demurely as she sat down and arranged her drink on the table, making sure the disposable coaster was precisely placed before doing the same to her handbag. “As this was our first meeting I am of the mind that I don’t owe him either explanation or obligation. And yes, he has enough steel on his face and ears to rebuild the Yamato!”

“First meeting? I don’t want to be the reason to ruin your date…”

The young woman laughed, a light, musical sound. “Oh, it wasn’t a date. It was a first meeting. I am visiting the city as part of an exchange program.”

As Wyatt listened the bartender finally got over his shock and sent a reluctant server to his table, the young woman nervous as she approached. After asking if anything he ordered could be billed to his room the savannah cat requested an iced coffee, feeling the need for something stimulating rather than intoxicating and turned back to the girl. “An exchange program? Like something for school or a business?”

“Neither,” she replied. “Actually I suppose that I was on a date,” she admitted. “I came to the United States with a program that helps women like me find husbands in other countries. It is not easy to find husbands in Japan as there are less men than women. Many Japanese men are reverting to the kind of thinking that women should be subservient. It is a tiring thing and I have always been attracted to Americans.” She idly played with her drink, running her finger along the rim while looking at the Fur through thick eyelashes also a dark amethyst in color, the chance meeting making her feel far bolder than she normally was. “Unfortunately the last man I was meeting tonight was less than truthful about himself.” The woman smiled warmly. “It is terrible for me to say, but you are far more interesting than the man I was talking to. My name is Aki Matsudo. Please call me Aki.”

“Pleased to meet you, Aki. I’m Wyatt.”

“I think everyone knows who you are!” Aki told him with a laugh as she returned the nod of the savannah cat’s head before extending her hand in a very Western gesture. “You have been in the news quite a bit, though I must tell you that I didn’t think that I would actually get a chance to meet you.”

“Yeah, I guess I have,” Wyatt replied, his ears twitching when the girl didn’t release his paw, her fingers maintaining their hold as she lowered her hand to the table surface. The moment of silence that followed was broken by the waiter brought the Fur the iced coffee he’d asked for. “So the date wasn’t what you’d hoped for?” he inquired, using the delivery of his drink to withdraw his paw-like hand without being blatant about it.

Aki shook her head. “I was told that tonight’s encounter would be with a man that was accomplished and successful in a computer company but still young and vibrant. I was not expecting a boy who is barely old enough to come into a bar that works at a computer game store and still lives in his parents’ house.” She pouted prettily before breaking into a smile. “I am pleased that I agreed to meet in the hotel I am staying at, otherwise this chance to talk to you might have never happened. It is fate, do you think?”

Wyatt shrugged. “I don’t know. I came down here because I wanted something to cheer me up.”

The girl looked quizzically at the savannah cat. “You are sad? What has made you sad? Perhaps we can come up with a way for both of us to forget a bad day and be happy!”

When she again looked up at him, Wyatt saw that her eyes were the same color as her hair, most likely contacts, though there were cosmetic optometry offices that offered iris dying, something that the Fur had never understood, but then it was a procedure that was fairly expensive and like some places that offered extreme body piercing, something he never really wanted to do, much less spend money on. He knew that places like Japan embraced body modification in a way that no one else did, and the more subtle and unique the body modification was, the more popular, though there were always those that took even that to an extreme. Given his present state of being, the thought of body modification had a very different meaning to him.

“Maybe. I just thought a change of scenery might be a good idea.”

“What is it that has prompted this?”

Wyatt shrugged. “I had a girlfriend. She decided that it was best for both of us if we weren’t together anymore.”

Aki pulled back slightly. “It was the girl that was with you in Geneva, yes? The one with almost white hair.” She watched avidly as the savannah cat winced slightly, her suspicions confirmed. “I remember seeing the pictures of both of you on my computer and many news sites. She is being very foolish, Neko-Wyatt. If we were in Japan you would have many women begging to be with you.”

“Yeah,” the Fur said morosely. “The thing is I don’t want a lot of women begging to be with me. She did have a point, though.”

“What is that?”

Wyatt sighed and toyed with his glass of iced coffee.

“That people would hate both of us.Me for being different…for being furmankind, her for being human. They would be disgusted by it…by her being with what they think is an animal, me for being with a woman. It might lead to dangerous people wanting to hurt both of us. That and we’d never be able to have children or lead a normal life.” He pulled his paw away and chuckled darkly. “I don’t even think that we could legally get married. Look how long it took people here or in Europe to accept gay or even inter-ethnic marriage. Forget the Middle East. What chance do you think there will be for the ones like me in those countries? Kind of puts a damper on anything like a regular life, you know?”

“What is normal?” Aki asked rhetorically. “I have often found that people who speak of normal are always anything but in their own lives. They have their secrets, unspoken desires that are hidden that others wouldn’t understand but are in truth very common. I am also certain that what you think is normal is different than what I would consider normal. Is this not so, Neko-Wyatt?”

They talked for a little while, Aki telling him the troubles of finding what she and many of the other young women that were part of the exchange program considered good men. She explained how some still saw women as inferior and how they should be little better than servants while Wyatt filled in the details about his life before being sentenced to death row. It was a give and take conversation and both began to enjoy themselves. Then the woman eventually broached that subject and informed the Fur that she knew quite a bit about him already, about his ordeal and the events that had already been published before assuring him that she didn’t consider him a dangerous person. “What you did was very brave and honorable. It would have been dishonorable to let your mother and the others suffer so, to live without dignity, Neko-Wyatt. That is, I think, a greater crime than what you were accused of.”

The savannah cat blinked. “That’s the sixth time you’ve called me that,” he said with curious expression. “What does Neko mean?”

Aki laughed once more before reaching into her hand bag to pull out her phone. It was a top of the line tablet phone that had a touch screen and better resolution than any of the TVs that the Fur had ever owned in his previous life. She spoke to it in Japanese before looking at the screen and nodding. There were a series of images that showed different feline-like cartoon characters, some so cute that they were nauseating, others much more adult themed with some that were almost obscene.

“Neko means cat but can also mean popular anime and manga characters that are based on cats.” Aki gave the Fur a pointed look. “Very popular. Some nightclubs are geared to people that dress up as their favorite manga characters and neko are among the most numerous. You may have heard of cosplay, yes? Some you are not allowed into unless you are wearing a costume. You would be very popular, Neko-Wyatt. You have the best costume of all!”

She reached across and touched his paw again, her manicured nails running along the lay of his fur in slow, languorous strokes. “Let me guess,” Wyatt said as he again pulled away, “you like these neko things?”

Aki nodded with a wide smile. “I like them very much. As do my readers.” The woman paused long enough to bring up more pictures on her phone and showed them to the savannah cat. These were even more explicit than the ones she’d previously shown him and smiled at his reaction. “I am a very popular artist in both Japan and here in America. Very…successful.”

Wyatt began to push away from the table only to find that several of the other girls from the group that Aki had been a part of were behind him and arrayed around the table, their expressions clearly stating that they hoped to talk to the Fur as well. “Um, I’m not sure that I’m comfortable with this.”

Aki shifted a little so that she was closer to the savannah cat and smiled with warm, heavy eyes as her voice deepened. “You have had a very bad day. You have said so yourself. Let us show you how we make days better in Japan. Let me show you how you would be appreciated.” 

*** 

Ásmundr stood in the middle of the door to the hotel lounge, not really sure of what he was seeing. A knot of young women surrounded the Fur and were doting on him outrageously. Each waited patiently before stepping behind Wyatt to rub his neck and shoulders, gently scratch his ears, massage the pads of his paw-like hands or to simply stroke his fur. The only one that didn’t move from where she sat was one with hair dyed a sparkling shade of amethyst. The scene was completely incongruous with all of the horrible things the man had envisioned before being informed that the savannah cat hadn’t left the hotel premises and staring at the unexpected situation was all the Swede could manage to do.

“We didn’t know he was in here until Agent Tobbs and I were ordered to begin looking around the outside of the hotel in a perimeter sweep,” a young man told Ásmunder as he joined the tall Swede. “As soon as we discovered he was here we let Senior Agent-in-Charge Crossman know.”

“And he’s been here the whole time?” Ásmundr asked.

“Sir? Would you leave if you were surrounded by that? I know I sure wouldn’t.”

“No. I can see your point.” He looked at the State Department agent. “Would you let Ramad, the other Fur on our floor, know that we’ve found his wayward cohort? I’ll be down here if you need me for anything.”

The agent nodded before departing, heading back to the floor that the Furs and the rest of their party had been given while the Swede slowly walked into the lounge by way of the bar. He leaned on the polished wood surface that had brass accents and watched the interplay between Wyatt and the women. Ásmundr was astonished at how taken the group was with the savannah cat and wondered if he should intervene when the bartender approached.

“Can I get you something, sir?” the man asked with a strange inflection to his voice.

When the Swede turned to regard the man he saw the bartender looking in the direction of Wyatt and the bevy of young women that surrounded him, his upper lip tensed in an expression that wasn’t quite distaste while something else flashed in the man’s eyes. “Club soda and vermouth, please,” Ásmundr requested, slightly taken aback by the consternation in the bartender’s expression. He picked up the glass before directing his attention to the man. “I take it you don’t approve, Lawrence?” he asked quietly, glancing at the bartender’s nametag.

The man shook his head. “Not my place to approve or disapprove, sir.”

“Then what is the strange look for?”

The bartender shook his head and grew a thoughtful expression. “To be honest, I’m not sure what I should think or feel about this.”

Ásmundr turned and regarded the man with a slightly bemused look. He was older than Ásmundr was by a good ten years at the very least and the Swede was interested in hearing the other’s opinion. “Well, Lawrence, the only way to determine how you feel about something is to discuss it openly and intelligently.”

“I suppose…” He straightened and went back to polishing glasses and mugs with a clean towel as he watched the Fur and women talking and laughing, his head tilted at an angle. “I guess it was just a matter of time. All those scientists making things like glowing mice or using sheep and pigs to grow replacement organs. A lot of folk try things to see just how far they can push the knowledge barrier and a lot of universities and schools do the same, so, yeah, I guess it was just a matter of time.

“But this…to actually see something like him? It’s somewhat of surreal, you know? There’s a big difference between the intellectual part, of knowing something like this could be done, and then having it in your face…”

“Believe me when I say I can understand your feelings in that regard,” Ásmundr replied with a chuckle.

“Hmm,” Lawrence grunted with a halfhearted attempt at a smile. “And now that this has been done, there’ll be more, of that you can be sure. Just like every other big scientific breakthrough since the beginning of Twentieth Century. Some people will like it, some won’t, and some just won’t care. But what does it mean for the rest of us?” He gestured to Wyatt with an empty beer mug before placing it on a shelf. “If you thought the race issues we had not long ago were bad, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. These guys have some hard times coming for them.

“Now, I’ve seen this guy and the other one on the news. I know that he and the others were death row convicts. I know what got him there and I heard the story about him and the others being taken and what they went through when that was done to all of them. He and the others got a bad hand dealt to them, but what does it mean for the rest of the world?”

Ásmundr shrugged and followed the man’s pointed look. “It means that he and the others like him will be a part of the world that we know from here on. But, and this I can tell you from personal experience, Wyatt Renner and the others are still people. They look different, no one can dispute that, and they are physically capable of things that humans can’t do, but after that? Beyond the fur and claws and teeth? They aren’t too different from you or I.”

As if that were the final piece of a puzzle Lawrence snapped his fingers and pointed at the man that leaned against the polished wood of the bar. “Ah! You’re Gustavsson! You’re the one helping them, aren’t you?” The bartender let out a short, subdued laugh. “You’re supposed to be richer than God and built some kind of community for them in Sweden.”

“I’m not that wealthy, and all I did was repurpose the old Stockholm Summer Olympic Village for the Furs.” He sipped his drink while Lawrence simply stared at him. “So, now that we have furmankind, and one way or the other they will be with us from now on, what do you propose we do with them? If nothing else, the ones that already exist will eventually have children, so what happens next?”

The bartender shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know,” Lawrence admitted. “I don’t suppose they can screw up the world anymore than it already is. That or maybe I’m just getting too old and I’ve seen too much, but…”

Whatever the bartender was going to say never came out as a commotion from the table that the Fur sat at got everyone’s attention. Ásmundr turned just in time to see a young man with his hair dyed black and extensive piercings in his ears, nose, lips trying to block Wyatt’s departure with one of the young women. His first impulse to intervene was halted when the woman brought her hand sharply across the man’s face before she snagged the savannah cat’s paw and led him from the lounge, the Fur only glancing at the Swede with a shrug and slight smile as he was hurried along.

“I’ll tell you one thing, though,” Lawrence said as he motioned one of the larger servers to ask the black clad young man to leave. “Your fuzzy friend hasn’t got a problem attracting the pretty girls, does he?”

Ásmundr shook his head as he watched the tip of the savannah cat’s tail vanish around the doorway of the lounge as he and his new companion headed to the hotel’s bank of elevators. “No. No he doesn’t. 

*** 

Halley threw the pillow that she’d been alternately punching and screaming into across the suite and onto the bed where it promptly rolled off and onto the carpeted floor. The fluffy bed accessory landed with far less violence than the small steel coffee urn the young woman had chucked at Wyatt’s head just an hour before. The pot had hit the wall with a splash of scalding liquid and punched a substantial hole in the drywall. She’d envisioned trying to surprise the savannah cat with morning coffee to apologize for the previous evening. Halley hadn’t expected to find him with another woman in his rooms, thus her reaction.

She wanted to break things, her anger begging for the sound of smashing dishes, breaking glass and general havoc. Then the moment would pass as her equilibrium would swing back to the more rational side and Halley would remember with stark clarity that she was the one that broke up with him and the crying would begin. The tears would dry and she would reenter manic anger. How dare he get over her so quickly that the very same evening she had decided to end their romantic liaison he had another woman in his room! And with that turn of thought the anger and desire to smash and destroy was back.

A knock on the door to her suite caused Halley to spin around. She tried to stomp across the floor but her small, bare feet barely made a sound on the thick carpet. Her fury returned tenfold when she flung the door open only to find the very woman that had been in Wyatt’s room. It was impossible for her to determine if the Japanese woman had bed head or not but the buttons of her blouse were open enough to let hints of her red silk bra to show. It fueled all sorts of images in Halley’s mind and the anger and urge to throw dishes came back with a vengeance. As the other woman simply stood in the doorway Halley felt the need to destroy crockery being replaced with the desire to scratch the hussy’s face and eyes.

“We need to talk, Halley-san,” the woman said simply in accented English.

“I don’t think we have anything to discuss at all,” Halley replied tartly.

“Even if that discussion is about Wyatt?”

“Especially if the topic is about Wyatt!”

The Japanese woman nodded solemnly. “Actually, I think we should speak.” When the pale blond woman made ready to slam the door Aki stepped forward and blocked it with her foot. “We did not sleep together, Halley-san. We only talked.”

Halley realized that both of them were the same height but the Japanese woman had a little more in the way of weight. This wouldn’t have been something that she’d readily notice if she hadn’t started towards the other woman with a surge of fury. “I think the two of you were doing everything but sleeping!”

“You’re correct. We weren’t sleeping. I was taking pictures and drawing him.” Aki pulled her slate phone from a pocket and activated it, bringing up both camera images and electronic drawings that appeared in sequential thumbnails. “I asked him to model for a story concept that I thought of while talking to him.” She gave the other woman a partial smile. “We didn’t do anything else. I swear this to you.”

Halley looked at the images. All of them were similar to the image studies that Emily Lesko had done while all of the Furs had been on the island in the Bering Sea. The drawings were stylized facial studies, the expressions and features she gave her likenesses of Wyatt in modern manga style. The only fault she could find with any of the images was that in more than half the pictures Wyatt was completely nude save his own fur.

“I wanted to sleep with him,” Aki admitted. “I wanted to do so much more than just sleep, but Wyatt refused.” She looked at Halley with wide, guileless eyes. “He wouldn’t because he is still in love with you.”

“He…he wouldn’t?”

Aki shook her head. “No. He wouldn’t. I tried to do everything I could to entice him, but all of it was for nothing. I even went to my room for a change of clothes so I could wear my favorite cosplay ensemble for him.”

“Cosplay?” Halley mumbled confused.

The Japanese woman smiled and looked at the slate phone and tapped a small icon on the bottom corner of the touch screen that brought up another series of pictures. It was the woman but dressed in a leotard that was decorated with tufts of faux fur the same color as her hair at the neck, leg and arm openings. Over her arms and legs she had dark purple fishnet sleeves and stockings. Aki also wore a set of cat ears on a flexible headband, leg warmers designed to look like cat paws as were the gloves she had on her hands. There was even a fluffy tail that hung from a belt just above the swell of her rump. The outfit was quite provocative and Halley stared at it open mouthed.

“Y-you…you wore this for Wyatt?”

Aki nodded. “And all of it was a wasted effort,” she admitted in a disappointed tone. “Wyatt does not want me. Wyatt does not want any woman save you. His love is for one person and one person only.” The woman watched as Halley idly flipped through the images. “Perhaps if Neko-Wyatt was more cat than man he would have little difficulty taking any woman that caught his eye and offered herself to him before moving on to the next, staying only long enough for a few minutes of love and pleasure. But he is not. He is Wyatt, and the woman that he allows into his heart is the only one he will ever want.”

Halley’s mouth worked up and down several times though no sound came out, not sure how to respond until she slid the next selection of images on the slate phone, the drawings done by the Japanese woman explicit enough to cause her cheeks to flare crimson. “And if Wyatt had said yes?” she asked in a small voice.

“Then I would have let him have me any way he wanted,” Aki confessed. “He even refused me when he was done posing for me and found me in his bed waiting and more than willing. He did not say anything and left to sleep on the sofa instead.” The woman sighed. “You have something that many of us women dream of and would happily die to experience for just a day. Do not let this go. Do not let Wyatt go.”

Halley handed the device back, suddenly feeling foolish and emotionally drained. “You don’t think I’ve ruined what we had?”

“Not if you talk to him. But you must do it soon,” Aki counseled. “Don’t let this slip by,” Aki repeated forcefully.

Halley nodded, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow. “Aki? Do you like coffee?” she asked and gestured to the cart room service had brought up earlier before her tirade.

“I find it enjoyable,” the Japanese woman said with a friendly smile.

— NEXT CHAPTER —

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