REDEMPTION

— by Jeff Karamales

Chapter 2
Fifteen Months Later
 

THE conference table was well lit by the daylight coming in through four walls that were built entirely from glass, the only non-transparent elements being the steel bracings the gigantic panes were mounted to. The table itself, a wonder of function and elegance, was oval shaped, though only a single person sat at one of the ends. The tall man, either consciously or not, established his dominance over the others seated, though there was no denying the power and wealth he possessed. All the others, seated around the circumference of the table and each place with its own computer terminal in the form of transparent touch screen and holographic keyboard, paid deference to Asmundr Gustavsson.

  Despite his age, Gustavsson was still as trim and vivacious as he’d been in his youth, and while his already pale blond hair had gone almost completely white with just a few darker streaks of blond above the temples, his ice blue eyes were as sharp and shrewd as a hawk’s and looked past a strong, straight nose. He regarded each of the men and women, the foremost specialists in genetic research, medical sciences, engineering and the physiology of Furmankind, the four new species developed by combining human and animal DNA for the purpose of extraterrestrial exploration and settlement.

  “I will not accept this failure. To surrender Bastien would be not only the waste of untold man-hours, millions of dollars in preparation and materials, with the loss of over two dozen Furs, but it would be a poor testament to those brave souls that died!” Asmundr declared firmly, one fist tapping the surface of the table in emphasis of each word. “Bastien has the ability to provide not only desperately needed resources for this planet, but has the potential of becoming one of the greatest of the new worlds for human and Fur alike!

  “Are we positive that the incident that killed the Felis colonists won’t harm a contingent of one of the other Furman types?” Gustavsson asked the man to his immediate left. The olive skinned man stroked his almost comically thick mustache in thought, a small furrow appearing between thick, black brows. “I need to be assured, Dimitri. I won’t condemn others to the same fate, but I don’t want to surrender Bastien if we don’t have to.” He steepled his fingers together. “Will what wiped out the Felis colonists affect the other three Fur types? Would the Vulps be safe? Will the humans that come later be safe?”

  Dimitri Kavalos was the foremost expert on Furmankind physiology in the entirety of the Anthro Human Colonization Project while specializing in all of the nuances of the Vulps, beings that shared their human origins with the features and capabilities of different foxes. The tall Greek ceased stroking his mustache and looked squarely at the Project President with intense, dark brown eyes. “Without the actual subjects to study, I can’t be one hundred percent certain, but from our communications with the two surviving colonists, I would say that the incident won’t be repeated with a contingent of Vulps. The two survivors have consumed the flesh of the same animal with no ill side effects at all.

  “I would say, with no small measure of conviction, that a colony effort comprised entirely of Vulps would be safe from a repeat incident. As for the effect on humans, a simple field test could determine that.” Dimitri loosened his tie and leaned back slightly. “If I may ask, sir, why weren’t the two survivors brought back to Earth with the return of the ship that deposited the Adirondack Institute contingent? The ones calling themselves Second Chance? I’m sure I could be more thorough in my investigation of the incident, as could Doctor Mirinov, if we could have interviewed Doctors de Chevalier and corroborated their observations and findings and tested samples.”

  Olya Mirinov, the specialist and go-to authority for Felis Furs nodded emphatically. “It would make our research into the event much more concise,” the woman said with a noticeable Slavic accent.

  Asmundr shook his head. “I’m sorry, but the two of you are not cleared for full disclosure. Suffice it to say that the two survivors are alive and well and still sending regular updates. There are mitigating circumstances that I’m unable to divulge at this time in accordance with a directive from the Terran Colonization Coalition.” The President of the AHCP turned to his assistant and protégé, Kurt Gruber. “What is the minimum time frame for the formation of a second colonization attempt with a strictly Vulps contingent?”

  The relatively young German brushed his long blond hair back before adjusting the cuffs of his tailored suit jacket in deep blue, his gold cufflinks winking with the gesture. “Utilizing Classes from all four Institutes, with accelerated training for the two Classes that have just begun at the Adirondack and Toyohashi Institutes, sixteen months. That will give us a mission of twenty eight colonists, bringing the total number up to thirty, should Doctors de Chevalier decide to remain, though they will be qualified for reassignment as their five year obligation will be complete.

 “It will also give our own labs a chance to finish their trials of improved equipment and a few new items that have been developed specifically for Furmankind usage. Though the request has been made when our own Furs here go on their colony simulation that they also field test the new equipment in a…ah, working environment. I’ve already forwarded the pertinent information to your personal terminal, and the recommendations for a colony leader based on previous occupations, academic scores, the personality and Marniwiecz-Forbes tests.”

  Asmundr nodded slowly. With a slight beetling of brows, the man then looked at those assembled around the table. “I need a show of hands for those that are positive that sending another colony attempt to Bastien is approved. If you aren’t convinced that this isn’t going to be an arbitrary death sentence, do not vote. Before I get your votes, I would like for you to know that this will be on record should another incident occur. If any of you have any doubts, now is the time to make it known.”

  The first person to vote for sending a completely Vulps contingent was Dimitri Kavalos. Unable to hide a small smile at the man’s conviction that the Vulps were safe, Asmundr waited for the others to raise their hands in favor of the plan, his own going up last. Knowing the attachment the Greek had for his charges, especially as the Wing Doctor for the Stockholm Institute itself, Gustavsson was bolstered by Kavalos’ confidence.

  “Kurt, inform the logistics department to begin planning for the deployment of a new colony venture to Bastien,” Asmundr said as he stood, his raising from his plush leather seat a sign that the others were dismissed. He turned to the young German. “Also inform the Terran Colonization Coalition that I would like a meeting tomorrow to discuss the deployment of a Vulps contingent. I think Mister Tavington is in London at the moment for a conference on extraterrestrial agriculture. I’ll fly into Heathrow to meet with him at my preferred club for dinner.” Before the others could leave, Asmundr looked each of the attendees in the eyes. “And no word of this is to leave this room. This decision and the discussion we’ve just had is strictly confidential until I determine the proper time for disclosure of our consensus.”

  Kurt nodded and set off to do as he was instructed while the others acquiesced then filed out. Once the others had departed via a large circular staircase to the lower floor, Asmundr stepped to a small platform that rested on the forest green carpet of the conference room and waited the ten seconds before the platform revealed itself to be a lift to the floor above. The room that Asmunder found himself in was similar to the one below with all four walls being comprised of large one-way glass panes, though it was ten feet shorter on each side, with window-walls that looked out over the four cardinal directions and over the grounds of the AHCP Headquarters complex with the actual Stockholm Furmankind Institute lying to the north a little under two miles away.

  He stepped towards his desk, four pillars of polished steel supporting a single slab of black glass, similar to what the great pyramid that comprised the main complex building was sheathed in, though this desk was rife with elaborate circuitry that would turn the entirety of the surface into a touch sensitive computer terminal. A slight detour took the man to the coffee service that sat on a matching polished steel and ebony island and made a cup of Turkish coffee for himself before assuming his place at the desk. He placed a palm with spread fingers within a silver circle on the right side of his chair.

“Good Morning, Asmundr,” the computer said, the warm contralto voice speaking in his native Swedish as the main surface of the desk became illuminated with the AHCP logo as electrons flowed through delicate circuitry. “How may I assist you today?”

  Gustavsson sipped at the coffee, smiling as the strong, rich flavor tantalized taste buds even as the aroma tickled his nose delightfully. “Please open the file for colony leader candidates that Kurt has sent you,” he told the computer, not hesitant in the slightest about talking to a machine.

“Of course, Asmundr. Would you like me to bring up the news as well? Or perhaps some music?”

  The computer wasn’t a true artificial intelligence, but after more than a year it had logged his requests and ‘learned’ his preferences from regular use. “Yes, music would be quite nice. Mozart if you would. Symphony forty one, please.”

  As the first strains began to play from speakers cleverly hidden throughout the private office, the files for the Vulps colony leader candidates came up, the lowest scoring of the top four first. Asmundr preferred to look at the lowest ranked qualified candidate, score wise at least, first. He by no means always selected the one that scored the highest in the various tests. What Gustavsson looked for was a quality that even he couldn’t describe, but it always manifested itself in the eyes of the prospective candidates.

  This time was interesting as the four potentials came from each one of the four Institutes. He read the files carefully, but when he came to the last, and interestingly enough, highest scoring, he knew he had the individual that would serve not only the colonists the best, but also the interests of the AHCP and TCC as well. With a smile he dismissed the previous files and brought up the background information on candidate number four, sipping his coffee as he delved into the former human’s past.

***

  SOFIYA lay on the grass under the shade of a tree, her tongue lolling out as she panted away the excess heat from her exertions. Beside her in a similar state was one of the members the Canis Wing of the Stockholm Furmankind Institute. Sascha Ivanov was a grey wolf furman, his black and dun colored coat even more insulating than Sofiya’s vulpine fur. Before their transformation that had melded their human genetic makeup with those of the Earth’s top predators both would have simply perspired in an effort to cool themselves down. Now being as much animal as they were human, neither had the ability to sweat, except from their palms and feet, and had to shed excess heat in the manner the animals they’d derived their hybrid forms from did.

  They each looked at the other and assumed toothy grins.

  “I never thought that you would ever beat me in a race!” the wolf said with a chuckle as he spoke in their native Ukrainian. “You foxes are faster than I thought!”

  The vixen chuckled. True to what she’d told her father, Sofiya had selected the Vulps, men and women that were combined with the different foxes from around the globe. While a little smaller than most of the other Furs, she believed with a fierce conviction that they were far more versatile, even surpassing the Felis in their ability to adapt. “Not I,” the female said with a resurging smile. “I am just a little red-tail.”

  Sascha snorted as he rolled first to all fours then stood upright, genetic manipulation and reengineering of all the Furs giving them the ability to walk and run on two legs or four. “Yes, throw my words back at me. I deserve it,” the wolf told her with a shake of his head.

  “Poor Sascha,” the female said with a pat to the side of the other’s head, turning it into an ear scratch that made the other’s eyes close in pleasure. “Now…what was the wager again? I forget.”

  “You are a cruel divchyna. But I remember. I must do your laundry and cook suppers for one week.” The wolf Fur shook his head again. “And what is worse is that I am not the first to lose to you!”

  Sofiya shrugged. “It is because every male here thinks they are the best at everything. I have not had to do laundry since our Class first arrived. All of you have more yayechko than brains and think with the wrong part of your anatomy!”

  “Can you blame us, little red-tail?” Sascha said sarcastically then leaned forward and tried to steal a kiss, though the vixen ducked away expertly.

“Ne. No. You aren’t the one.”

  “Still waiting on your Prince Charming?” the male asked with a grin, though there was a bit of frustration as well. While all of the females of their Class had been willing to share time with the males, regardless of their particular Wings, Sofiya had been the exception. She would flirt occasionally, but that was all. That there were no males in her group of Vulps had made some question her preferences, though it eventually became clear that the little Vulps female was simply unattainable.

  “He will show up one day,” Sofiya commented softly as she turned to head for the Educational Wing where she and the rest of Class 19 resided now that their transformations were complete, tossing her vest top over a shoulder and not the least bit self conscious about baring her chest. The fur that covered her body was more than adequate to conceal her attributes, though she had grown up going to topless beaches that were the norm throughout Europe, with most of those being completely clothing optional.

  She didn’t see the undisguised interest in Sascha’s bright yellow eyes as she sauntered off, heading to her room to shower and change before supper.

  As soon as she made the main door of the Educational Wing, she started laughing to herself. Sascha, while attractive and intelligent, held himself a little too high in his own esteem. Of course many of the males here thought along the same lines and she’d been able to get out of doing a great deal of work by making the chance to spend a little time with her a challenge none of them could ignore. Each little challenge, such as the race with Sascha, the game of chess with Rupert or even shooting against Nelson had not only deflated egos, it had given her a steady supply of house-boys to do her menial work.

  No sooner did the vixen make it to her room than her housemates that had gone through the transformation of the McEwen Process with her entered the dorm-like suite to congratulate her.

  “That was brilliant!” Siobhan Hanlon, the resident seamstress from Dublin, Ireland, crowed with delight.

  “Look!” a desert fennec Fur, Maria Paccini, the former librarian from Rome instructed. “Another broken heart on the list for Sofiya!” She pointed to where the wolf still stood outside, obviously trying to figure out how he’d been duped so easily.

“It is sad. Most men I’ve met, even the furry ones here, are the same,” Sofiya told the other vixens, slipping into the more commonly used English that nearly all the Furs at the Institute spoke, her accent barely noticeable, though she had trouble with contractions and tended to roll her R’s slightly. “They think that females are delicate and should be protected.” She snorted in amusement. “I should like to see them have to go through a monthly cycle or bear children.”

  Siobhan also laughed. “Well, we wouldn’t have a population problem, would we?”

  The other Vulps also started laughing at the observation and age old joke.

  Sofiya tapped the door to her room closed with a foot that no longer looked like her human one had. The toes were shorter with the ends tipped in retractable claws and the overall design was wider. The soles were actually thick pads on what used to be the ball of her foot and also on her toes, like a real fox’s, and over it all, all the way up to her knee was glossy black fur. The rest above that was a deep, coppery red with the exception of her inner thighs which turned creamy white and ran all the way up her belly to her chin. Likewise, her forearms were black furred along with her ears and she had a black slash type mark on either side of her muzzle. Like all foxes, the tip of her tail brush was also white. The overall effect when combined with her golden blond head hair made her rather striking and a little more exotic in appearance than either Siobhan or Charlotte Bujold, the latter having joined the Anthro Human Colonization Project from her home in Calais, France, and both also having selected European red fox donors.

  Without any more hesitation than she’d shown when removing her top in front of the wolf, Sofiya slid out of her shorts and put them in a hamper for Sascha to wash later and moved to the small bathroom to shower. The others were still there when she reemerged almost forty minutes later, having used a good ten minutes in the full body dryer. While the hot air had been blasting her coat dry, Sofiya wondered if she’d be able to do without one when she and the others were sent off-world. Surely there were no considerations in the colony supplies for what would be classified as a luxury item, not to mention getting enough electricity to run the unit would be near impossible. She would be sad to leave them behind.

  One of the other females had made a small carafe of good, strong coffee and no sooner did Sofiya exit the small bathroom, wearing as much as when she’d gone in then Maria put a cup in her dainty, paw-like hands. “Oh, yes!’ the red fox vixen cooed. “This is just what I needed!” She sipped appreciatively, savoring the strong, acidic flavor of the coffee and how it played against the sweet richness of real cream.

  At least they would have cows to take with them for cream and milk, though there wouldn’t be any coffee once that limited supply ran out.

  “I wonder if when they send us to a world if there will be more males available?” Charlotte pondered. I certainly don’t want to be part of a harem.”

  “You are the last person that I would think would balk at that,” Sofiya commented, taking a seat on her bed and putting her back against the headboard. They would have to do without much, so for now she was going to savor every possible thing she could. “You have been very popular with many of the other males in the Wings.”

  The third of the red fox vixens waved her hand in casual dismissal. “It is because I am French. They think that I am…easy.”

  “But you are,” Siobhan said with a giggle. “French, that is,” she amended after getting a feigned glare.

  “I cannot help it if I like my men,” the French Fur declared. “I am a liberated woman!”

  It was Maria’s turn to giggle. “You’re a horrendous flirt and strut about like a dancehall girl!”

“Hmphh!” Charlotte snorted in mock indignation.

  All conversation paused as Sofiya’s PBJ began to play Tchaikovsky’s The Waltz of Sleeping Beauty to indicate an awaiting message. “Who in the world could possibly want me right now?” she complained, setting her cup down and wrapping her furry fingers around the dual screen device. Flipping it open, she read the message, working the menu on the touch screen with her claw instead of the incorporated stylus. As she read the missive, the PBJ chimed a second time and as she brought up the second message Sofiya’s eyes went wide. “Layno!” she hissed vehemently under her breath.

  “What’s wrong?” Charlotte asked when her friend snapped the device shut and rolled off the bed, heading to her wardrobe.

  “The first message is to let me know that I have been granted nearly unlimited access to colony records. The second is that the Director wants me in his office immediately,” the Fur said pulling a clean set of shorts in dark green out and sliding them on, pausing only to adjust her thick brush of a tail before grabbing a robe-like top that was vaguely Oriental looking in lavender. As an afterthought Sofiya put on a pair of the sandals that had been specially made for Furmankind feet, something she rarely wore and preferred the feel of the ground under her pads.

  “Did you do something wrong?” Siobhan inquired with her ears dropping slightly, her golden brown eyes filled with concern.

  “Not that I know of,” Sofiya informed the others. “All I have been inquiring about has been access into some of the colony archives, including Second Chance. I don’t think that I have done anything wrong.”

  “He might want to tell you to stop bothering him,” Charlotte added. “You are rather persistent.”

  “I suppose I’ll find out.”

— NEXT CHAPTER —

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