Perspective Flip

by Kris Schnee

  He points to an open-air cafe on the bazaar's edge. Warm breeze flutters through your tail as you walk to a terrace, admiring the shimmering harbor below. The two of you relax at a table under snapping flags.

  Bragho's buried his muzzle in a menu. "Come on, tell me," you say. "How'd I just happen to find another one?"

  He leans his head on the menu, giving you a strange look of curiosity. "Can I see it to make sure?"

  You take out the griffin suit. The thing feels soft and excellently made — presumably by magic — but looks out of place on the wooden table. Bragho sits up to feel the golden fur and peers into the expressionless beaked face. It occurs to you that the outfit has the first zipper you've seen in this world. Everything else has buttons.

  Your fingers explore the wondrous thing you bought. Bragho does the same and lets his warm hand drift over yours. "This is the real thing. If the rules of the game haven't changed since I last played, there'll be two other choices in suspiciously convenient places, near where you arrived."

  "Why? I thought I could just wait for three 'local weeks' and then go back to the magic wardrobe maze."

  "That's not how it works. You have to find your next costume to reach another world."

  "But I had that note in my pocket when I arrived, and it didn't mention that."

  "Yup. I don't think either I or our wizard 'friend' explained everything clearly. Sorry. So you have this costume now if you want it. But you shouldn't use it."

  "Then why'd you tell me to buy it?"

  "I wanted you to have the choice." He grips your hand and speaks quietly. "It's a rare thing to meet someone who knows about the game, who's seen another world. It's selfish of me to want to keep you here. So you should have the choice to go. I just don't want you to."

  You're breathing shallowly and you're not sure what to say. Bragho looks off to one side. "Sorry. I hardly know you, and I'm more comfortable wearing a different skin than you are. But over time, I think you could really like it here. I wanted to show you around a little. We could take a boat out and see whales. You have whales where you're from, right? This one time I turned into..." He's babbling nervously now.

  You break free and stand, wobbling as you go to the balcony's railing. You should be grateful for this new life, with fame and respect and even magic powers. The grey warships in the harbor sit there, hinting at the culture clash happening around you. You could probably make a difference in this world.

  You turn from the harbor, one hand on the warm railing and the other steadying your long hair in the wind. The sun shines on your fur. You could take the costume and go to the world of griffins once the three weeks are up. But there's more to find in this world, and at least one other wanderer who'd like to share it with you.

  Bragho comes over to you and points below. "Would you like to go sailing? It's something that half the races I've met enjoy."

  It's tough to turn that down, looking at the bright sails and smelling the salty breeze. Whatever you do next, this will be a memory to hold onto. The two of you rent a little sailboat and he shows you how he can slice it through the harbor, cutting between the warships. Water sprays up over you and you lean to one side, tail waggling overboard as you help steer. You wave as the boat races past other rental craft and their own happy couples...

  The sea breeze turns cold for you, and before long Bragho senses your mood and turns the boat back. You ride the bus "home" in a daze, trying to nap after a confusing day and sort out your feelings. Stupid sappy alien fox-girl emotions from a life that's not even yours! Your whole past has been stolen and now this world is messing with your mind! When you get back to town you try to keep yourself together and give Bragho a good handshake and a smile. And then you run off to the hill where it all began, and let the tears flow.

  * * *

  "What do you want?" someone asks.

  The voice sounds like your own... no, like your old human male self's. You look up from burying your muzzle in your hands, but it's just you on the hill. Your tail's soaking up water from the grass and flowers. "I shouldn't have a tail!" you say. This new voice of yours is ragged and you can't quit crying like a sissy self-indulgent teenager. You don't have a right to be whining. Not with a wonderful life laid out for you!

  "Keep telling yourself that," you hear. "It's not like you can ever go back."

  Your ears flick to catch a rustle in the grass. If it's Bragho he'll cuddle you in his arms and everything will feel okay... Damn it, no!

  Old You asks, "Is it the thought of being female? Walking to the altar in a white dress or whatever they do here; becoming a mother? Or is it the fact that you'll never be human again, stuck with a big pointy muzzle and fur all over? Or the fact that you could've made a difference back home, and you ran away from that life, and you're looking to do the same thing again? Unless you find exactly the right costume, you're never going home."

  "I'm scared," you whimper. "Scared that —"

  The grass rustles again, distracting you. Then you catch a comforting scent. Wylan smells like well-worn leather and trail dust down to his skin or beyond. "Evenin'," he says with a tip of his hat. He moves stiffly up the hill to reach you. "Feeling all right?"

  "I'm not some damsel in distress!" you say.

  "Didn't say you were. When I see somebody that needs help, I get my conscience poked with pitchforks till I do something. Doesn't have to be damsels. Or foxes."

  Right; he knows your story. When you look up pleadingly into his eyes, they flash like an animal's in the moonlight. Not human. But the feeling behind them is the same. You pat the grass beside you for him to sit. "Just don't touch me."

  Wylan lowers himself to join you. He tilts his hat back and looks at the stars fading in. "Nice night. You have stars like this back home?"

  "Yeah," you say, sniffling. The sun's vanishing in a blaze of purple and gold, wind's teasing through your fur, and there's a scent of flowers on the breeze. "I ought to be happy."

  He glances over at you, then looks back at the sky. "Used to camp out during the war. I wasn't a fighter like my wife, just a maintenance guy. But we were outside together." His scent takes on that clammy tone you sensed from him before. There's hurt buried in him.

  You start to lean over to hug him, but stop yourself with a shudder. "Nobody knows what I've been through to get here. Nobody except Bragho, and he... he..."

  Wylan looks up sharply. "Did he do anything improper?"

  "No! That's just it. He was wonderful, and I felt like I wanted to stay. But what am I doing? I like all the wrong things, I have a tail, I don't know anybody here, my old family and friends are gone. I'm not Lenara, and I'm being pushed into being her!"

  Wylan grunts. "I think I get it. You're worried that the wizard fella stole your soul."

  "What?"

  He waves his hat toward the sunset valley. "This here's my world. Never known another. I've got its dirt in my fur and some family in the soil. And when I get a script I'm always basically the same guy, typecast as a cowboy. The time I played an ancient warlord instead, it was just awful. If you handed me a script like that again, I'd feel like quitting."

  "A script," you murmur. Here, the wizard and Bragho basically told you: you're a different person now and here are your house and your job and your new name. "And if I quit, I still can't go home."

  Wylan nods. "I know you're not our Lenara, and Bragho takes a shine to you because you've gone through the costume thing like him. The thing is, have you kept what's most important?"

  "What's that?"

  "You tell me."

  You take stock of this strange body you're in. You used to be a decent-looking guy, but you weren't vain enough to think your furless face was the most important thing about you. You're uneasy about some other parts, but even those changes aren't the end of the world. You shut your eyes and think back to your Earth, your childhood, your friends. There's no going back to them. What's left are the memories, and some part of you that wants to keep them.


  So there is something left of your old self. "I'm still the same person, at least a little. Even if the rest of me got stolen, eaten, rewritten, I still remember where I'm from, and I still think the same way."

  Wylan's tail flicks across the grass, wagging a bit. "That'll change a bit, though. Life does that to you."

  You force a smile. It's getting dark and the stars are all blurs as you keep blinking back tears. "I got shoved into this role, but I can play it how I want, right? As long as I keep that memory with me, and some of how I think, I can let myself change and still be the same. Even if I end up using another costume. Oh, I'm not making any sense, am I?"

  Wylan says, "It sounds good to me. Actually, there's something I've forgotten." He hauls himself to his feet and offers a hand. "I don't think we've rightly been introduced. I'm Wylan, and I'd like to be your friend."

  You look at his fuzzy hand and tell yourself you don't need the help... but your macho pride isn't important, right? You reach out and let him pull you up, feeling light. It's then that you notice the night breeze, making all the plants around you whisper. Every strand of fur tickles you, making your outline blurry and constantly changing. But you feel your own breathing and your heartbeat just the same, inside.

  "Hello," you say, shaking his warm hand and pulling him into a hug that feels right no matter what you are. "For now, at least, call me Lenara."

  * 4. Stunt Double *

  The next day at the studio, there's little for you to do. It's clear things are winding down for this movie, especially your part in it. Hanging around the set with Wylan and the little director makes you feel like an extra, in spite of Wylan's smiles. Bragho shows up late and bashfully avoids looking at you, for which you're grateful. You're not sure what to say to him.

  There is one little scene you're needed for, in the afternoon. One thing you've been proud of is doing your acting job well, and trying to live up to Lenara's reputation. The others have been patient with you and given you training. Still, you're new to the actress role and you got the job by sheer luck rather than by earning it. It's humbling to know that.

  You head out to lunch by yourself. At the restaurant you pore over the script, and not till the food's gone do you realize you're not fretting about home for once. You grin at this moment of professionalism, then wipe the barbecue sauce off your muzzle.

  Then you're strutting through warm sunlight down the streets. The town's quiet as usual compared to a human city full of cars or even the seaside town. Maybe you could ride back there next holy-day and try that restaurant Bragho suggested...

  You pause. Okay. You shouldn't worry about enjoying things here; you don't have to pick between losing yourself to Lenara's persona and defying it on purpose. You really owe Wylan one, considering how tough it must be to deal with a depressed fox. You make tentative plans to buy him a good meal.

  Warily you peek into the same alley where you were attacked. You should've known better. It's a nice town overall, and you're getting used to the odd logic of the buildings. What's so weird about selling board games and snack food in the same shop, or movies that're really virtual-reality sort of things? The computer laws are obnoxious, but it's not like your homeworld was lacking in social problems. There's always a chance for reform. There's a lot to learn so that you can help with that! What's with the fortress-garden design of that library, anyway? There must be some neat history behind it.

  Your ears flick, making you reach up to touch them. There's cheering ahead from the park. You can't stay long — gotta get back to work — but maybe you'll get to see what sports look like around here. Come to think of it, you could probably make a fortune "inventing" baseball.

  Some foxes are gathered on the grass. Mostly ruffled young men kicking around a ball or something, with bystanders watching or... wait. That's not a ball.

  They're beating the tar out of a man. He's got short sandy fur and big ears, and when he spots you he calls out "Senorita!"

  "Eloy?" you shout, running toward the gang. It's the Fen guy from the library. "Stop it! Stop hitting him!"

  Some of the people gathered here aren't in on it. They're trying to tell the gang to stop, too, or just standing around, for whatever innocence that buys them. As you get close and a couple of the punks turn to you, you feel small and weak.

  One of the goons glares down at you. "Back off, lady!" The others are kicking Eloy and he's covering his face.

  You try to interfere, but the guy yanks you, tearing your sleeve, and shoves you backward. "Help me break this up!" you call out to the onlookers.

  The thug says, "Dirty Fen-lover. His kind's behind everything!" Oh god, you can see blood matting Eloy's fur. People are wavering, hesitant to pick a fight with these criminals in the name of a foreigner. And you can't get through, can't help him. They might kill him, and all you can do is walk away...

  No. There's one thing you could try, if you can remember how you did it before. If you're willing to put yourself in a lot of firey-hot trouble.

  You try to remember the fear from that other night in a dark alley. It flares up disturbingly easily. A red-gold flame spins into existence around your fingers. People start to turn and gasp, but you hardly notice, focusing on pulling more fire from wherever it comes from. Your finger-pads feel seared without actually hurting. You tighten your grip on the flame and point at the goons. "Let him go, now!" A blazing jet lashes out and you twist it, somehow, trying not to kill anyone.

  The foxes all stare at you, thugs and bystanders alike. And then everybody scatters, except for one kid whose huge eyes are locked on the swirling fireball you're trying to put out. "Whoa..." And except for Eloy.

  The fire sputters and goes out as you waggle your hand, leaving your fingers tingling. Hurrying over to Eloy, you kneel on the wet grass and pry his arms off his face. "Eloy, it's me, Lenara. Talk to me."

  He moans. His eyes are bloodshot and his yellow-grey fur is streaked with grass, mud, and blood, like some maniac's attacked him with a box of crayons. "Senorita Vale, I did not know you were an action hero."

  With a weak smile you look over his wounds and brush your fingers over his filthy fur. You tear off the already-ruined sleeve of your blouse and wrap that around a gash on his arm. Eloy hisses.

  That kid's still standing there watching. "What are you doing?" you say. "Get the police or an ambulance or something!"

  "I'm here," says another man running onto the scene. He's got a crossbow-pistol thing and a radio on his uniform.

  "Officer Ren!" you say. "A mob attacked this man."

  Ren says, "I saw some of them fleeing. And they were saying, 'magic'." He crouches by Eloy, his face a professional grimace as he looks the wounds over. "You'll live, mister." He gets on the radio and calls for medics.

  Eloy says, "That was a display impressive, senorita." You hold his hand to comfort him. "Now you must run."

  Ren says, "I warned you about that talent of yours, ma'am. I can't advise you to take a vacation, but can point out that the mage corps will come to investigate."

  Your heart's already pounding from the magic. "To draft me?" you say. Ren nods. "How aggressive are they?"

  Eloy coughs. "You could maybe delay a few weeks, if you knew some Fen influential. I know such a man, but he is rather bruised right now."

  "Just a few minutes for the medics," Ren assures him.

  You wait, looking back and forth between the policeman and your battered Fen admirer. Eloy holds your hand until the medics get to him with a stretcher and unfamiliar medical gear. Ren says, "Stop by the station and we'll delay the mage draft as well as we can. Or you can skip town. Either way, good luck. You're a hero to us."

  A hero? You step back, one hand over your muzzle. You didn't do anything special besides use the powers handed to you. And now you might end up as the Fens' wizard-slave for doing it. You run off, crying and hoping no one sees you.

  Bragho spots you as you enter the movie studio. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

  "No, no, it's
—" You pour out an explanation.

  Bragho's eyes widen. "Oh, hell, you have magic besides the costume thing? You're in danger." His ears flick back and he turns to spot Wylan and the other actors. They're running up to see you, the panting vixen with torn, charred clothes.

  Wylan says, "Lenara, what's wrong now?"

  Bragho tells him, "Never you mind!" He frowns and shakes his head. "Sorry. I trust you all. She's just been spotted using... magic." There's a collective gasp. Under his breath he mutters, "Easily impressed low-mana world."

  You face the people you've been working with. "Thanks, everyone. You've been good to me. I just don't know what to do now."

  Wylan says, "I take it you don't want to work for the Fen government?"

  You shake your head no. "As interesting as it'd be, I don't want to if they're the kind of people who'd force it on me."

  Wylan nods. "Then it's time to lay low, see if we can make this thing blow over. And nobody here's gonna say anything, right?" He gives a frightening stare to each and every one of his co-workers, whose tails tuck between their legs.

  Except Bragho, whose fists tremble at his sides. "There's another option. It means she hides for another week plus, which I think we can manage, and then... a way out opens from then on."

  "What?" you ask.

  "Costumes," Bragho says, laying his ears flat. "I have three I never used, and there's the one you bought. We might even find two more in a hurry." Some of the other actors look confused; do they not know the full story of that?

  You realize the meaning of his idea. "You mean, wait for the game's minimum time and escape with another outfit? Just to avoid this draft? Bragho, couldn't we, I don't know, fight this in court? It's a stupid reason to decide to leave."

  "The Fens are in charge, ma'am," says Wylan.

  "Someone should stand up to them!"

  Wylan droops guiltily, then forces himself to stand up straighter. "If that's what you want to do, I'm with you."

  You turn to Bragho. "And what about you? You're saying I should throw away this world, now?"

  The fox-man is shaking. "No! I mean, you were thinking about becoming a world-hopping adventurer, right? I want you to be safe and happy, even if..."