Exile's Return

by Rebecca Mickley

  Charlie spoke, breaking me out of my observations.

  “OK, we will be down in about five minutes.” Gingerly he began punching numbers, and green text overlaid the console which said in big bright letters: Automatic landing systems engaged

  "So what’s the itinerary Commander, when is the briefing?" I asked, trying to get a feel for the urgency.

  "My orders are to get you settled in, and then brief you first thing tomorrow morning,” he said, watching as the craft began to guide itself towards a shuttle bay.

  "Who did you piss off to get this assignment? I'd expect to find someone lower ranking." I was only slightly teasing.

  "Well, I suppose I can let this part slip. I am to be your diplomatic liaison and, for lack of a better word, assistant. I am an expert in Mendian cultural affairs and have served in the diplomatic corps for many years. You were requested by the Mendians, and so I am to see to it that this goes as smoothly as possible. Also, you’re going to need someone with clearance to help you get around."

  I nodded, understanding what he meant all too clearly. "They don’t make ships for morphics, do they? Are they still barred from service?"

  "Technically yes, we had to get an executive order from the Chancellor himself just to reactivate you. That being said, our ships aren’t built for anything but humans. We can do some things with your nanite interface, but you are still going to need someone to help you around and to help you adapt,” he explained, looking over to me.

  "I suppose, if we are going to be spending some time together you might as well call me Snow. No one has called me Lt. Dawkins in a long time."

  "OK, I can do that, and you can call me Charlie, Snow." He smiled, just as the ship glided quietly to rest on the tarmac of the shuttle bay.

  "Welcome home, Snow."

  "Stuff it, Charlie."

  Chapter 3

  The ship was confining. Despite its size the walls curved and it smelled so artificial it immediately made me feel slightly sick and long for home. It was sterile and generic, gray steel and wires, the benefits of lowest-bidder interior design. I took a deep breath and I was assaulted by the smell of dry sterile air, with just a hint of metal. I wanted to gag; it made me waver some on the ramp off the shuttle, enough for Charlie to take notice.

  "Everything OK there Snow?" he asked, showing genuine concern.

  "Yeah, just a bit of new ship sickness I think. You have to understand it’s been years since I've been in an artificial environment. It’s a bit… disconcerting. And no, I don’t need a doctor, just give me some time to get used to this metal monstrosity,” I said, trying to hold down my lunch.

  "OK, OK, let’s get you to your quarters," he said as he walked out of the room.

  I hopped after him, having no sense of direction on this technological terror. I tried to keep up, zipping by crew members who seemed greatly surprised to see me skittering about with my toe claws scratching across diligently cleaned floors as my paws instinctively sought traction from the unforgiving steel. I tried to call after Charlie, but all he did was goad me into keeping up. I silently cursed him, and each of his progeny, for generations to come, by the time we came to a nondescript steel door.

  He tapped a button on a console, and the doors slid open to reveal my new quarters. For a military ship it was large and comfortable, with a large window at one end looking out onto space. The furniture was sparse and screamed government in its design and blandness but it looked nice enough. Charlie waited as I hopped in and took stock. They had dismantled the bed, leaving it on the floor, allowing me easier access. Next to it was a small desk with a computer terminal set up, and a new identichip.

  The quarters were an amalgamation of regulation and quickly made adaptations to allow me some comfort and functionality. Whoever had done the work was thinking, as even the faucets had been adapted to someone with my height and situation in mind. As I sniffed about and got acclimated, Charlie came in and took a seat in one of the chairs near the window.

  “This is pretty fancy Charlie, much larger than anything I had when I was in the service,” I said.

  “Well you are classed as an ambassador, rank has its privileges and all,” Charlie replied.

  “It appears so. To be honest, I am more impressed by the modifications. It's not perfect but it is functional.”

  “Well, you have the rest of the evening to get settled in, but before I leave you to get comfy I want to familiarize you with some of your new equipment and ship systems,” he said as he pulled out a tiny device and handed it to me.

  “What's this?” I asked as I took it and examined it.

  “Your basic door opener. This way you don’t have to reach for consoles. Your identichip on the table has your updated clearance and will authenticate you to any computer systems you use. As for food, we took on some special supplies for your dietary needs. They are just in that closest over there. Timothy hay, alfalfa, even kibble if that's your thing, as well as your standard fruits and stuff. Congratulations, you’re the only person on this whole ship to have their own refrigerator. Just use the terminal if you need anything, OK?”

  I took the small wrist device and held it to my left forepaw. The nanocord responded and sealed around my foreleg. Then I took the identichip and clipped it to my collar, removing the old one and setting it aside.

  “Thanks Charlie. I still don't know what to think about all this but so far you're keeping your promise. I appreciate that,” I said genuinely.

  “You’re welcome Snow. I'll drop by to escort you to the briefing at 0730.” He smiled, rose and left my quarters.

  I stretched and took in a deep breath, getting another lungful of dry and sterile air. With Charlie gone I could really take stock, and hopped over onto the bed. I found it comfy enough, but I was restless and nowhere near ready for sleep. I looked around, and my eyes fell on the computer terminal near my bed. I decided if I wasn’t going to sleep I might as well get updated and look for some answers.

  As I approached the screen it suddenly sprang to life, text flowing across the screen.

  *****ACCESSING******

  *****ACCESSING******

  *****ACCESSING******

  WARNING! You are accessing a protected government system! Misuse or unauthorized access is prohibited under law.

  The warning screen blinked out, and the interface popped up.

  "Welcome Lieutenant, how may I help you today?" popped up across the screen.

  I didn’t know at first what to do, and cursed. The keyboard section was your standard touch screen but the keys weren't lit. The computer’s cursor blinked a few times and responded with "Error, command not found."

  I blinked, surprised that it had replied to me and tried a basic query. "You are voice activated?" I asked, testing a theory.

  "Yes, please state your command," came the reply.

  I thought about what exactly I wanted from this damn thing, and then it came to me.

  "Computer, show me official orders for my re-activation and mission."

  *****Confirming Clearance******

  *****Identichip Code Confirmed*******

  *****DNA Sequence Verified*****

  *****ACCESSING******

  *****ACCESSING******

  A set of official-looking orders popped up on the screen. It detailed my reactivation and recall under the Emergency Powers Act as a soldier, and then a set of transfers to the Department of State as a special ambassador for Mendian affairs. There was a section here that was blacked out, with a heading that said, “Classified until Briefing, 0800 April 29th, 2081.”

  I swore under my breath, denied any kind of useful information. The anxiety about the job and what they wanted me to do was overriding my anger over being taken from my home. At least the ship had a ghost of familiarity, but this mission was the veritable demon of the unknown. I felt out of my depth, and ultimately scared.

  Effectively locked out of any spoilers, or relief, I sat down to catch up on what had been happening with Earth
these last seven years. The time had not been kind to morphics. There were stories aplenty about clinic bombings, rights challenges, and anti-morphic groups, just as Charlie had said back on the LRRC. Mankind just couldn't seem to handle the idea that a person with long ears or fur was still a person, but in a sad and perverse way it made sense.

  Humans needed something to hate; they always had, whether it was each other, or aliens, or morphics, the history of the human race was a litany of hatred and rage. Now though, they had something to really unite against. For the first time there was another race in the universe, and there were plenty of speciesist vitriolic xenophobes who were capitalizing on the knowledge that mankind was both no longer alone and being "corrupted".

  I stared out the window at the vast universe and watched the stars in a silent vigil. A chill went though my body, and I felt my fur instinctively fluff out. I had never really considered myself a misanthrope, but damn, was I disappointed in them. They had the benefit of technology and life extension. They had the stars to explore, but what was on their minds? What was the burning issue of their generation? Whether or not I was still a person! I cursed them for their shortsightedness.

  I wondered darkly how those protestors back on Earth would feel about a morphic representing humanity to the most powerful known race in the universe. I stared out at space and realized I had power now, terrifying power. The Mendians were the most powerful race in the universe, and they wanted to talk to me.

  I closed my eyes and suddenly felt sick and woozy. It was all just too much for one day. I felt myself grow weak. Sick with worry, I fell into my bed and into sleep.

  Chapter 4

  Alone in my forest, grazing happily, suddenly a scent, a dangerous scent, caught my nose. The crack of a twig alerted my ears, and I scanned the horizon for danger. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a pack of wolves just materialized around me. I dropped low, held still till the last moment, then ran. Forepaws tearing savagely at the ground as my hind paws thrust me forward, zig-zagging, the wolves nipping at my heels, suddenly too late. DAMN! I felt a crunch, my world went red, and I heard an external scream.

  I jumped awake with a start and shot blindly across the room, slipping and sliding all the way, skidding into the wall, smacking my muzzle, but finally coming to rest under the unused desk area across my room. I worked myself into a corner panting.

  Just a dream. Just a damn nightmare, I told myself. I struggled for control, my heart beating so fast. Coming back to calm, my mind finally deciphered the ear splitting noise that was surrounding me, goading me towards panic. It was a wake-up alarm.

  "COMPUTER, SHUT THAT DAMN THING OFF!" I shouted, and suddenly it was quiet in my room again.

  I looked at my communicator-- the clock read 0645. Someone must have set that damn alarm for me. I counted the time and realized I had been out for twelve hours. In control again, I set my forepaws forward, arched up my hind end, wiggled my tail and stretched, welcoming the day.

  I thought about my home and my life there as I rubbed my sore muzzle. I thought about the state that I was in. There was a foggy disjointed memory of a far away freedom; a freedom that came only through the rejection of my reason, of everything that I was. Even now though, I could hear the sirens’ call. It was so easy to let go, to let my instincts take over. If I just slept again, let myself drift away, there was nothing they could do to hurt me, no threat they could make, no punishment bestowed that would have any meaning. At what price identity, at what price self? Was that terrible freedom worth sacrificing the person I am?

  I shook my head and realized the answer was no, even a home like Centioc and a peaceful life wasn’t worth my identity. I swallowed hard, shaking myself out of my metaphysical quandaries, and focused on getting ready for the day. Later, I could deal with this later. After the briefing a trip to the med bay might just be in order.

  Getting ready was an adventure. The bathroom was also temporarily modified. It wasn’t anything hi-tech, but a chain cleverly wrapped around the hot and cold hung down where I could grasp it. Pulling it down in one way turned the water on, and pulling it the other way turned it off. There were even some special soaps for morphics laid out. I scrubbed myself the best I could using the brushes and stationary scrubbers to rub up against, which were also a later but thoughtful addition, and was able to get a good solid clean. Dripping wet, I stepped out of the shower, resolved to shake myself dry, but then I saw it. A clear plastic box with a hose supplying air to multiple vents. On the side it read ‘Fur Dryer 2000’. I smirked and hopped in, determined to try it.

  They had not had things like this when I left Earth, and it was a new and special joy. One just simply had to stand there, flip the little switch on the side and rivulets of warm air worked their way through my cooled wet fur, warming me and making me feel oh so content. I shook myself out of my reverie, refusing to let myself fall victim to this wonderful machine, begrudgingly turning it off.

  Everything else was basically routine, I shook my fur a few times and it fell into place. I wiggled my sparkly clean tail, slid on my voice collar and waited for the Lieutenant Commander.

  Having sufficiently primped myself, I set down to my meal. Timothy hay, some alfalfa, and spinach leaves with some banana slices. I was just finishing my feast when I heard my door chime. Opening the door was Charlie, dressed in his Class A's looking quite professional.

  "I see you're adapting well, Snow. How did you sleep?"

  "Don’t ask,” I said, then smiled warmly. “Can I get you anything? Being an ambassador obviously carries some privileges."

  "No thank you, we need to get you to the briefing room. It’s going to be a busy day for you. Glad to see you’re all groomed, you look a little less like a wild animal now," he quipped.

  "Yeah, yeah, clever. Now, lead the way, and don't run me this time," I returned merrily.

  "Aye aye, certainly are quite demanding this morning, but yes, let’s be on our way," he said, walking beside me as I hopped.

  I was starting to like him. Even though he had given me the orders, he wasn’t responsible for them. Just a messenger, as trapped as I was, in a way. Initially I had hated him, but that wasn't rational, and I was still a rational creature. I was sure his career in diplomacy and command had not prepared him to be a glorified babysitter for a fussy morphic. He had been kind, understanding and receptive when he didn't have to be. My mind quietly cataloged Charlie as one of the good ones, as I hopped my way down the corridor to my briefing.

  Chapter 5

  I was guided to my chair and took a seat in an ornate briefing room with fine cloth chairs and a wood-grained table that was glazed and slick to my touch. Gazing around the room I noticed it gave an air of efficient importance. Perfect for a military ship. Just in front of me was a small paper placard that read out in bold letters, Amb. Snow Dawkins, along with an imitation leather binder that had the emblem of the UEA emblazoned atop it, sealed on the side. I fidgeted and tried to get comfortable in my chair, as I noticed a clock on the wall displaying 0800 hrs. It was time.

  I heard the main door lock behind me. My ears naturally turned, tracking the sound, and then I saw someone with the rank of Vice Admiral enter through a side door carrying a leather binder similar to my own, and various aides taking seats around the table. The Admiral was old, and his dress uniform had a number of service boards that illustrated a lifetime of service and honor. He was gruff and barked orders to his assistants, but when he looked at me, his gaze softened some.

  "Ah, you must be Ambassador Dawkins. I am Vice Admiral McHenry, and I will be briefing you,” he said politely.

  "Yes, Admiral, and good morning to you, sir. With respect, I'd like to get on mission, can we begin?" The faster we got through this farce the better, I thought.

  "Certainly, certainly, go ahead and unseal your binder, and open it." He motioned to me, "I trust we can skip the formalities then?"

  "Indeed. I'm ex-military myself, or was until yesterday. I know how this works, and I have al
ready had a lifetime of protocol, and with all due respect I think I am about to get a lot more of it," I said, trying to keep things light.

  "Damn, if that’s not true. Try being an Admiral," he responded jovially.

  Quietly, I cut the seal with my right fore-claw, and opened the binder. Inside was a complete set of orders, not redacted, but what surprised me was what was at the top of my papers. It read, in artful script: By Special Commission of UEA Command, you are hereby promoted to Captain, with all the privileges and responsibilities of the rank.

  My jaw dropped a bit as I realized that my reactivation carried with it a promotion two ranks past where I was at discharge. I looked up, shocked, and spoke to the Admiral.

  "Admiral, is what I'm reading correct?"

  "If you flip through it, it’s all there, including the executive order granting special permission for you to serve in the fleet. As you know your type is normally excluded," he replied matter-of-factly.

  I couldn't help but sneer a bit. "I am sure it will be a privilege, sir." He noticed my tone.

  “I know you must have reservations about serving, and I can't say as I blame you. I want you to look at the big picture here, though. If your mission goes well, it may open up a way for the general order to be rescinded. Your mission, as much as you might not like it, may open a path to equality for morphics everywhere. You know I can't comment on political matters officially, but your appointment here could change things,” he said genuinely.

  “Sir, with all due respect, I left Earth and her problems long ago. I know I am here and I have to make the best of it. What I don't understand is why I was reactivated. I know the Mendians asked for me, but why?”