FSE

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formerly SoFurry search engine

(As this is the first story I am putting up, a little world background has been added to the top.)

The Ultimate Weapon

Dennis wandered the ruins of the abandoned city. Being a professor of human history, the owl could not resist giving them a look. He recognized most of the structures as residential, destroyed more by the weather than warfare. He could still see the layout of the streets and sidewalks, concrete having been mostly swallowed by the forest it tried to repress.

At this time of night, it looked so spooky, and in the cool air, he had to reflect, as he saw the still-functioning military warehouse, now owned the by Global Defense Force. It was a building just like this one, he thought, from whence his race came. It was a sobering to think about the odds. Were it not better defended, or had Maxwell Schmidt not wanted to make his point about race so clearly, those neutron bombs would have left a planet barren of intelligent life all-together.

But alas, looking at the warehouse some more got him courage. He started sneaking towards it, the pads on his taloned feet slowly stepping through the mud. As he approached a tall fence, a flashlight beam brushed him.

"Hey," called a young, slothful fox through the fence, blinding the owl with the lazily-pointed flashlight attached to a long rifle, "who are you?"

Dennis started, not expecting to be noticed, but had his answer ready. "Take it easy," he reassured in his best professor's voice, holding up his hand and squinting in the light, "I am Dennis Cramer, professor of human anthropology at the university. I was just studying the ruins, that's all."

The fox sighed, lowered the light, and returned to what was clearly a slow patrol pattern. "Just go study them somewhere else," he commanded after a yawn. Dennis walked on -- but made no agreements to do so.

After all, that wasn't why he was here. Despite their endless statistics of how many of the humans' weapons they destroyed every year, he was convinced the GDF was hiding something. As the country formerly inhabiting this very continent seemed to believe, technical power was entirely different from brute force. Though all weapons of mass destruction had been destroyed, the endless variation of weapons a group of friends had seen in his research convinced them the military still held one or two cards up its sleeve it would tell no one about. Dennis drew the short straw.

Around the back of the building he went, outside the view of that fox. Taking the piece of paper from his pocket, he struggled to make it out as his nightvision returned: seven digits for the door he now saw near the edge of the fence. It was a heavy, steel door which was apparently a storage entrance or emergency exit. It was recessed into the small V of the building's side, shielding it from view of the other wall, and the owl would have missed it were he not looking for it.

Finding no hole in the chain link fence, he was glad he had chosen to come barefoot. Working his talon-like toes in and out of the holes -- involving a some pain -- he clambered up to the top with most of his strength. Being well-bolted down, it didn't clatter very much. He was just straddling both sides when he heard the footsteps of the fox coming. In a panic, he jumped down with a loud clang, and darted around the corner as his light's bright spot appeared where he stood only moments before.

Heart pounding, and rating his chance of getting caught as too good, he breathlessly watched and waited. The flashlight spot worked its way around. It covered the courtyard in a circular pattern, skimmed the chain-link fence, and though threatened to touch his toes at the edge of the building, a shadow protected him. After being certain the guard would take one more step around the corner, the fox's heavy boots walked the other way, and then Dennis breathed again.

But momentarily, another problem arose: when he approached the keypad, and typed the code, it didn't unlock. Instead, based on the design he had seen, it was waiting for an eighth digit. He wished Dr. Longtail were here so he could strangle him personally, but instead vowed to make the cat personally pay Dennis' entire fine when he was caught in a moment or two. Not sure what else to do, he pressed one. His 10% chance paid off: he felt and an invisible latch mechanism trigger in the door handle.

He pulled the stationary handle open, stepped into the four, concrete walls of a white, mortar hallway. But the spring was strong, and it slammed before he could stop it. Dennis froze, but no one came. It remained silent, except for the buzzing of the dim, florescent lights along the ceiling.

Ahead of him, after two cross halls, was an elevator. Dennis did his best to minimize the clicking of his talons on the hard, concrete floor, and peeked around both perpendicular corridors to make sure nobody was coming before he finally got to it. The car was waiting for him with steel gates open, the maw of a beast who would swallow him to begin his journey.

Not sure what to expect, he stepped into the steel cage, closed the doors by hand as his human studies suggested was necessary, and then pulled the lever down. The loud buzzing which started up made him panic momentarily, but the car's expeditious disappearance below its former floor reassured him. With nothing but black steel running past him, he felt safe. He could stop this car at any time, and they would never catch him.

Dennis was astonished at the depth of the otherwise ordinary building. The car finally put on its own breaks what seemed to him over 50 feet below the surface, landing roughly after a minor deceleration in a hole at the bottom of the shaft. He had to raise the car back out of its safety cubbyhole at the bottom to reach the last floor.

Pulling open the doors, he saw not a hallway, but a massive storage room. The ceiling was at least 30 feet high, made up of a cross-cross of steel beams, like an airplane hangar. It was deeper than the dim hanging lights could show, and piled up with row upon row of stuff over ten feet high. The only way to enter was through a series of narrow hallways, whose space was not taken for granted, but instead carved out of the room's contents.

It was an archeologist's dream: cardboard boxes, office furniture, cans of food, racks of weapons, cleaning supplies, computer equipment, and hundreds of loose, ill-fitting items beyond any description. Looking at his watch, Dennis wished he could have started any other time than at 4:30 in the morning on a weekend. But it was the only time, according to their group's sources, when it was quiet.

He also wished, quite simply, that he had help. It would take him years to go through all of this stuff to find what he was looking for. In fact, as he started to look for a ladder to let him see tall piles, he tried to puzzle out exactly what he should be looking for. Documents were always a good answer, but based on how many of the boxes appeared to contain paper, that seemed untenable. He would have to find and identify a weapon itself.

Wandering to the final end of the corridors, he thought he found it against the back wall: a series of glass jars on a rack, each taller than he was. A computer console squatted beside them, and ensnared their bases with dozens of wires. Dennis concluded these were strange enough storage containers that they must have something valuable within: maybe a chemical weapon, or some strange biological reagent. His curiosity drew him to poke a key on the console.

The console, when switched on, simply said "PROJECT GENIE, Make a wish!" and prompted for a command. Dennis hadn't studied second-era computer systems, but hoped they were not to dissimilar from those he had.

He typed the obvious command: "help." The computer was at least apologetic: "sorry, command not recognized." Trying another shot in the dark, he typed, "status." It worked, but the table was not useful: "Unit 1: Power Lost. Unit 2: Power Lost. Unit 3: Power Lost. Unit 4: Suspended, last opened 154,760 days ago." The time of the humans, he thought.

Seeing there were hinges on each case, he typed, "open 4." The answer was, "please wait."

Five minutes later, nothing had still happened. Dennis smiled, mentally remarking that the computer was at least honest; he was wondering, in fact, if he would have to wait forever. He got so used to waiting that the loud clank from across the room made him jump. It turned out to be nothing but the elevator disappearing -- due, he fervently hoped, to an automatic reset mechanism.

After an entire ten minutes of no prompt, no lights, and no signs of any change, Dennis declared it broken, and continued down the aisles. He decided that nothing else would do, alas, and decided to start rifling through a few obvious boxes he could reach. Box after box yielded parts until he moved down the row far enough for them to contain files; files whose consequence was next to nothing.

His first box was typical of the dozen or so he searched through: a battle plan describing what to do if two countries invaded each other. The detail was quite surprising, and the fact that it was drawn up made Dennis cringe, but that was the military of the past: they were inventing wars even when when there were none.

But, after an endless search, he found what he was looking for -- or rather, it found him.

***

"Kuba!" suddenly exclaimed a thin, raspy voice from the opposite side of the room. Dennis turned in a moment of panic, but saw nobody, only hearing more talking in an old, human language. The voice moved from surprise and anger to tears, as the monologue continued.

Drawing Dennis' sympathies, he quietly walked down the aisle, and looked around the stack of boxes. His discovery was that the capsule had opened, and that a tall, muscular, naked furr -- some sort of large lizard morph with smooth, tan skin and long tail -- had his arms around the glass next to him, begging it for something.

Despite the silence of his approach, Dennis guessed that the lizard had good hearing. For through his tears, when Dennis took one more step, he suddenly, spun around, eyes still wet, and struggled to study the owl's form. He seemed quite confused by the brown feathers from head to tail under his clothes, and black beak. He asked a question. Dennis didn't understand him. He tried the language he knew best, one very popular among the humans: "you speak English?" he asked awkwardly.

"English," the lizard repeated, with a strange accent, "yes, English. What are you?"

Dennis had no idea how to answer that question. From the console, it was obvious this creature had been in storage since Maxwell Smith created their race. "I -- I am like you," he answered carefully, "part human."

"Then, what is your wish?"

"Wish?" asked Dennis, remembering the slogan he read.

"Your wish," repeated the lizard, "why you wake me?"

"Uh," paused Dennis, "I know not." But momentarily, Dennis came up with one, as he heard the elevator clank again, and someone step off.

"Alright, professor, I know you're down here," growled the same fox who had met him outside. Before Dennis could even utter a word, however, the lizard lept to his left out of sight. It was only a moment before the light wandering down the aisles touched Dennis.

"Alright, hands over your head!" demanded the fox, whose shadow could barely be seen in the bright light. Dennis gratefully complied as the fox advanced, not wanting to be the first victim of a military shooting in two years.

"Got him, sir," the soldier informed the radio, " he's in the -- ugh!" He dropped to the floor with a frozen face, and the lizard was left smiling wickedly behind him.

"Your wish?" he repeated.

Dennis could only think of one: "we leave!"

The lizard grabbed the fox's rifle, and to Dennis' astonishment, took it apart. The butt and barrel disconnected as one piece, changing a thin-bore rifle into a fat, awkward pistol. Obviously a human design, Dennis thought.

The lizard jogged down the aisles, looking for something. He wound his way around to Dennis, and asked quickly, "what country is we in?"

Dennis, however, was still recovering from the fox's sudden demise. "Is he dead?" he managed to ask, trembling at the idea of murder charges.

"No, not dead," he answered calmly. More murmurings followed, punctuated by an occasional, wistful "Kuba", as the search for something continued.

The lizard rustled piled, and pulled down boxes, not worrying about the noise. Dennis, however, was worried about the occasional exclamations over the radio. "Trevor, do you have him? ... Do you copy? ... Private Anderson, do you copy! ... Anderson, if you don't answer me, I'm gonna have to wake Katrina, and she's gonna be really mad! ..."

The lizard found what he was looking for just before bells started ringing: a black, heavy suit with over a dozen pockets. "Climb on me," he shouted over the noise.

Dennis didn't know what to make of it, until he grabbed Private Anderson's flashlight from its rifle-barrel holder and could see two handles right above his shoulder blades of the suit.

Dennis, still wondering what was about to happen, grabbed a hold, and jumped, like a rider getting onto a horse. Once he shifted a little in the tight fit of the latex, the lizard effortlessly jogged into the elevator, closed the jaws, and pulled the lever to raise it. On the way up, Dennis got nervous.

"You will kill them?" he asked, as he watched the lizard lift up a flap on the back of the weapon and press several buttons.

"I kill only if they kill me," he replied coldly, locking in a much taller clip into the weapon than was in the rifle before. The commando took the time of the elevator's rise to flip down a panel and press several buttons on the square back of the weapon, whose purpose was not immediately clear.

When the elevator's automatic brakes slowed it down, the top floor approaching, the commando crouched. Dennis could feel the veins throbbing in his shoulder when he rested his head to try and stay down; the beats were slow, steady, and strong. He couldn't tell how nervous the creature was; only that, from his utter motionlessness, he was preparing to do something very, very quietly.

When it stopped, and the hallway was blank, he silently opened the doors, and started creeping slowly, straight for the door. They passed the first hall without incident, but a door opened down an adjacent hall, as a fainter bell kept ringing. "-- had better be serious," growled a brusque female voice. "No one has pulled the alarm in --"

Without warning, the lizard fired a burst from his weapon -- which was suddenly fully automatic -- into the steel door, making Dennis flinch, and his ears ring.

"Down!" shouted the voice, which Dennis could barely hear, "everybody down!"

"Tell them we leave!" growled the lizard over his shoulder to Dennis.

"All we want," the owl called, a tremor in his voice not matching the lizard's boldness, "is to walk out of here and nobody follow us."

"Are you that stupid owl!? Who's we!?"

"Nevermind that," snapped Dennis, the insult focusing his anger, "just let us go, and we won't make any trouble! Otherwise, watch what happens!"

With these words, the commando crouched down again, adjusting his grip on the weapon, seeming to prepare for the worst. But instead, more words came.

"Is this really worth a fine? We can take you in, nobody has to get hurt!" Dennis would have liked nothing more, but didn't think his companion would go for that.

"What say them?" he whispered sharply when Dennis hesitated.

"Quiet, I talk," was all Dennis could manage on short notice. "That won't do!" demanded Dennis, almost afraid of what he was saying, "I intend to expose what you're up to! He's with me, and he's holding the gun!"

"Who on Giaya are you talking about!?" she demanded, "there's nothing here but files and junk computers!"

However, quiet murmuring followed, which Dennis couldn't make out, and her response to it was audible: "They're all dead, that's impossible!"

Trying to leverage the feeling of fear he heard, he demanded, "Give up your secrets! Let us go, or you're all dead!"

"If you set foot out that door," she warned, "you will be hunted to the ends of Giaya! You will have set free a being made to do nothing but kill, and we cannot let it live for the safety of all our kind!"

Only now did Dennis decide he might have made a mistake. He didn't expect the humans to be so callous as to create a creature with nothing but one, single purpose. He knew it was impossible to embed any task into the genetics of an organism except those nature had put there, like eating and sleeping.

But now, hanging onto the creature, feeling its strong heart, noticing tiny beads of sweat forming on its skin, pondering once again the strong legs, carefully crafted suit, and hand holding the gun completely stable, he concluded that the creature was certainly very well suited to the task it had been assigned.

But worse than that, the word for 'kill' seemed to be recognized by the lizard. The common language spoken in this time was a far distant grandchild of a human language, another he must have known. To Dennis' horror, starting at that very word, he began creeping toward the corner, weapon held in both hands for stability.

His English failing him, he natively begged, "don't do it!" causing the lizard to go from sneaking to running. He dashed around the corner, and before Dennis could even study the faces or uniforms of the vixen and her three comrades, the lizard sprayed them all with bullets in a long clatter of noise.

From the glimpse Dennis got of their faces as the lizard walked across the hallway, none of them had the commando's reflexes. The vixen was the only one kneeling, allowing Dennis to watch the scattering of bullets beat her bloody in the arms and chest, blood flashing into existence on her grey uniform as she crumpled like a piece of paper and fell.

Dennis closed his eyes in shock, as he heard her screaming, and the terrified commands of her subordinates to get a medic. But he didn't let go of those handles, and so was carried by the lizard -- now in an even trot, balanced by his raised tail -- to the metal front door which was promptly opened by smashing his shoulder into the bar to release the lock.

Unlike Dennis' awkward climb, the lizard was far more athletic in topping the fence: he ran up to a pole, grabbed the top, lept, and vaulted the two of them over it. Dennis managed to grab tight enough to handle the shock of his saviour landing on all fours over the other side. But rather than exhaustion setting in, the lizard's heart only beat faster as he jumped to his feet, and started jogging with long strides and heavy, rhythmic breaths.

The guard outside the base yelled for them to stop, but the commando just lengthened his strides, carrying them down a former street long abandoned. Across intersections, through dead stoplights, past building after building they went. The commando settled into almost a resting state of stride, breath, beat, beat, breath, beat, beat. Minute after minute, showing stamina Dennis could not believe, he kept up the pace of his jog.

His face varied in its display -- pain, joy, weariness, vigor -- but his body always propelled the feet with short claws from step to step. Only as the city decayed enough to begin turning into grassland did he slow his pace, sweat still coming off of him despite the cool night air. Eventually, he slowed at last to nothing more than an ordinary, haggard walk.

"Your, wish, granted," he sighed through his heavy panting, "we escaped."

Dennis, however, was far more inclined to count the cost. "You killed her!" Dennis exclaimed as he jumped off of the lizard's back, barely remembering his English.

"She try to kill me," he pointed out.

To Dennis, that was no excuse. The common wisdom among those living in this age was that to kill was to commit a crime for which no punishment would ever be sufficient. That was the purpose of the GDF: to protect the rest of the world from all the tools which could.

"That not right!" was all the English the owl could muster in his fit of outrage, "never kill! Never, never, never! Kill only if you wish to die!"

He felt his attempt to express the logic of the common position grossly inadequate, but it seemed to have a powerful effect. The lizard laid down, took a deep breath, and spread out in a patch of grass beneath a nearby tree. "I know," he whimpered, the rasp in his voice making it quit eerie when it raised in pitch, "I know."

This sudden change shocked all of the anger away from Dennis. He just listened.

"I die already. I am past ghost. Many humans I have killed; hundreds of them. All angry, all wanted to kill me, all I had to. All because --" He suddenly stopped and sniffed, tears once again returning to his eyes. "Kuba!" he sobbed, folding his arms and burying his head in them to hide his face.

It was a word capable of great things, the owl was certain, but he wasn't sure what it was. Perhaps a name, perhaps a verb or an idiom, or perhaps it was something else entirely. His empathy drawn out as much by the pain this magical word seemed to bring as he was by the blood of bullets, Dennis' anger faltered. He stayed back from the lizard, but did gingerly ask, "Kuba?"

But the commando didn't answer, instead curling into a ball and continuing weep.

It was hard to believe this creature a killer. His own eyes told him he was quite capable, but not that the mind enjoyed it. Right now, when there was nothing -- no footsoliders, no buildings, and nowhere in particular to go -- Dennis thought he would have wound up the next target. Such a strange, pathological thing was the act of murder in these times, that it had acquired an aura. Killing was something that was supposed to change you; and yet, this supposed killer still had the ability to feel such pain.

Rather suddenly, through the tears, the lizard whimpered, "leave me." But Dennis certainly wasn't going to do that, for if anything, he had released this creature, and therefore had to find out who he was.

"No," answered Dennis, his tone firm but reassuring. He reached out, and put a hand on the shoulder blade encased in the black suit.

"Careful," snarled the furless furr, "where you touch me. Only Kuba can."

Dennis wasn't sure whether the present tense was from grief, or just bad grammar. "What?" Dennis asked.

"You must sleep," he replied, "look tired."

Dennis wasn't feeling very tired, as adrenaline still burned in him. But when he looked at his watch to find it almost 6 AM, he was willing to at least try. He also assumed that this creature was found sleep un-necessary, or was unable in his current state, making him a better choice to keep watch.

"Please," added Dennis, "no gun?" The commando, as if forgetting the gun was still in his lap, picked it up, took a brief look at it, and tossed it a foot to his left.

Trusting the lizard not to strangle him in his sleep, the owl did his best to flatten out and mat a patch of tall grass, and curled up in his jacket. With complete stillness around them save an occasional gust of wind, Dennis drifted slowly into dreamland.

***

But his dreams were strange. He could vaguely remember being shaken, or moving; perhaps he was on a train. But then he was dragged completely around, gravity spinning beneath him momentarily before being shaken some more. And it was hard to move, for despite the freedom of his dreamscape, he could neither walk nor reach out and touch a beautiful falcon right in front of him, who stared at him longingly.

He did not remember awakening, figuring out that the commando had strapped him back on, and they were running. He did not remember having the feeling of wanting to do something important, but finding sleep the stronger imperative. The drowsiness he felt was the path of least resistance to any problem, and he took it. But his mind had forgotten what it was, or where his body was. As a result, it was quite a shock when he awoke to find the commando kneeling over him and stroking his back.

At first, he thought he was going to be strangled, and so in terror, rolled away from his attacker and stood up. The voice, however, was reassuring in its softness.

"Don't run," it whispered, "thought you were in sleep."

Dennis took a moment to remember his English. "I'm not," he grumbled, recovering from his heart attack.

"Sorry," was all his companion replied before turning his back.

But Dennis was far from returning to sleep. The sun was beginning to rise, giving a soft light to the sky, and seemed to give every tree and blade of grass an eerie, monstrous shadow. And for his companion, the shadow seemed spiritual; a physical representation of a repressed self. When Dennis looked at him, he was not keeping watch, but staring into empty space at something only in his imagination.

"What do you see?" Dennis asked, the only way he knew to phrase the question.

"Kuba," he whispered, as if the wind would carry his words to the hearer.

Dennis had heard that word for the last time. "What is Kuba?" he asked again.

The lizard twisted his head to meet the eyes of the owl with a sharp gaze, as if it were one of his combat maneuvers. He stared, gritting his teeth, and grinding invisible gears in his mind. "He was like me," he finally responded, "we -- bred together by man. We granted wishes." His voice cracked, rasp going from a low soft sound to a sharpening edge to a high pitch. "Until he is gone!"

He managed to hold back the tears this time, but Dennis could see it was a struggle. "I am sorry," was all Dennis could say, as if it were his fault that his friend had died.

"Perhaps I should go too," contemplated the lizard mournfully.

Dennis, in a sudden reversal, tried to persuade the lizard that his protection from the military was still necessary for the owl, "you must not. I wish -- I wish your safety," he managed to cobble together.

But it seemed to have a far more powerful effect than Dennis realized, making him wonder if it translated properly. The lizard turned to him, joy in his eyes. "You do?" he asked, his voice becoming strange in tone.

"Yes," answered Dennis in thoughtless reflex, surprise and mild alarm overtaking him.

"No one but Kuba did. Then may I pet?" he asked, rasp returning to his voice.

Dennis had to consider this some kind of sexual advance, and nervously said, "yes," thinking it would ease his pain. He closed his eyes, and soon felt his feathers being very gently ruffled by the thin, bony fingers covered with nothing but smooth skin. If the lizard didn't talk, Dennis told himself, he could fall into a lull at last. But, alas, the raspy voice did speak from above.

"Lay down," commanded the lizard.

Dennis stretched out quite nervously on the grass, and tried to relax as the gentle hands began stroking him, just as in his sleep.

"Kuba liked this," the lizard whispered, "he taught me how. This let me live. Without it, guilt would hurt." Dennis did his best not to try and disillusion the one who gave him this treatment, for that would mean its end. The hands moved over his chest at first, but then down to his stomach, and then, to his surprise, a little lower, and into his pants.

The owl found it the skin so smooth, quite unusual for so many species covered with fur. It made him wonder whether this is how a human hand might have felt. He opened the snap, indicating he was willing to let the lizard continue, and he did -- by starting to kiss the owl's forehead instead. The feeling of the muzzle, whose softness seemed impossible from its visual boniness, got the blood flowing, and his penis began quickly to swell.

And, as he had hoped, the lizard moved from tender kisses to short licks. The tongue was dry enough, despite its stickiness, that it pulled his feathers aside, getting right to the skin beneath in a thin trail of saliva. Even as the hand, still reached within his pants, began fondling, it was the tongue which had all of Dennis' attention.

With the even, grunting breaths of the lizard, who himself Dennis guessed must be getting aroused, the tongue stroked in time, moving down his cheek, to his neck, and as both hands carefully unzipped his jacket, and opened his shirt. Seeming to split a seam right down the middle, the fingers worked diligently ahead of the tongue, getting it all the way open as each tender lick continued to advance. When it was down to his belly, the owl spread his legs reflexively, silently begging for what he knew would be the ultimate completion to his experience.

Sure enough, the tongue arrived at its destination. The very first stroke against Dennis' rock hard flesh made him gasp in pleasure. The hands them took him up entirely, pulled back his sheath, and allowed the magical, sticky, warm, wet tenderness begin working over his cock head, as it was slid into the lizard's mouth.

The devotion was what seemed to arouse the owl most; he seemed to be putting all of his muscles into it; not only his powerful tongue, but the insides of his cheeks, and his hands as they gripped, fondled, and squeezed ever so gently. His general affection for the lizard, when combined with the specific skills now on display, got the owl to come before very long.

Thrusting up into the waiting muzzle of his companion, he began pumping up his seed. The tongue and cheeks slurped at whatever liquid he produced, finally drawing him dry after less than a minute; but it was all that he needed. His attitude toward his captor was now changed, for the better. He waited until he was released, and the lizard's gaze returned to his face.

Despite feeling no such pleasure, even he seemed more serene.

"All I want is to make happy," the lizard said.

"You did," Dennis murmured, trying to pull his neck down so as to let the commando lie beside him; but his arm was resisted.

"But many others I make sad," he groaned, "now, and then." He sat down, but did not lay down, staring at his feet.

"You can make many happy," the owl suggested, "if we -- go back."

"They will kill us, like Kuba!" he snarled.

"Not all," reassured the owl. Unable to think of the word for "trust", he said, "hear me. We go back, they will be happy. You can -- work them like this," he added with a smile, thinking such a tongue would indeed be well-received by many.

"No, only Kuba likes me. No others."

"Many others!" insisted Dennis. "We like it. Please, hear me. We go back, they will -- forgive."

The last word seemed to be the magic one. He suddenly went from staring at his feet to staring at the owl. "Forgive?" he repeated.

"Forgive."

"Punish?" he asked.

Dennis couldn't lie. "Small," he said, comparing it to the emotional distress prior at the crime he was an accessory to.

"Then sleep now. In morning, I go."

"Good," assured Dennis, patting him on the back. But it did not seem to be a verdict the lizard wanted; he went back to staring at his feet. At least, Dennis thought, they would both be alive to stare.

When morning came, Dennis woke up to a brightening of the sky, and found that his companion was gone, He yawned, stretched, and leisurely stood up, only to see a large mass of uniforms approaching him. He scrambled behind what tree was nearest him, but he was spotted anyway. The mass went from walking to jogging, straight for him. The owl took a deep breath, trying to convince himself that, somehow, the mass of weapons about to surround him would not mean the end of his life.

He looked across the grassland to see the nearest burned out wreck of a building at least a hundred yards away; there was no way he could make it. However, he heard a faint chain of pops which he recognized after all the damage that his friend had done, and the mass of uniforms dropped to the ground -- tactically, rather than uncontrollably.

Hiding in the grass, he could see them moving again, but toward the burned out wreck. He realized that his friend must be giving him cover to escape; but he didn't know where he could go. If he went back to the base or his old life, he would certainly be arrested. If he did anything else, he would risk getting shot.

What drew him more than the thought of flight was the fact the soldiers were now approaching the building, and running toward three intact sides for an attack plan. Not sure what he could possibly do, he quietly crept closer, looking for any opportunity to help the one whom he was still stuck with, by affection if nothing else.

The soldiers, of course, seemed to see nothing but a criminal dangerous enough for the military to deal with, rather than the police. They all wielded their guns, much more expert than those who protected the room Dennis first broke into, and the most senior shouted: "come out, and we can end this peacefully!"

All guns were pointed at the doorway, except those which were pointed at two window. Silence reigned, and he did not appear.

"Come out!" repeated the officer -- Dennis guessed he was an officer.

More silence.

"We have you surrounded! There will be no more killing!"

Footsteps followed; Dennis knew he had said the magic word. Slowly, the lizard, his black clothes and face covered in sweat, walked from the doorway into the center of the ten-solider ring.

"Hands on your head!" the officer shouted, as every gun was raised to the same point on the lizard's muzzle.

But he looked past them all, right at Dennis. Their eyes did not follow him. His companion simply said, in a whimper, "no era for he a killer," and closing his eyes, raised his gun.

Before he could get it even with his waist, twenty bangs and bullets were fired from rifles, wounding his chest, and smashing his face to a pulp before he hit the ground.

Dennis felt his heart be ripped from his chest. "No!!" he shouted desperately, making the same reflexes that killed his friend spin six soldiers around and train their guns on him.

For the first time, he felt no fear, in his sea of misery. "Shoot me!" he shouted, dropping to his knees, arms outstretched.

But they were not so kind. Instead, the rather large hyena in charge boldly stepped forward, and kicked him in the side of the head.

As Dennis watched the world go sideways, and tried to recover sight and hearing on his right side, he saw the boots walk behind him, and felt his wrists being handcuffed. He let himself be dragged -- by a husky and cat who joined the officer -- back toward the base.

***

Dennis did get an opportunity to expose the existence of the creature -- but only at the guilty plea of his trial. The judge handed out one of the harshest sentences still legal: 10 years of house arrest, and a lifetime injunction against entering GDF property. It was a two week ordeal before Dennis was back in his house, reading letters to the editor of the newspaper he ran.

The first knock on his door, early that afternoon, was Charles, the one who had finally convinced him to go on the errand which so changed his life. The moment the owl saw him standing on his doorstep, emotion came up in him. But he tried his best to remain level-headed.

"What do you want?" was what he asked coldly, tensing up, as if for a fight.

"I came here -- to apologize," replied the other professor.

"You just did," wittily answered Dennis, "anything else?"

The falcon seemed rather taken aback, and vulnerable. Dennis knew this, but his anger made him choose to ignore it. "I just wanted to talk, if it's alright."

"Maybe some other time," Dennis answered bitterly, "but not today. I'm sorry."

"Okay, I'll -- see you around, then." Dennis closed the door without another word, and shortly thereafter, regretted what he had said.

He spent the rest of that day calling up the other five members of his conspiratorial group, persuading them to dissolve, and then getting quotes from them he was doing for an article on what he had seen and done. The first in the series was the sensation of the year, and had already sparked several much more official investigations into the storehouses of the military.

It was difficult to both advise officials what to look for, and to sensationalize some of the behavior of his companion -- whom was now a dangerous, reckless, throwback from the human era. The fact that he was a lizard-like creature, in fact, was barely mentioned.

The only one who reacted badly was Charles. "If he wasn't human, then why aren't you saying so?" he asked.

"It's the compromise I have to take. This is not an academic paper, Charles, but fodder for the common reader who needs to be entertained."

"How about enlightened?" rhetorically asked the fellow scholar.

"I've already printed two out of five in this style. If it will help, I will change the ending."

"Fine."

He did, in the end like it. The piece ended:

"This story is being told to show just how much like the humans we are, in spite of our professed differences. We become interested in power, like the military; we have anger and the ability to kill, no matter how much it has been shown unacceptable; and, more than that, both of these things are tied to love. If there is one thing to take away from the story, it is how human all of us -- from that solider, to this writer -- we all are."

The End.