A Highly Improbable Chain of Events
#1 of The Colony
This is the first story of a series I've had kicking around in my brain for some time now. My Oswald Furo series seems to have dried up, so instead of forcing it, I'm just going to let it rest. At any rate, Disclaimer blah.
This story is for entertainment, and all the characters depicted herin are property of the author. Any resemblance to people living or dead is a coincidence. If you want to use one of the characters herin, just ask. Most likely, I'll say Ok.
A Highly Improbable Chain of Events
Michael sat in the waiting room, awaiting the doctor who would be overseeing the procedure. The room was spartan in the extreme. A few hard plastic chairs against one wall, white tile floor, white tile walls, one entrance, one exit. He was nervous, of course, he was about to leave behind everything he'd ever known, including his physical form, but he knew that the decision he'd made was the right one. An opportunity to be on the forefront of the exploration of other suns to find a planet suitable for human colonization was not to be passed up. He'd taken the psych evaluations, the physical, the battery of tests, and now today he was to undergo the final, irreversible alteration which would shape him into a form that was best suited for the limitations that extended space travel would impose upon him. Every member of the initial survey crews, from the captain to the cook to the cabin boy was to be transformed into an anthropomorphic animal. There were a multitude of reasons that led the colonization board to require this in the survey crews. For one, the generally smaller stature of an anthro meant they would take up less room, and require fewer resources. For another, there were certain qualities in each individual which would be enhanced by blending them with genetic material from an animal. Which animal was determined by the qualities necessary for the expected roll of the crew member, as well as a psychological profile. For example, fennics and bats usually ended up in communications, cats and ferrets in engineering, and cetations in medical. The people who were transformed into those creatures usually had a predisposition for the fields they would find themselves working in, as well as an affinity for the species they would become. Michael was slated to join the shipboard science team, whose job it was to survey the stars for likely extra solar planets, and determine which of those systems was likely to contain a suitable moon or planet. As a result of his role, and his psychological profile, he was to become Vulpies anthropomorphous, an anthropomorphized red fox.
The door to the waiting area slid open, and Dr. Parupta walked in, his dark south Indian skin contrasting with his white lab coat. He looked at Michael, and said in lightly accented English, "Well, here we are. I just have some final paper work for you to sign, and we will take you to the room where you will be staying during the course of your species reassignment. If you are not one hundred percent dedicated to this, now would be the time to back out. Once the prion is injected, medical science has no way to stop or reverse the process." With that warning, he handed the clipboard to Michael.
"I'm sure," Michael replied looking the doctor in the eye, "I've already told all my friends, and family. My funeral was yesterday." he wanted to grant his close friends and families closure at the prospect of never seeing him again. So just as Hindu sannyasin did when they took up the mantle of the ascetic, he held a funeral for himself, and allocated all but a few items of his personal property to his family and friends. He was committed completely to his chosen path, and nothing would deter him now. After scrawling his signature in the marked blanks, he handed the clipboard back to the doctor.
"Well, follow me to your room," said Dr. Parupta after checking the documents to ensure they were all in order. Michael followed the doctor down the corridor. After passing a few doors, the doctor motioned to an open door. The room beyond was spartan in the extreme. A bed, a rack holding an IV bag, EKG and EEG machines, and a toilet in one corner. Walls painted that special green you only find in medical institutions. Michael changed into the gown with the gap in back, stretched himself out in the bed, and waited.
The chain of events preceding the "unforeseen complications" of Michael's transformation was so unlikely as to be considered miraculous, if the outcome had been other that it was. It required a chain of coincidences the likely hood of which approached the magnitude of calling a coin toss incorrectly thirteen times in a row. However, nobody involved was in a position to fully appreciate just how wonderfully improbable the situation truly was.
The chain began with Marcia. Marcia was in charge of quality control at Genagin, the pharmaceutical company which brewed the cocktail of prions that effected the changes in a person which left them "furry." More than anything else, she wanted to take part in the surveying process, more because she wanted to be turned into a anthro, than anything else. but her application had been rejected. Her dreams had been dashed. The UN had decided that allowing people to voluntarily undergo the treatments and remain on Earth would add a social dynamic that would be disruptive in the extreme. After all, people still killed over differences in skin color, religion, orientation. Adding in individuals of entirely different species would be a recipe for unrest. Knowing that there was no way for her to fulfill her fantasy, Marcia had determined to steal a vial of the red fox serum, and use it on herself. Then, they would either have to let her go with the survey crews, or she would be allowed to remain on Earth. If that happened, she would be the Rosa Parks of the Anthro movement. Once one civilian had undergone the change, there was no way the government would deny it to others. The furry community would finally get what they always wanted, the ability to take on the form they felt they should have.
As she pulled the vials for their random tests, she slipped one into the pocket of her lab coat. Her heart began racing. If she got caught, she would loose her job and her freedom. Everybody was looking at her. Her palms felt like two slugs, slimy and cold. As she started towards the locker room, she could tell that everyone else on the floor was watching her. They knew! They saw her slip it into her pocket! They could see the bulge of the vial! Marcia was in a hyperventilating, terrified of continuing with her course of action. She continued her way back towards the employee restroom/locker rooms. Her supervisor stopped her!
"Marcia, when you have a moment we need to go over the new security and loss prevention guidelines. Once we do I'll have something for you to sign. So just come and see me before you go home tonight, Ok?"
Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, she knows, she knows, she knows, was the mantra that began repeating itself in Marcia's consciousness. She was faced with the almost irrepressible urge to run out of the building. She had to get rid of the evidence. What could she do with the vial? If someone found it, they could print it and figure out that Marcia had been the last one to touch it. They would know that she tried to steal! She would be walked out of the building, in front of everyone, and arrested! Her eyes darted back and forth, looking for a safe place to hide the vial. There! At the end of the row was a box missing one vial! She strolled over as casually as she could muster, and with the vial palmed in her hand, pretended to pull it from the empty space in the box. She pretended to study it for a moment, and then placed it in the empty spot. The box was now full, she closed the lid, and heaved a sigh of relief. Someone would spot that there was a vial of Vulpes Anthro (female) in the Procyon Anthro (male) box, they would bring it to the attention of Genagin, a refund would be issued, no harm done. Her cousin was a nurse at the Transform Center, and she had every confidence that the "mistake" would be spotted.
Incidentialy, the reason Marcia was rejected for the colonization project was due to her psych evals showing a marked tendency toward panic, paranoia, and faulty reasoning.
Five days later, in the ducting and piping between the first and second floors of the Colonization Project Medical Station, a pipe used for gray water disposal from one of the restrooms corroded to the point that a small pinhole opened up. Water began to slowly drip into the sheet rock of the ceiling and build up between the paint and plaster causing a bubble. One day later, at 12:03 pm, the day Michael was to begin his treatment, Janice, Marcia's cousin, entered the storage closet which contained the vials of the mutagenic prions destined for male patients. The vibration from the door slamming caused the bubble of moisture which had formed from the leak on the second floor to rupture, spilling the water across the tile of the hallway. As she was retrieving the Vulpes anthro (male) for Michael's procedure, she accidentally bumped the box of Procyon anthro (male), scattering the vials scattering across the shelf. As she replaced them, she spotted the vial of Vulpes Anthro (female) that Marcia had inserted earlier in the week. Janice picked it up, with the intention of returning it to the storage closet for the female serum. The two genders were kept separate to prevent a dose intended for a female from being used on a male, and vice versa. When she stepped out the door, the unexpected puddle caused her to slip, falling, she banged her head on the doorjamb, and lost consciousness.
Janice was found a few minutes later and, suffering a slight concussion, was taken to an emergency room, as the medical station was only equipped to deal with emergencies which might arise from the transformation process, and did not have access to the supplies necessary to treat head trauma. Henry, the young man who came across Janice, was unnerved by the experience, and had had a significant fight with his partner Jason a few hours before coming to his first day of work at the medical station. That being the case, he assumed that the vial that Janice had dropped when she fell was the one for the procedure, and did not check it before delivering it to Dr. Parupta.
Dr. Parupta was becoming increasingly concerned over difficulty urinating, and frequent visits to the bathroom. He was getting up in years, and a slight enlargement of the prostrate was to be expected. However, the specter of cancer had crossed his mind more than once, and as such he did not check the vial that Henry brought him, or even notice that it was Henry, rather than Janice, who had brought him the vial. After Henry started the IV, Dr. Parupta drew some of the serum from the vial, and injected it in to the feed going into Michael's arm.
"Over the next few hours, Michael, you will feel increasingly feverish, and weak. An hour or two after that, you will begin to experience muscle cramps, the fever will increase, and you will experience some delirium. This will last for 48-72 hours depending on your immune system. All the physiological changes will take place during that time, and when the fever breaks, you will have your new body. I won't lie to you. It is not a pleasant experience, but luckily it is relatively short lived. A nurse will come in every hour to check your vitals and to make sure there are no unexpected complications. I will tell you this, nobody has ever died as the result of this procedure, but some recoveries have taken longer than expected. Now, I suggest you relax and try to get some rest."
Three hours later
Michael drank his third glass of water, he just couldn't seem to get enough to drink. He knew the fever had kicked in. It would be the muscle aches next.
Seven hours later
His world was pain. A full body Charley horse. Sheets twisted by his thrashing, coiling into ropes. Cool hand on his forehead, pressure on his arm. A blood pressure cuff. Cool circle on his chest. Stethoscope. Ball point pen on paper, he could hear the ink flowing out, and the ball scritching. Sound like thunder. The door. Alone again.
Twelve hours later
"I'm sorry about this, Michael, but we'll need to catheterize you. You won't be getting up again for a while, and at the moment the procedure will be less... memorable than it would be if we did it sooner." Michael nodded weakly. She twitched the covers aside, and moved the gown. In one hand she held a plastic tube to which she applied a small amount of lubricant. Michael thought it looked way longer than necessary. Clinically, the nurse grabbed his member, and holding it vertically, eased the catheter into his urethra. Michael thought that if the rest of his body hadn't been in agonizing pain already, this would be excruciating. But it was somehow erotic as well. Or some part of him must have found it so, because he immediately "stood to attention". The nurse inserted the catheter up to the flange on it, marking the maximum depth it could be inserted. Michael was embarrassed at his arousal, and that must have been visible on his face because the nurse chuckled at him, winked and said, "don't worry about it. It happens." With that, she left the room.
Sixteen hours later
Fever dreams. He spoke with people who weren't there. Forgot where he was. Forgot when he was. Did a nurse really come into the room, look at his still throbbing erection and frown? Did she really try to push it flush with his glans, only to find that the catheter would not go in any further? Had to be a dream. Couldn't be real.
Twenty hours later
Something was wrong. People standing over him, looking at him worriedly. The sheet was thrown back over his groin, which ached differently than the rest of his body. Ached like he needed relief, needed to come. Speech, like the grownups on... what the tanj was the name of that cartoon? The one with the little bald kid. That bitch always yanked his ball away. Did his sack feel different, or was it just his imagination?
Twenty four hours later
People came, people went. He noticed some of the changes. The hair on his body had all fallen out, and was replaced by soft red down which seemed to grow by the second. His follicles ached. His chest hurt, not his chest but his pecs. They ached more than the rest of his body. During a moment when he was alone, he'd run a hand down to his crotch. His dick was smaller. It felt like he should have a huge raging hard-on, but it was short. Thinner. Was that supposed to happen? Was it because he was still catheterized? His scrotum was smaller too, like he'd been swimming in cold water, all tight and hard, and the crease between his balls seemed to be much deeper now. It was sticky. Was that right? He didn't know. He couldn't remember.
Thirty six hours later
"Can we reverse the process? Stop it somehow," asks a woman in a black business suit.
White lab coat answers, "no, there is no possibility. The prions that have already been administered would treat the changes a second, different dose made as faulty genes. They would "repair" it, and since they have a head start, eventually wipe out the second dose entirely. Its the same process that is causing the changes in his primary sexual characteristics.
"What do you mean?"
"The prions we injected expected to find two X chromosomes, what every female has. What they found was an X and a Y, which are the male. What is happening is that they "see" the differences between the X and the Y as genetic damage. So they are "fixing" it, in addition to making the other changes to his genotype that make him into an anthro."
Black suit says, "well, lucky he signed the waiver, otherwise the legal ramifications would be stupendous. Still, we had better move him out before..."
Michael didn't understand a word. It might as well have been Mandarin. He fades again, back into darkness and dreams.
Fifty three hours and forty five minutes later
Michael woke up. He could think again. He blinked slowly, and shakily pushed himself up onto his elbows. The catheter seemed to be gone, and he had to pee. Badly. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, noticing that his knees were much higher up his legs, now, and his heel seemed to be shifted as well. When he slowly lowered his feet to the ground, he immediately noticed that from now on he would be walking on tiptoe. On legs that felt like cooked noodles, he took his first tentative steps. It wasn't as uncomfortable as he'd expected. It seemed instinctual. Walking to the bathroom, he settled himself in front of the toilet and pulled his robe aside.
At this point, as the author, I feel the need to digress for just a moment and explain something to any ladies who might be reading this. Come to think of it, a good number of the gentlemen may benefit from this information as well. You may already be aware, or you may not, but when it comes to urination, men fall, except for the few who opt to sit down to pee, into one of three categories. Two handers, one handers, and no-handers. Two handers use both hands to "aim", one handers use just one, usually the dominant hand, resting the other on the hip, and no-handers just sort of point and hope. I personally am a two hander. Michael, by contrast, was a no-hander, so the following course of events is understandable, especially when taking into account his groggy, post-fever haze. When he relaxed his muscles he was shocked as a hot torrent of urine poured down his leg to pool on the floor, instead of arcing gently into the toilet bowl, as he was accustomed. Looking down, really looking at himself for the first time since waking after the fever broke, he first noticed the small breasts, with their new, larger nipples, which now graced his chest. Following the red and white furred, flat stomach downward, the next thing he noticed was a cleft where he was used to seeing the bulge of his masculinity.
"WHAT THE FUCK?!"