FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

CHAPTER 1

19 May 2404, Common Date

"I don't understand why it should just die on us. It was working perfectly fine yesterday-and the day before."

Scott Banks panted lightly, his lips damp with foam under the late spring sun. He wiped it off with a dirty paw. This was followed by a growl of frustration when the grey-furred wolf realized his paw-and now his mouth-was now covered in blackened motor oil.

John smirked a little and looked down at a silver hulk of a machine, now crippled by a failing propulsion system. The X Series Grain Harvester was old-it was used when his father worked it-and was, in his opinion, best left for the trash compactor. But John would have a hard time convincing his master of that.

"Well, John," groaned the wolf to his fox companion. "Do you think you could do something for it? It's only the fiftieth time or so it's done this on us."

The red fox frowned expressively, scratching his long black eartip with a black furred paw. "You know as well as I do that it needs to be replaced. I might be able to fix it for now, but I can almost guarantee that it'll do this again and again. It's simply too old."

On most any other farm on the planet Triticum, a fox slave would have been beaten for failing to exercise the utmost courtesy when addressing a creature of superior make, whether the wolf was his legal master or not. But Scott failed to take offense, just as John knew he would.

The wolf pondered this advice for several long moments. Reason in this wolf was at war with stubbornness, and the fox hoped that reason would finally win out. All it needed was a little support: "The harvest must be finished by the end of this month if we're going to make the deadline for planting for the new season," John dared to venture. "We still have another thirty thousand acres to go in what...ten days?"

And that was the icing on the cake. Scott threw up his paws in defeat. "Alright, alright. We'll get a new harvester already. You're the expert on these things. We'll order one later today."

John swished his long bushy tail with satisfaction and smiled broadly. "Glad I could have been of help."

Scott, easily the larger of the two, laughed cynically at the fox's words. "You want to be of help? Tell me how we're gonna pay for it?"

The irony of his master's statement was not lost on John. He knew perfectly well that law forbade a fox from owning money. He also knew perfectly well that money was not the issue: It was his master's wounded pride. It wasn't so much needing to buy a new machine as it was somehow abandoning what he saw as a perfectly good tool.

But John had known the wolf long enough to know how to ease the transition. "It certainly lasted a long time, didn't it," the fox offered to the brooding wolf. "You'll be lucky to find a new one that will last half as long." He tapped a blunt claw on the shimmering chrome hull. The seventeen ton machine was easily the size of a small house and shaped not unlike a beetle. A very large, very shinny...and very sick beetle.

Scott shook his head. "No, the key is having a brilliant engineer around to keep it alive," he said to his friend, and the fox dipped his nose self-consciously at the complement. "Come on, John. Let's go into town before I change my mind."

Grey Haven was hardly a 'town' with over a million and a half wolves calling it home. It was the center of the Greywinds, a historically farming clan, a tradition that Scott's forefathers were loath to break. Grey Haven was the very center of Lupine agriculture: Nearly half of all grain-related foodstuffs consumed in the whole of the Lupine Empire-and nearly all of that eaten on the home world-first passed through Grey Haven. The Ministry of Agriculture was located-naturally-in Grey Haven. The Minister of Agriculture was-naturally-an elder in the Greywind clan. And, holding true to the inescapable laws of economics, the Greywind clan was important, powerful, and influential because of it. They oversaw two and a half billion acres of fertile farmland and controlled the galactic trade of wheat, barley, oats, and a dozen other cash crops. Seven of the fifty members of the Lupine High Council were Greywinds. There influence was so great in fact, that the Balance of Imperial Power Mandate of 2357 specifically forbade a Greywind from ever sitting upon the imperial throne, just in case.

Scott Banks, however, was none of these influential wolves. The Banks pack was of the Greywind clan, yes; but while other packs administered the crops, his was one of many that provided them.

A small transport zipped at high speeds over an endless sea of grain. From the ground the mid-sized Bullet Z350 was just that: a five meter long silver bullet racing across the sky at just under the speed of sound. Scott would have pushed it over mach one if he wasn't so worried that Transport Control would impound them. And city business was what he preferred to do on a get-in get-out basis only.

"One hundred kilometers to destination," sang the navigation computer, a soft-voiced female.

"Thanks, Ginger." The grey wolf smiled every time he said the little pet name. And unlike the few females in his life, Ginger never talked back to him.

John sat in the copilot's seat as he always did. A fox slave was never permitted to drive such a vehicle unless it was somehow necessary to save a wolf's life or limb. He therefore made himself content to watch the world below as it raced by. The steel collar he wore around his neck itched madly and the fox was forced to constantly scratch at the fur underneath. John hated wearing the thing. It was uncomfortable, heavy, let out an irritating beep constantly, and was humiliating besides.

"Stop scratching at it, John. It's just gonna itch worse."

The red fox growled low in his throat. "Yeah, but I can't help it. It itches now."

Scott could only frown. He assumed that John would have little reason to scratch if he would only have the fox wear it more often. But he could never bring himself to doing that. Off the farm, any and all slaves were required to wear the control collars. They were part ID tag, part tracking device, and part control mechanism. It would come off only with a swipe of Scott's paw across a biometrics sensor, and was equipped with an electrode to shock an unruly slave into submission, though Scott had never used it-he had never needed to, either. It even came with a mild explosive charge if lethal force was ever needed. Scott had disabled this feature years before.

"It'll only be for an hour or two," he said finally. "I promise."

John turned to his master and nodded silently, glad that he was fortunate enough to have a wolf master that never required him to wear it at home, like most did.

"You have reached the city of Grey Haven," Ginger soothed on cue, as wheat gave way to concrete below them. "Benny's Barn Emporium seven kilometers to the east."

***

"Now sir, this particular model is one of our best selling ones," said the saleswolf, a young and lanky grey that, by Scott's estimation, was barely old enough to drive much less give him a detailed review of such a machine. Still, Scott had to admit that the youth was good at what he did. "This harvester comes complete with the latest in global positioning and navigation and is completely paws-free. You could program it in the morning and forget about it until it brings itself back to the barn at nightfall!"

Scott contemplated this for a moment. The big silver machine, shaped much like his old one, certainly had plenty of bells and whistles...and a very hefty price tag to go with them. "How efficient is it? I don't need it to be paws-free, I just need it to be fast and reliable."

From the corner of his eye he watched John as the fox stared at the machine and the display advertising its specifications. The fox stood within arms reach of his master at all times, his tail hanging motionless to the floor and his head slightly bowed as if in submission. He pretended to mind his own business as he listened intently

The employee gave the fox no mind. "Absolutely, sir! It's made to survive anything you can throw at it, and has an excellent warranty that covers all parts and services should it ever be found defective (nor will it, I assure you!) and includes comprehensive insurance...for a small additional fee."

John coughed-twice-and his master took the hint. "Don't be rude!" Scott chided the fox, and turning to the saleswolf continued with, "It's not what I'm looking for. Show me something simpler."

The young wolf nodded agreeably, seemingly without suspecting his customer's fox slave was well versed in mechanics...or even literate, for that matter. "Very well, sir. Over here we have our more heavy-duty harvesters," he continued as he led the pair across the huge indoor showroom.

With the saleswolf's back turned Scott dared to share a knowing wink with John, the fox's muzzle breaking into a small smile, and his tail wagging behind him if only for a moment.

"Now this one is what we like to call 'The Feeder of Worlds.' You'll notice how its anti-grav emitters are supported by a double-fiber..."

***

To John, the trip home seemed to take ten times as long as the trip to Grey Haven. He sat fidgeting in his chair trying to hide his excitement. Though the Bullet was now seven tons heavier with its load securely stowed in the back, it sailed through the air with no less power than before. The fox couldn't understand why it felt so slow.

"I hope you're happy." Scott sneered without taking his eyes from the controls, knowing full well how excited the fox must be to go home with a new toy secured to the aft of the vehicle by energy couplings. It was ironic that although the harvester was for his crops, it was his slave that would take the most interest in it. "I better not catch you trying to take it apart."

John laughed. "Aww, come on, sir." He made a pouting face and crossed his arms over his chest like a little kit being scolded.

"Maybe...if you're a good boy." The wolf reached a paw over and unlocked the fox's collar with a finger pad.

John gleefully unclasped the oppressive thing and tossed it onto another seat behind him. "It's about dinner time. I'm sure Sarah is going to be unhappy waiting for us. You know how she is."

Scott smiled as he thought of the vixen, John's sister and the only other slave he owned. John was right in thinking she would be upset, as she always was when they were late for meals.

Tonight proved no exception as all three of them sat down for their meal.

"The chicken was delicious tonight," ventured John as he pushed his plate away and patted his stomach with a paw.

His sister glared across the table at him, her muzzle purposefully chewing with an exaggerated energy. "It would have been hot if you hadn't been late again." She pointed a fork at the fox, her gaze momentarily shifting to Scott.

The wolf smiled. "Well, hot or not it was still excellent, Sarah. And it wasn't your brother's fault we were late...this time, at least"

The vixen's frown seemed to loosen as she regarded her master respectfully, but affixed John with another suspicious stare, not fully believing the wolf's words.

Then John chimed in again with, "Hey sis, what's for desert?"

"Caneberry pie," she said, her look distrustful. "It's in the refrigerator."

John smiled as he stood up. "Well, at least that was already cold before we got here," he said over his shoulder before he disappeared from the dining room.

Sarah growled and shook her head. Scott just smiled broadly at her, his kind eyes catching her deep blues for a long moment before John's hasty return took them away. The fox carefully plopped the pie on the table and served a thick slice to his master first, then his sister, before serving himself a generous helping.

"Mmm," he said around a mouthful, the bright pink juices staining some of the white fur on his chin. "Mom's very own recipe. The best! Now, if only you could manage another of Mom's famous recipes we'd be set."

The vixen's venomous glare returned in full force. "I'm gonna kill you John, I swear," she threatened her twin brother, but it was hard for her to stifle a hearty laugh.

Scott ate leisurely, taking comfort in the familiar squabble between the two siblings. It was the closest to a family the wolf had since the death of his wife. At thirty seven years old he was seven years their senior. Although he was technically their master, it was hard not to imagine himself as an older brother of sorts. Their sires had been owned by his, and on down the line for several generations. He had grown up with them. They had played together as pups. They were his property, according to law, but he chose to see it as a matter of their safety and little more. If he didn't own them, someone else would. Someone who would abuse them.

Scott finished the last of his pie and gave a satisfied sigh. "I'm getting up early tomorrow. Give our new harvester a test run and see how she does." It came out more like a suggestion than a statement, and John's curiosity was thoroughly peeked.

"That's great!" he practically yipped. "I'll set my alarm an hour early."

Sarah grumbled something unintelligible under her breath. Grabbing a few of the uneaten portions of their meal, she made her way to the kitchens. "Boys and their toys," she muttered, just laud enough for the other two to hear.

***

The next day saw Scott thoroughly satisfied with his newest investment, so much so that he decided to end the day two hours early. The new harvester, a Reaper 250, had already proven in the first day to be faster and capable of hauling more than the old X Series ever could-even when new.

"Eight thousand acres in one day," he remarked to John after he had powered the silver hulk down. "Not bad at all. We can get the harvest in early, ahead of schedule, and be home on time for dinner for a change."

The fox grinned cheekily, his big russet tail waving like a flag in the breeze. "Everybody wins. Told you it would be a good idea, didn't I?"

Scott grinned, brushing dust from his tail fur then thwapping his friend on the arm with the furry appendage. "Yeah, yeah. Nobody likes a cocky fox."

The fox and wolf made sure the wheat collected during the day was properly stowed in the three huge silos behind the barn. Two were full to maximum capacity now-two thousand tons of wheat, barley, and oats each. Scott would need to call Central Stores to arrange a pickup before the week was out if they were to continue with this streak of productivity.

Their meal that night had been a peaceful affair, filled with light and pleasant conversation. Afterwards, while John was in his room distracted by his studies, Scott stayed with Sarah to help the vixen tidy up the kitchen and dining room. The smell of fresh bread and oven-cooked meat stew still hung warmly in the air, accented nicely by the orange-red glow of the retreating sun through the windows. From the living room the low buzz of the telenet's evening news drifted into the room, but the two paid it no attention.

Placing a stack of dirty plates in the washer, he asked quietly, "How was your day, Sarah?" while the machine hummed for a moment, then dinged softly. The wolf pulled out the plates, clean and good as new.

The vixen was dumping table scraps into the incinerator. "I finally found what it is that's making that strange smell in the back of the pantry."

Her grimace was almost comical, her tongue hanging to the side with nose wrinkled, almost as if she could smell it then and there.

Scott snickered. "Oh yeah? What was it?"

"Well...you might want to call an exterminator. Tomorrow, if at all possible."

Scott's shoulders fell to the floor as he slumped, his eyes widening in frustrated shock. "What!" he barked. "You're kidding me! What is it?"

Sarah laughed and put a paw lightly on his arm. "Nothing, Scott. I was only joking. It was a moldy wingfruit that fell under a shelf. I took care of it."

The wolf calmed a little and narrowed an accusing glare at her.

"Oh, relax Scott," she said as she closed the incinerator's lid and pushed the "flash" button. Both wolf and fox imagined for a moment the sudden burst of hot gas and fire in the furnace below the house.

"Where's my brother? It's unusually quiet around here."

Scott pointed up to the ceiling. "He's in his room, I suppose. I gave him the mechanic's guide to the new harvester. He'll be going through it all night." She frowned disapprovingly. "He's a great mechanic and engineer, Sarah. You know that. It's a shame he can't attend the university. I know he'd be an excellent engineer."

The fox looked down to the countertop and shook her head, and old argument that had been fought between them for years. "An engineer? He shouldn't even know how to read, Scott, you know that! We could never be anything more than slaves here. That's the law. Slaves. And what do you think filling John's head with all this knowledge is supposed to do for him, hmm? Aside from reminding him day after day that it will do him no good, maybe even get him killed one day," she hissed discouragingly.

Sarah could read and write as well. Scott rarely, if ever, saw her do either, however. He knew she was afraid of what might happen should she be caught, and that fear was well founded: Scott would be jailed. She could be euthanized, as could John.

He sighed sadly, his ears folding back against his head in resignation. "That doesn't mean you have to live like one, Sarah. Not in my house, anyways. I know very well there's no hope for John outside this property, or for you." Scott scolded himself for being so harsh. Letting out a long breath he explained, "Look, Sarah, I'm sorry things are the way they are. You know I would change them if I could, but I can't. The best I can do for either one of you is to make you happy while you're here."

"I know that, Scott. Believe me, I know. I just wish things could be different sometimes, that's all."

Sarah was smiling softly, but he could see it was a façade. She kept her eyes down, seeming to find interest in the stone-work pattern on the countertop as she hugged herself closely with an arm. Scott could sense her sadness in the air; a distressful tone to her earthy scent. He didn't have to ask to know what caused her so much grief at times like this. The loss of her son and daughter so many years before had hit her hard. She hadn't seen either since they were less than a year old, and even after almost thirteen years her motherly longing was still strong in her.

All female foxes were made sterile early in life, a process that could only be reversed by a veterinarian and the appropriate license strictly for the use of breeding them. Fourteen years ago her license number had come up at the Ministry of Labor Resources and she was matched with a male counterpart on another farm that would dedicate his part of the process. Sarah knew full well what would happen and refused, but had no say in the matter. Neither did Scott. As the law dictated, all rights in the matter belonged essentially to the master of the male slave involved. Sarah was artificially inseminated with twins, a male and female, and carried the kits until their birth. She continued to nurse them for eight months before they were taken away to be raised on the benefactor's farm. For Sarah, it was a truly traumatic experience.

Scott nodded solemnly to himself, the unmistakable truth weighing heavy on him every time he thought on it. Perhaps this was his fault in some way. If he had treated them more like animals and less like wolves they may have been less enlightened. Less pained by such things.

But then, how could he do that to his family?

Sarah's muzzle dipped to her chin in sadness.

"Hey, Sarah. Don't be upset, alright?" Scott offered her a friendly embrace, which she gingerly accepted. The fox felt light in his arms as she used him for support. In fact the vixen was small compared to the hefty-built wolf.

A light whimper broke through the silence and Scott felt her shudder against his shoulder as she cried, trying desperately not to weep openly. For the first time in years Scott felt a feral sense of protectiveness come over him. A moment of stunned hesitation passed before he softened, gently rubbing her back with a big palm, even welcoming the closeness as she used him for support.

"I'm sorry, Sarah," he soothed, not letting the delicate creature out of his arms as she sniffed quietly.

"I don't even know if they're still alive, Scott," she whispered.

He nodded slowly, wishing he could say they were alive and well. As if realizing suddenly where she was, the vixen pushed herself gently but quickly from the wolf and turned her face away, wiping her little black nose with the back of her paw.

"I'm sorry," she said, embarrassed, like a guilty cub being scolded by her parents.

"Don't be, Sarah. I know how much it can hurt to loose loved ones, remember." His voice was soft and sincere, without trace of scorn or disapproval. "It was you that was comforting me, then."

She looked to him meekly, but nodded knowingly. Of course she remembered. How could she ever forget those terrible times? It had been a trial for all of them.

"I need to make sure the laundry is getting done," she said.

Scott made no effort to hold her back. As he watched her leave he sighed heavily, pawing a stray washcloth left on the kitchen counter. Why was it so difficult for her to open up to him? Was it that she considered herself too inferior to trouble him with her pains and sorrows? Why did he care? Perhaps he felt indebted to her kindness after Jessica's death, when it was so difficult to cope with his own anguish upon loosing his mate. He could not have pulled through without his foxes, especially Sarah.

The sound of the telenet from the next room broke Scott from his reverie. Turning out the kitchen lights he forwent watching the evening news from a sofa for a calm sunset from his favorite lounge chair on his back porch, content to let the serenity of the Triticum twilight sooth away the strains of the day.

Sarah found Scott there an hour later, sleeping soundly. Smiling to herself she grabbed a light blanket from inside the house and draped it carefully over him. It wasn't unusual for the wolf to choose the open sky over a low bedroom ceiling. She suspected it had less to do with freedom and fresh air, and more to do with no longer having someone to share his bed with.

"Good night, Scott," she said quietly, planting a quick kiss to the top of his head before stepping back inside.