FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

If he could, Bowie would have wiped his brow, the sweat building up as he carefully reconnected the communications antennae. Alas, the thick suit he wore to protect him from the expanse of space prevented it; despite improvements made over the past centuries, EVA suits were still extremely limiting in mobility, and he couldn't simply pull his arm through to reach inside the helmet. Strictly speaking, his repairs weren't needed; the research vessel he worked aboard, lovingly nicknamed the Hyperion Station, had multiple arrays, but he and his crewmates agreed it was best to have them all online, and he was the fastest at repairs.

As he set the panel back into place, he opened a comm line with the ship. Even as he held it down with one hand, turning the bolts affixing it with the other, he began to speak. "Weaver, this is Bowie. Can you run a test of antennae 23-B?"

There was a moment of silence, before his crewmate replied. "Orange you glad I didn't say banana?" she asked, getting a small laugh out of him before she spoke again. "Alright, I'd say that's good. I'll update you once we finish a test of long-range comms."

"Sounds good to me." Bowie responded, watching a wrench floating into his face, tethered safely to his suit's chest. Brushing it aside, he gazed out at the stars around him, and at the moon his ship orbited. He was still amazed by the sights even after years of training and months aboard the ship, still used to the skies on Earth where it was near impossible to see any stars other than the Sun.

"Say, I know the test will take longer than I can stay out here..." he began, only to hear Weaver's swift interruption.

"Bowie, you know the risks of staying out there." she said firmly. A small but noticeable rock bumped into his shoulder to empathize her point, and he turned his gaze to the chunk of ice and stone that served as the ship's namesake. "We really should stay inside until after the next impact."

"Yeah, I know." he said, somewhat dejected. Taking hold of the grips on the ship's exterior panels, he began to reorient himself, ready to return to the airlock. "Still, maybe just a few more minutes?" he asked, hearing a sigh coming from the microphone.

"Weaver, what's going on with Bowie?" a voice asked. Issac, the designated captain of the ship. An unofficial role, but one he took well to; as the best of the crew at management, and one of the less mechanically or scientifically inclined members, his niche was keeping the others organized and resolving disputes.

Such as a crew member risking their life for a pretty view.

"He wants to stay outside the craft." Weaver explained, and Bowie could just feel the exasperated "put face in hands" that his captain tended towards.

"Look, there's still a few hours left until those rocks hit Hyperion, right?" he asked, eager to defend his decision. "That's plenty of time to just... take things in, see space with my own eyes."

Issac's voice came through loud and clear as he took the mic back aboard the ship. "Negative. If you want to spacewalk for fun, you can do it another time." the captain sighed, and aboard the vessel Weaver recognized this sign of an oncoming compromise. "I'll give you ten minutes. After that, you'll get back in, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." Bowie said. Outwardly, he maintained a relatively calm demeanor, but inside he was ecstatic. Even just ten minutes to relax and watch the rings of Saturn, without needing to fix some doodad or drill into some chunk of rock, was enough for him. As he prepared to relax and let his mind wander, however, Weaver's voice came back through the mic.

"Remember, if you see any debris flying in early, immediately return to ship. The time to impact is only an estimation, and there might be debris the sensors didn't catch."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." he replied. "Who do you think has to calibrate those things?"

There were a few minutes of silence. Bowie sighed, watching the odd rotation of the moon Hyperion. He wondered for a time how long it would last, what would happen if it finally was hit hard enough to break apart or fly off its already unstable orbit. As brief as humanity as a whole was compared to the planets and moons, he knew they too were impermanent, that anything in space could only last for so long. His existential thoughts were soon interrupted by Weaver, speaking to him once more.

"You know we do care about you, right?" she asked, her voice cracking a little.

"I know, yeah." he replied. "You, the captain, Leo, hell, even the rats."

"We don't want you to get lost out there."

Bowie looked down at his gloved hands, Weaver's words reminding him that these layers of metal, plastic and fabric were all that kept him alive. All the things he took for granted on Earth - breathing, minimal radiation, staying cool - were precious commodities out here.

As he tried to think of a good response, he thought he heard a machine going off over the radio. Footsteps told him that Weaver had gone off to check what it was. He hoped that it was just the antennae finishing the test, but as he floated, he began to worry. His watch told him he had a few more minutes left for the walk, but he decided it would be time to return to the ship anyways, knowing it would take him some time to reel himself back inside anyways.

But as he gripped the ladder, taking his first steps back to the airlock, something struck his head, the shock of pain leaving him stunned as he was propelled away from the ship. Spinning around, he felt sick; a small trickle of blood beaded where he was hit, although he thought it was minor. For a few brief moments, he faded in and out of consciousness, and by the time he regained his senses, a painful itching was starting to spread out through his body.

In a panic, he kicked and swatted around himself, before remembering that he had nothing to anchor himself against. As he did his best to stay calm, he reached for the tube that connected him to the ship, and he was briefly thankful, before taking a closer look and seeing the leaking tear.

This wasn't good. Rescue was still possible, but he'd need to act quickly, lest his air supply run out and leave him to suffocate. The itching only grew, his body feeling oddly uncomfortable in the suit. He already wasn't the most fond of them, especially not the diapers they included, but as it began to literally rub him the wrong way he grew irritated. He reached for his suit's controls, and with some struggle switched to the use of his suit's portable life support. It was hard, harder than usual, his fingers straining to bend properly, his thumb especially uncomfortable in the gloves.

Still, he could at least breathe a sigh of relief. His body was starting to ache and burn all over, but at least he just had to wait for the crew to pull him back inside. Although, through the haze of his concussion, he briefly recalled something of importance, raising a hand to his helmet. As his fingers brushed against the protective casing, he tried to feel for any cracks or tears; judging by how he was still conscious, and wasn't swelling up, he guessed he was safe.

His breathing quickened, and he looked back towards the ship, covered in gleaming ceramic and dark metal. He laughed to himself, noting the lack of any windows; here he'd gone almost dying to bypass that. He smiled, reaching to turn the microphone back on and call for help.

"Hyperion, this is Bowie. I got hit, need someone to pull me in."

There was a moment of silence, and he grew worried. Had they actually received his call? He squirmed and wiggled in the suit, feeling a little more comfortable again. He felt warm, but at least the suit wasn't irritating his skin. He felt pain around his tailbone, and for a moment worried he'd need to actually use his diaper. Holding a hand up to his face, he flexed, only to find his fingers feeling stiffer, the tips of the glove not moving as his fingers slide around inside. He paused, as the suit normally was tight enough to be impossible to remove on his own.

"Hyperion, this is Bowie. Do you copy?" he said. His voice was strained, cracking as he spoke. "Weaver! Issac! Are you there?" he yelled, before coughing from how much his throat was starting to hurt. He swore he could feel both sides of the helmet at once, pressing against part of his skin. All he received in response to his calls was garbled, distorted static, and it was a grim realization that his radio was damaged by the impact, leaving him stranded until the others thought to pull him back inside manually.

He sighed, thankful that he was at least still alive. He squinted, looking out at the blurry ship in front of himself. His head injury must have been worse than he realized, as even the clear, bright writing showing the ship's formal name, Research Vessel 89-EURO, was growing harder to see. He was starting to panic again; he could hear himself breathing, the soft hum of his suit's life support, the occasional static comic through his radio. He yelled out again, but it hurt, and he couldn't properly articulate any words as his voice cracked and throat burned.

He sighed, closing his eyes. Somewhere, his suit had a break in the radiation shielding, he just knew it. That burning was radiation, he reasoned, not hitting him hard enough to leave him a walking ghost, but still enough to kill him. He reached down, trying to grip the hips of his suit, sighing when his fingers bent but the gloves only barely moved. For a brief moment, he thought that his fingers were growing numb and unresponsive, before realizing that he had, in fact, bent all his digits, and they simply didn't fit in the glove anymore.

Fear turned to confusion as he tried to parse what was happening. He kicked his foot a little, inside his boot; it was growing uncomfortably tight in the toes and heels, but the sides still had room for him. His tailbone ached, and for a brief moment, he thought it twitched, inside the padded inner suit. He didn't understand what was happening, although as he turned his head inside the helmet, he did his best to figure it out.

His hands were shrinking, and his feet were growing longer and thinner. His cheeks felt sensitive, his whole body had felt uncomfortable, and his tailbone hurt more than the rest of him. He wasn't sure what any of this would mean, though; he vaguely recalled how hormone and genetic therapies could cause aches and pains if their effects were drastic, but he'd been struck by a rock. He wondered if this was some sort of dream, but he knew his dreams were never this lucid or vivid, so he ruled that out. His only guess now was that this was some sort of trauma induced hallucination, but even then, as he pulled an ankle free of the boot it was in, he was uncertain.

At least he was getting pulled in closer, slowly. A few loose hairs brushed against his face, and he sneezed, coughing a little as he felt himself getting warmer. His hips strained against the suit's, and he closed his eyes, figuring that if he were to die, he should at least try to do so in peace.

Of course, as his body strained against the suit's interior, he found that impossible. His neck felt awkward, chin pressing against the bottom of his helmet. Opening his eyes, he realized he's shrunken, as the marks inside the helmet, the useful displays and corporate branding, was higher up. This shouldn't have been possible, he knew it, but here he was, shrinking away.

Despite the shrinking, his body still felt somewhat constrained. His shoulders and hips were starting to hurt, and he found himself forced to hold all of them up, as if he were still gripping the ship's ladders. He wiggled his fingers and toes, worrying as he felt his thumb having a harder time staying separate from the rest of his fingers, and his toes ran comfortably against the bottom of his insoles. The squirming sensation against his rear only worsened, and he thought for a moment it was even pressing against the suit.

He would've screamed into the mic, telling the others that he was shrinking, growing a tail, but he couldn't. Not with how his throat ached, how the base of his skull was slowly relocating. He saw the back of his helmet, plain and padded for comfort, more clearly, and as his jaws burned he looked down as best he could at the fine hairs running against the sides of his face, trying to figure out what they were. He thought back to the rats, their own fine hairs, remembering they were called whiskers. He laughed, feeling silly at how long it took to parse them, before remembering just how badly he was panicking.

He had to get out of the suit. Obviously not out here, in the merciless void, where it'd be a coin toss if he was irradiated and roasted, or if he'd asphyxiate. But he had to, as soon as possible. In a way, he was relieved that he at least had a guess for what was happening; he was turning into a rat. But the only way that he'd fit in the suit would be to shrink away fully; already he was pressing against it in all the wrong ways even with the reduction in size. His mouth was growing longer, and even his teeth were changing; one in particular hurt especially, before a piece came loose and he spat it out, a filling that was no longer needed as the change restored the cavity. "At least this might help dentists," he thought, as he fought against his fear the only way he had left, using comedy to avoid focusing on it.

His tail strained against the diaper and suit legs, trying to find space to stretch out. Bowie remembered that they helped rats stay cool, similar to human sweat, before noting how he'd stopped sweating a while ago. A small rock flew past the helmet, and he did his best to turn, to see if any more were coming, but by now he was a prisoner of the EVA suit. His strength was fading as he grew smaller, and his changing bodyplan was unable to properly manipulate the equipment. He couldn't even simply turn the radio on again, although as he grew nearer to the ship he could at least hear a message coming in relatively clearly.

"Bowie, come on! We're nearly there!"

He laughed a little, turning his head to see. His depth perception was starting to weaken, his eyes being pulled away from each other. His ears poked against the helmet's back, his nose starting to move a little with every breath. He could smell his own fear, the sweat, even the juice stain that Weaver swore she'd fully cleaned out. His shifting senses in a way relieved him; going nearly blind wouldn't hurt as much this way. On the other hand, they were completely useless out here, with equipment that only meaningfully supported vision. He made a note to himself to request more suits that would accommodate the blind, if he was still human after this.

And alive.

A loud tearing noise startled him, and as he kicked in surprise more tearing noises followed. It was only when he forced himself to slow down that he realized it was the sound of his own claws, tearing through the inner suit. He did his best to slow his breathing, but his changes made it impossible, his heart racing as his jaw was pressed against the bottom of the helmet before his face started to pull inside. Although he knew objectively his claws wouldn't breach the main protective layers of the suit, he instinctually panicked at the possibility.

He could feel his hands were fully inside the sleeves of the suit, completely outside the gloves now. His hips and stomach pressed against the sides of his suit as they shifted, only still fitting because of his body shrinking overall. He tried to pull one arm into the main torso of the suit, but struggled; his shifting bones and muscles made it difficult to properly pull it upward, and it was only as his arm started to get even smaller that he was able to pull it inside.

As much as it hurt to try, he did his best to feel his body using the changing arm. It was still shortening, as were the rest of his old limbs; the tail, by contrast, kept on growing longer, taking advantage of the increasing wiggle room it had. His torso, at least, still felt firm, but he could tell it was covered in coarse fur, soft enough but still extremely rough. His thumb couldn't grip to pinch himself at all, now shrunken to the point of only technically even existing.

A pressure on his throat led him to fear his air was running out; his head was more firmly forced upward relative to the suit, leaving him unable to properly check. He turned his eyes, trying to spot the issue, taking advantage of them bulging out of his skull more than they would for a human, turning them to realize his neck was getting caught on the suit. Thankfully, the danger was short lived as he shrunk more, floating more and more freely inside the suit.

He would've smiled if he still had the muscles for it, running his tongue along his new teeth. His ears and tail twitched and wiggled, and he kicked his legs and they fully pulled into the hips of the suit, feet poking at the thankfully clean diaper as he tried to get his bearings. Unfortunately, that was proving difficult; his tweaked senses would be hard enough to acclimate to even with gravity, and as is he was floating loosely in an ever-growing space intended for humans, all while it was being pulled further and further back into the Hyperion.

After a moment, however, he found himself suddenly falling, thankfully not injuring himself even though he landed on his side, his small size and the padding of the suit a protective cushion. He knew what this meant, he'd been rescued! The others had reeled him back inside! Now he just had to wait for them to pull the suit open, pull him out, and...

What would they do? How could they help him? As the protective seal on the EVA suit was broken, and the helmet lifted off, he let out a few squeaks, trying to catch the attention of whoever was rescuing him. But when he ran out to greet them, the human simply jumped back in surprise, yelling out loud. He didn't recognize the scream, but as another pair of hands suddenly and firmly gripped him, pulling him up, he was at least able to recognize what little he did see of them, and their surprisingly familiar scent.

Weaver frowned, holding the brown furred rodent in her hands. Try as he might, Bowie couldn't simply escape from her grip; his coworker had experience handling the creatures. His squeaks were likewise incomprehensible to the now towering human. He could only barely recognize her, in some ways; her green eyes and red hair now came across as the same color to him, and the huge size difference meant he was left taking in things like the individual hairs she hadn't shaved that day from her cheek in far more detail than he was used to.

"What the hell is this?" she asked, looking at the rat in her hands. He kept wiggling, trying to find some way to jump out of her hold, to find a way to signal out with nearby writing or his torn clothes that the other humans were looking at who he was. But Bowie couldn't; her grip was firm and careful, and she was already taking him deeper inside, leaving the others to scan the suit and puzzle over the internal tears as he was led back into the ship. The smells of the biology lab grew stronger, and Bowie realized with horror that she was bringing him to the other rats. Soon, he was unceremoniously dumped into the rat contain, settled into loose shavings on the ground.

He turned, climbing back up onto the door as she closed it. A few other rats approached him, smelling him, but he ignored them for now, watching in despair as she met up with Issac. At least he'd retained enough of his human mental faculties to fully understand what they were saying, although he feared that his inevitable long term stay among the others would rob him of that.

"No, sir. Just this rat." Weaver said, holding her hands behind her back.

"Why the hell was he taking one of them out inside his suit?" Issac responded, looking sternly at the cage. Bowie struggled to make out his expression, but could infer from his tone the mixture of anger towards, and fear for, him. "Weaver, I want a full headcount of the rats. Make sure there aren't any missing."

"Of course, sir. We'll get right on it." she said, looking back at the cage again. Bowie stayed there, hoping she would realize who she was looking at, but the connection wasn't clicking. "Issac, how does someone just vanish from their suit?" she asked, even as she approached a table to pull out some charts.

"We're not sure yet. We're still trying to figure out what this new radiation that hit us is." he replied, settling into a seat. "Thankfully none of it got past the ship shielding, but Bowie..."

Weaver sighed, her voice cracking up a little. "We'll remember him, give him a proper memorial."

Bowie sighed, stepping away from the cage bars as he looked over the other rats, slowly acclimating to their scents. In this moment, he was thankful that the bio department took good care of their subjects, taking some bites of the fruits and grains set out for them. He'd just have to wait for the headcount, wait for the crew to realize there was an extra rat. Then would be his chance, he hoped. Then he'd be free to find some way to explain that the impact transformed him, made him into a rat.

He hoped it would be soon, as he chewed on some carrot, already acclimating to his new form. He could only hold out for so long, after all, just as his suit could only shield him for so long out in the void.