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Emancipation

copyright comidacomida 2021

Life at the turn of the century was not easy when I was growing up in my native city of Anadyr and it only became more complicated in Russia as I reached my teenage years. This was back when the threat of World War III was at its highest point in decades and the mandatory draft was in effect. The CWA's president and ours were in constant communication by phone but the words they shared in private were far different than what they said to our respective news stations. It was a time of change as humanity was just starting to learn of the numerous races from the stars.

The Gorumn refugee vessels had been encountered by the international space research committee and the joint government task forces chose to keep it secret from their populations, including Russia, our on-again, off-again ally China, India, and the CWA and their allies-- this was before the United North American Alliance combined the CWA and Canada, back when it was easier for a single man fleeing the draft to cross the straight and into Alaska. It wasn't that I was afraid of service; I just didn't believe in it and so I chose to leave.

I suppose it may have sounded funny to travel to the country that many in my home nation considered our 'enemies', but nationalism started to die out around the world at the start of the 22nd century so it does not have the same significance today as it did in my youth. Regardless, I wanted nothing to do with politics or the affairs of state and so I elected instead to find my own place in the wilderness... which was far from easy.

Due to the further development of the area around my home town and, since the CWA's government withdrew their attention from the northern wilds of Alaska after the ice-flow disaster of the early 22nd century I left for the northern reaches of 'the enemy' where I could go unnoticed by both sides. It was a lengthy and danger-filled journey which could be worthy of its own story, but that is not this one. This story starts just over five years into my self-imposed exile and shortly after my twenty fourth birthday.

My father had been a high level overseer at a manufacturing plant and when I left home I'd been lucky enough to have access to a fabricator, meaning I'd been able to put together a suitable home using old fashioned blueprints from the early 20th century. I'd grown up among technology but I did not miss it; before long I'd grown comfortable in the wilderness, completely self sufficient with little more than a wood-fueled stove and a basic biofuel generator for what simple technology I brought with-- nothing more complicated than a tech drive and mag field charger-- I felt like a 21st century castaway, and I loved it. I'd become used to living alone, but I'd always felt disconnected... until that day.

It was a warm day in late spring-- warm for the area anyway, about -2 I would have said. I was outside, a few kilometres from my cabin and chopping wood, loading it onto my sanki for easy transportation back home. The wood gathering trips were done weekly so I could harvest fallen wood far enough away from my cabin to avoid over-foraging or risking being spotted from the air; despite being so far away from civilization, the drones were an almost regular fixture in the sky and so I kept to the trees.

I was nearing the end of my work and spring time sun had reached its highest point above the horizon; at that time of year I had about ten hours of daylight and I'd burned through half of it, meaning I wouldn't have much time if I wanted to return home, unload the sanki and get the wood ready for drying. Fate had a different plan for me however and the sound of rapid footfall fast approaching through the snow signaled to me that I was not as alone as I was used to. In fact, the sound was approaching at such a high rate of speed that I would stand no chance to avoid it, and so I turned to face whomever I was to encounter, remembering at the last moment to lower my axe lest I appear aggressive.

When the owner of the foot-fall broke through the foliage he stopped dead in his tracks; I had the element of surprise in knowing he was coming, but that moment was lost to me as I took in the sight of the traveler: a humanoid polar bear who could easily have been two and a half meters tall-- a Geneticon. I'd seen Genticons before since Anadyr had a good number of them working on the docks, but the bear was unlike any I'd ever encountered.

All Geneticons in Russia were black of fur with brown eyes; the one facing me was pure white and his eyes were the same blue as a sky after a winter storm had blown the clouds away. If those features weren't enough to identify that he was not a Russian-made Geneticon, the fact that he wore a jumpsuit with the American flag on it was a dead giveaway-- that, and the Roman letters "USA" on it, which was their abbreviation for the CWA. We stood there for a few moments, just staring at one another. His muzzle opened slowly and he spoke three words... in English. I didn't speak any English.

After he'd said his piece he fell down, face first into the snow... and that was when I realized that red droplets in the snow provided a trail in the direction from which he'd come. Having regained my senses, and no longer faced with the prospect of staring down an American Geneticon, I approached to see what more I could discover. All of the usual warnings were going off in my mind, reminding me that I was living in Alaska illegally and I should do everything I could to avoid the attention of everyone and everything but, at the same point, it did not take a genius to tell that the bear was injured and, despite my concern for myself, I could not manage to be cold enough to walk away from someone in need.

I took a good five minutes to take in the scene, examining the large bear and ensuring that he was decidedly unconscious and not capable of surviving without aid. Only once I was confident that both were the case did I come to the conclusion that I had no choice but to intercede. He had a number of wounds, most of which appeared to have been jagged slashes, but I did not miss the two distinctive marks on his shoulder which could only have been caused by combustion slug throwers-- this was before the refined development of charge rifles or pulse rounds. I only had basic first aid supplies with me so I did what I could before attempting to figure out how to move him.

He was large enough that there was no way I could carry (or even drag) him anywhere but, fortunately for both of us, I had my sanki. Lamenting the loss of my firewood, I quickly cleared it of my haul and then got to work finding a way to get the unconscious Geneticon up and onto it for transport. My sanki could easily carry 300 kg of wood but, when I finally got the bear in place I began to worry in earnest that it would break. Despite my concerns, our luck held, and so did the sled.

The trip back to my cabin was not a short one but my 'guest' was still alive when we arrived. It took a great amount of effort to transfer him from the sanki to a large Caucasian rug, the only item I could think of that could suit his size as I used it to drag him from the porch to inside. Going back out to secure the sled, I returned again inside before shutting the door. I began taking off my layers of clothes-- ushanka, scarf, mittens and coat; I kept my two sweaters on since the fire had died down and the cabin had grown cold since I'd left. At that point I turned to address the bear and then I realized just how bad it was; he was even worse off than I'd first presumed.

The Geneticon was dressed in a form fitting jumpsuit made of an elastic polymer. It was obviously not made for winter wear but that was hardly a concern considering he was of a winter breed-- his problem was not hypothermia; he was bleeding to death. I'd had some experience tending livestock when I was growing up but Geneticons were more a task for a doctor rather than a veterinarian. Regardless, there were no other options and so I began to peel away his uniform from his torso to assess the damage, and what I found was extensive.

In addition to the jagged cuts and the bullet wounds, the bear appeared to have numerous bloody holes, in his wrists and ankles accompanied by rings of worn-off fur and friction abrasions. Further, he had what appeared to be a pneumatically expelled wildlife dart sticking out of his right tricep. At that point I finally realized what I was seeing: he was, or had been a slave. More than that, I also came to the conclusion that whatever chemical the dart had injected was probably the only reason he'd survived; whatever paralytic or tranquilizer had been used on him had slowed his body functions and kept im from bleeding out.

Despite how forward and progressive the CWA lauded its policies throughout most of modern history it is no secret that they were one of the last nations to provide individual rights and emancipation for Geneticons; the corporate interest groups and men of financial means fought against freedom for the animal people as long as they could and, back then, they were still generally considered property on Tera, Luna, and the newly established Mars colony. I felt simultaneously aghast and concerned; an escaped Geneticon had fallen into my lap and that meant if someone was looking for him they could likely encounter me. Was I putting myself in danger? Was his presence a threat to my continued lifestyle?

My concern for myself slowly gave way to something else: a sense of camaraderie. The bear had been fleeing his prior life; he was seeking out his own future away from those who would tell him who to be and what to do. He was a living, breathing, thinking, feeling individual who had his own wants and desires, hopes and dreams, and he'd obviously fought hard to win his future for himself. All things taken into account, we weren't that different, he and I. Despite how adamant I'd been about keeping to myself, there was no way I could possibly turn him away at that point, and so I got to work seeing if there was any way I could possibly save that stranger's life.

In the end, it was well after dark when I finished what I could with a sewing needle and my medical kit's polymer and hydrogel adhesive applicators. The rudimentary medical assessment diagnostic device indicated that he was stable, which was about all I could hope for at that point so there was nothing left to do but drag him closer to the fire and collapse into my bed, thoroughly exhausted after such a long day of wasted wood collection followed by transporting a gigantic Genticon back to my cabin in the hopes of saving his life.

The following morning I awoke slowly, then immediately startled myself awake with concern that the bear may have been up and about, causing me problems; the concern was unfounded as he was still unconscious by the hearth. Although I had so much to do around the cabin I still spent most of my day tending to him, checking the quality of care I provided and, when appropriate, changing the linen bandages I'd used on his less severe injuries.

The next two days were repetitions of chores mixed with aiding my guest's convalescence. I split my time between doing my normal set of chores and taking care of the bear. I talked to him constantly, if for no other reason than to occupy myself with the passage of time, and perhaps a little just to hear myself speak. I'd gotten so used to being alone that I had not bothered talking in a long time and, for some reason, I found myself telling him my life's story over the past few years; he was unconscious so he certainly couldn't judge. On the third day however upon awakening in the morning, I was surprised to see the bear laying on his back, eyes open and staring at the ceiling.

Uncertain on how to proceed, I set my feet on the floor, seated on the edge of my bed, and spoke clearly and slowly "Good morning."

He rotated his head so he could view me, raising an enormous paw, which was easily enough to completely engulf my head, and rubbed the side of his muzzle before parroting my words in a clunky, American-accent heavy version of what I'd just said. "Dough bray ooh truh?"

It was beyond obvious that he didn't speak Russian and I barely knew a few words in English. I tried by best with a greeting I knew could be used at any time. "Hell-low."

His round, white-furred ears rose upward on his head and he slowly pushed himself up to a sitting position, wincing once before adjusting his position on the floor. He then began talking as if the simple greeting were all he needed to start a conversation in a language I didn't know. He gestured to himself and the door and then to me as he continued speaking. His voice was rich and deep, so much so that I swore I wasn't just imagining the window panes vibrating.

The fabricator which made them was in good repair when I'd built the cabin so I wasn't worried about the windows breaking, but his words weren't really getting us anywhere. Holding up a hand I hoped that the gesture I used to indicate him to stop would be understood; thankfully it was. Starting fresh, I held my hand up as I spoke. "Let's start with something simple." motioning to myself I spoke my name. "Petr. Petr Kuzentsov." and then pointed at him. "And what is your name?"

His ears remained up as he regarded me silently. Despite having interacted with the ones in the village very little I knew that most Geneticons were capable of communication and, by all means the Bear in front of me could, despite us not speaking the same language. After a length pause, he pointed slowly at me "Peter..."

His Americanization of the name wasn't lost on me but I wasn't about to object so long as we were getting somewhere. Once again I motioned to myself, and then him, using both hands in the hopes it would convey that I wanted to know his name. "Yes. I'm Petr... and you?"

His long string of words made it hard to pick out a name, at least, anything I would have been able to acknowledge as a name; truth be told, I didn't know many American names at that point. We were not off to a great start, especially since we were talking for another ten minutes before I was able to figure out exactly what he was saying-- it took him using a thick black claw and scraping it into the wooden floorboards for me to understand that his name wasn't a proper one. He'd been saying English numbers; the Bear's name was '1243'.

It wasn't exactly the most relaxing way to start the day, but I didn't have much of a choice if I was going to be able to figure out my house guest. Despite no longer living with my family, my babushka always taught me to be a good host and, considering my guest had not eaten since he arrived, I presumed that he would be hungry. Slowly getting out of bed, I motioned to the kitchen across the way. "Perhaps we should find you something to eat before I'm on the menu, eh?"

The Bear grunted in response, slowly rotating his torso one way then the other; I recognized it as a stretch but the Geneticon's large bulk made it intimidating nevertheless. He grunted again, clamoring up and off the ground with a faint, pained groan. I was hunting down what might be suitable for a Geneticon to eat when I heard him call my name. "Peter?"

I wasn't really sure how best to respond, so I did so with his 'name'. "Wuntooforethri?"

He stood sheepishly for several seconds, repeating two English words again and again as if saying them at different volumes or speed would make them any easier for me to understand. Eventually he added some pantomiming with them, gesticulating with his enormous paws toward what I thought I obviously misunderstood to be his crotch and then an arc out in front of him until, after the third attempt I realize that I HADN'T actually misunderstood and that he was trying to indicate that he had personal need of a toilet.

In response I motioned to the back hallway. "Down the hall and to the left. Left. Do you know left? It's... it's THAT way. That is left."

After making the exact same mistake as I'd seen him using with repeating words I ultimate ended up pointing and gesturing, hoping he'd get the idea; fortunately he seemed to. He padded off down the hall, his broad, shoe-less feet paws making soft thumps on the floor as he disappeared from view, leaving me to figure out breakfast. I knew what bears could eat, and I knew what humans could eat, so I presumed that splitting the difference would work just fine for 1243; settling on buckwheat porridge and draniki, I also fried up a few eggs since anyone recovering from injuries would benefit from some extra protein.

As I began setting the table I found myself wondering just what the inclusion of a Geneticon at my cabin would mean. He was obviously American and, from what I could tell, he had been injured in what was most likely some kind of violent conflict. Would people be looking for him? If so, they might find him... and me. If I told him to leave (and he agreed, rather than mauling me) then I risked him returning to wherever he was from and telling people about me. I was in Alaska without permission from the CWA and that could have meant all sorts of bad things, especially if they sent me back to Russia, so what was my best move?

I kept a number of chemicals in my cabin that could be lethal, but I was no chemist and I didn't know the first thing about poisons; would they work on a Geneticon? What if he smelled them or could taste them? Those thoughts took back seat in my mind as I considered the more important one: could I bring myself to kill a man? Truly, many nations of the world didn't think of Geneticons as people, but I couldn't see him as anything but. True, we didn't speak the same language, but we were finding a way to communicate, and I'd already promised myself I would feed him. Hating myself for even entertaining the thought of causing harm to someone, I put my head down and powered forward with the idea of food.

A series of statements echoed down the hall from the bathroom with such emphatic distaste that I could only conclude they were cure words. It was readily obvious that 1243 was having trouble with something but I presumed it was nothing with which I had any control-- after all, the toilet worked fine last time I checked, and, despite the room likely being small for someone of his size, I was perfectly happy with the lavatory; I kept it clean and ready for use, so whatever his problem was it wasn't that. A moment later he came back down the hall, a deep scowl on his muzzle, and his paws jiggling with the zipper on his jumpsuit; the realization of the problem became all too real.

During 1243's time unconscious his body had been in some kind of hibernation mode, which meant that he'd not eaten, had a thing to drink, and had not made a mess of himself. I'd only undone the single zipper down to his navel to treat his wounds; the Bear was coming back down the hall with the zipper stuck just below that point and he seemed frantic to resolve the problem. Despite feeling my cheeks burn at the significance, I moved over, calling his name to get his attention before pantomiming my willingness to assist. He nodded enthusiastically, moving his paws away from his stuck zipper before haphazardly trying to say 'thank you', though he mangled that one too. "Spicyburr."

The zipper was indeed stuck but I had a far easier time handling it than he did. Despite the uniform being sized for a Geneticon the pull tab was still made for a human and so I fidgeted with it until I managed to free the teeth, which had been jammed by a copious amount of the Bear's coarse belly fur. The zipper went down the track quickly, so much so in fact that I caught a peek I hadn't been planning on; I turned away quickly. Before he could make another attempt at butchering my native language I gestured to the hallway. "You're welcome."

He wasted no time, quickly shuffling his way toward the toilet in that tense, closed-legged manner that all men know too well when their control is about to fail. I returned to the kitchen, mind still full of that quick glance at the little ring of blackness within the sea of pure white groin fur. Although I wasn't completely sure what I'd seen my brain had started filling in the blanks, trying to make sense of it-- had it been THAT long since I'd had anyone else around? I'd come to grips early on in my life that I liked men-- a trait that had to be hidden far away in my heavily orthodox town, but my guest was something else entirely.

Why was I so enthralled at such a foreign, alien sight? Surely I wasn't interested in an American Geneticon Bear in such a way! Returning to the kitchen I knew that the porridge would cook by itself with only occasional stirring so started shaping the draniki, distracting myself from my own thoughts with the hope that they'd go away. In the winter the best potatoes is eastern Russia were slightly more yellow-- a far cry from my guest's pure white fur. That thought snapped me out of my cooking and made me remind myself that I was not to think of him in such a way.

I was just setting the shaped potato patties into the oiled pan when I heard the wooden floor creak beneath a large amount of weight. Glancing back over my shoulder, 1243 had just come back from the hallway, jumpsuit half zipped up, but he approached me with intent, gesturing to himself and then motioning to his unclothed arm. He repeated his sentence once, gesturing with one paw again to his arm and indicating... something. Stepping away from the stove I turned to face him fully. "What do you want? I don't understand."

Alternating my attention between trying to decipher my guest's meaning and making sure the draniki didn't burn I ultimately realized that he was asking about an injection; the paw motioning to the crook of his arm was pantomiming the use of a syringe. I honestly had no idea what kind of drug they'd used on him and so I shook my head. "No... I'm sorry... I don't know what they used on you."

He didn't seem content to let it go, stepping closer as he repeated whatever it was he was asking, gesturing again to indicate an injection. Exasperated, I finally finished up the frying and I took the pan off the heat. He wasn't going to be content until he got an answer so I sighed and went back to my bed. "I kept the dart... here. I'll show you and let you figure it out."

True to my word I retrieved it from the night stand and handed it to him. He looked down at it, the spent syringe looking so very tiny resting atop the black pads of his enormous palm, and he frowned. He set it back onto the nightstand and shook his head, gesturing again to his arm and pantomiming the use of a syringe. We were both definitely frustrated by that point but some part of me realized that I was angrier than he was; something about his frantic insistence was far closer to fear. The emotion became that much clearer when one of the metal bands on his skin tight uniform let out a repeating buzz; it sounded like an alarm.

1243's breathing had started picking up pace at that point and I was starting to wonder if he was going to hyperventilate. Having dealt with anxiety myself early in life I decided that I'd focus on that issue first. Stepping forward, I rested a hand on his arm. "Okay... okay. Just calm down. Take a deep breath... like this. Do what I do."

He definitely didn't understand what I was saying but, as I started to exaggerate my breathing and gestured for him to follow suit he must have finally comprehended my meaning. It took several repetitions of drawing breath and slowly exhaling before he finally managed to match my own. Another minute later and he seemed to have calmed down, but whatever alarm was going off on his suit didn't seem to want to quiet down. Maintaining the even breathing, 1243 spoke calmly and collectedly; it still didn't help me figure out what he was saying, but at least it was easier to be around him... until he stuttered and stopped speaking. His eyes rolled back in his head. A moment later his body went stiff and he teetered in place before leaning back... and back... and back; the floor jumped beneath my feet when he landed.

The next several minutes were a blur as I tried to figure out what was going wrong. I'd remembered a case back home when one of the cows had eaten a poisonous plant and had started convulsing. It had been a seizure and was only cured because it was readily apparent what it had eaten; 1243 hadn't eaten anything, so my limited knowledge was of no use. I did what I could, however, pushing a wadded up towel beneath his head while trying to minimize his spasms by holding him down-- considering our size difference and his massive strength it was a worthless proposition but, with no further options, I did what I could.

That ended quickly enough when the door to my cabin was knocked inward; a blinding flash and a mind-numbing 'pop' put an end to my concern for my guest as I was disoriented so badly I didn't know what was was up. A few seconds later I was surrounded by several men covered in combat armor displaying the CWA flag on the arms. I remember trying to mumble out something but it was no use; the blow to my forehead by the butt of a charge rifle didn't help.

* * * * * *

A faint ringing in my ears was the first sensation I remembered when I woke up. Slightly following that was a hazy numbness to my thoughts and the hint at what should have been a dull ache in the base of my skull, yet, for some reason, the pain didn't materialize... until I opened my eyes, anyway. I found myself in what looked like a medical bed, though it was surprisingly comfortable and the linens were pure white and appeared to be freshly laundered. The room surrounding me was clean-- sterile almost, and it was vastly different from the humble surroundings back at my cabin.

A small table nearby had a data pad on it with what appeared to be a chart or spreadsheet open; the words were in English. My eyes lingered there for a moment and I used it as a point of reference to watch as I sat up. I'd initially expected to be dizzy sitting up but, surprisingly, I was completely clear headed. Continuing to take in the sights of the small room, I saw that there was an IV bag beside my bed-- it was surprising enough that I looked down to my arm in alarm, only to see that I was not hooked up to it.

A voice spoke up from the data pad, pulling my attention to it once again. Although the man spoke in Russian, his accent was decidedly from America. "I apologize for the rough invitation, Mr. Kuzentsov, but I'm glad you were able to join us."

I realize that my first words were cliche but the question still needed to be answered. "Where am I?"

His answer was simple and to the point. "You are in a corporate installation approximately 2.5 kilometres from your residence."

I continued with the obvious questions. "Why am I here?"

My invisible captor's tone remained neutral and unemotional, somehow managing to convey some damning information without coming across as accusatory. "Some corporate property was found to be in your possession and, as you are an undocumented immigrant, it is our policy to detain you until intent and purpose can be determined."

None of the words he said sounded good and I ran some of them over and over in my head, especially the ones I was most concerned to hear; were they going to deport me? I surprised myself, however, in that I was more worried over an entirely different statement. "What do you mean 'corporate property'? I haven't stolen anything."

His response was just as plain as any of his other statements. "One two four three. The Geneticon... and no, you are not being accused of thievery."

His lack of emotion or any other offer for details wasn't helping much and I found myself getting frustrated. I'd wanted to live alone away from everyone and everything but every moment that passed made that seem less and less likely. I'm sure my repeat of an earlier question came out much more combative than I'd originally planned. "Then why am I here?!?"

"As I said-- it is standard policy."

Lowering my head, I failed to fight back a scowl... or a potentially damning insult. "Go to hell, Yankee."

There was a click from the data pad's speaker and several seconds of silence before my jailer finally responded. "I can tell you are agitated, Mr. Kuzentsov. We can speak more later once you have had the opportunity to calm down."

'Later' turned out to be a matter of hours.

* * * * * *

Despite the fact that I was a captive, my 'jail' was surprisingly comfortable. In addition to the bed there were also two small tables, one of which had a folding chair set up next to it. A heavy-looking, padded armchair was pushed up against one wall and, to my surprise, a small cabinet beside it was stocked with a variety of reading material, all of which were in Cyrillic. My mind focused on that for a time as I tried to reason out just how prepared they were for me. Along those lines, I also wondered how the man who spoke with me via the data pad knew my name. Those answers were provided to me when my isolation came to an end.

Plenty of people in the world do not have voices that fit their look, but the man who entered my room was easy to pin to what I heard from the data pad. My conjecture was confirmed when he spoke. "I hope you have had some time to get your bearings, Mr. Kuzentsov and are in a more amenable disposition."

Despite Russian not being his native language he seemed to have a very capable vocabulary. Even though I was impressed I was not about to let it intimidate me... not any more than I already was, at least. "What do you want with me?"

I half expected him to avoid answering, or else to provide some kind of canned, unhelpful response like he had during our short exchange via the speaker. He surprised me with something much more direct. "My employer has some questions regarding your interactions with 1243."

I resolved to be just as direct. "I barely had any. He was unconscious for most of his stay with me."

The still-nameless man walked across the room and picked up the data pad from where it was set beside the bed I'd occupied. He used the touch pad several times and, before long, I heard myself speaking. In a matter of words I realized that they had somehow recorded the discussion I'd had with the Geneticon while he'd been unconscious. At first it was confusing, and then embarrassing. Thankfully, my jailer turned it off. "Is it fair to say that you were being truthful in your disclosures?"

My interest wasn't in answering his question. "Where did you get that? How did you--?"

The man rolled up his lab coat, revealing a skin tight uniform, much like the one that 1243 had worn. "All personnel on this base are assigned a comprehensive set of sensors; auditory recording is just one of them. Now, Mr. Kuzentsov, would you mind clarifying a few points from your story for my records?"

I felt violated, and not the least interested in answering ANY questions. My earlier statement returned to my lips without a moment's thought. "Go to hell, Yankee."

He didn't so much as blink. "I have fifteen questions. If you answer five of them I have been authorized to release you back to your cabin."

It was a start-- enough of one at least to gain my interest. "Which five?"

He offered up a smile; I never liked strangers smiling at me and he was no exception. Regardless, he gave me an answer. "Any five of your choice... though, if you answer ten I have been authorized to release you AND not report your presence to the government."

The smile made sense; he was willing to blackmail me. Regardless, I didn't have much of a choice. "Ten then."

He asked me ten questions and I answered them; surprisingly they were so mundane as to be banal. There were general questions about how long I'd been living in Alaska, how I'd built my house, and what interest (or lack of interest) I had in the goings-on around me. Once we got to talking he was incredibly forthcoming with information of his own, explaining that they knew of my presence long before I'd encountered 1243 and, like me, the corporation who served as my neighbor likewise didn't want any involvement or disruption from the outside world. "Eleicheye", they called themselves.

By the time we'd concluded with nine of the questions I'd almost started to regain my composure and calm down. The tenth question, however, caught me by surprise. "You mentioned that you have Geneticons back in your hometown but you never really interacted with any of them... why were you so willing to help 1243?"

It was a question I should have expected from an American, especially considering how eager they were to see people as resources-- Geneticons could easily have been a disposable resource. I guess I let my anger get the better of me and my voice raised. "Because he was someone in need of help. Why WOULDN'T I help?"

The man adjusted the collar on his coat before looking down at his data pad. "Well... interfering with the recovery of one of our assets is what led you to this point. Knowing what you do now, would you have stepped in to 'help' if this all could have been avoided by just walking away?"

Feeling that I'd been more than patient with him, I didn't feel inclined to answer his question. "That was eleven questions. You said I had to answer ten."

He opened his mouth to speak but paused instead, raising a finger to his ear; I hadn't realized up until that point that he had a comm device. After several seconds he offered that disquieting smile again. "You may, of course, leave... but I have another proposal for you that you might like to hear."

Standing, I walked toward the exit. "Not interested."

The man called over his shoulder to me. "That question, and four more... and I'll release 1243 to your care and answer the next question you'll doubtlessly want to ask."

Despite my eagerness to be out of there I couldn't help but be astounded at his audacity to presume he knew what was on my mind. Spinning around to address him, I made sure not to ask a question, providing an accusation instead. "Apparently you know me well enough to know what's on my mind."

The smile remained. "You are going to want to ask 'What will happen to him if he isn't assigned to me?'."

I returned to my seat. "Yes-- I'd do it again... now ask your other damn questions."

* * * * * *

I was released the following morning, but only because there was a mountain of paperwork to complete. The entirety of the contracts were written in Russian, making them only marginally easier to understand, but my 'handler' was 'kind' enough to explain every single page. I was to remain within a stretch of land known as 'the exclusion zone', which was technically owed by the company, whose name translated to 'Life Happens Incorporated'--- 'LHI' in English, but 'ZSI' in my native tongue, and on the paperwork presented to me.

In addition to not being able to leave (I had no intention to do so anyway), I had to maintain possession of 1243 at all times. I didn't particularly like the idea of calling anyone a possession but the man explained that it meant only that neither of us could leave the exclusion zone and I couldn't send him out alone. I was technically signing a contract that would make me the bear's legal guardian and that, in addition to all of the usual business laws governing the agreement, I could also be brought up on criminal charges for negligence if anything happened to him-- surprising considering he was supposed to be a possession rather than a person.

By the time we had completed the paperwork the digital clock in the room read almost 19:00; it was late. My handler said as much. "Considering the hour, if you would care to spend the night at our facility I could have a room prepared for--"

"I would like to go."

He made no objection and merely collected the paperwork. Standing, he went to the door, speaking as it opened in front of him. "I'll have one of our asset management team show you out. 1243 will be brought to you there. It has been a pleasure speaking with you, Mr. Kuzentsov. Safe travels home."

One of the 'asset management team' turned out to be a rather tall, rather intimidating woman who looked to be the equal of any man physically. She said nothing to me, motioning for me to follow her, which I did without comment. We walked down a series of halls until arriving at a long escalator. Gesturing to it, she stepped aside and I got on the rising steps, letting them carry me upward toward what looked like natural light. Once I reached the end I saw that the interior hallway terminated some twenty meters ahead of me, replaced by a natural rock structure of a cavern and, at the very end of that was the dimming light of day. Surprisingly, 1243 was already there with my 'jailer' beside him.

Looking to the man I didn't hide my distaste for his presence. "That's it? We can go now?"

He nodded, offering another one of his unsettling smiles. "Yes, Mr. Kuzentsov... that is all. You are welcome to go from here. 1243 has a compass Your cabin is precisely seven degrees north. I had my men stock up your wood supply and you should be able to see the smoke from your chimney before it gets dark if you hurry."

I was more than ready to get going. "Fine."

Even as I took my first step toward the exit I was surprised when 1243 reached out to grab my arm. Turning to regard him, I saw that the bear was looking at the company man, and, in his deep, bass voice spoke up in English. My jailor responded in Russian "Thank you, Mister Kuzentsov."

The Bear then turned to me and repeated the words, granted, his American accent was so thick that the gratitude was horribly mauled. I didn't have enough money for a universal translator and the Geneticon was obviously not going to get one as a severance package from the corporation so that afforded us little option. Not wanting to linger any longer than I had to, I looked at the man accompanying us. I kept my response simple and to the point. "You can tell him it's no bother."

Repeating his exasperating smile, the man simply inclined his head then turned, stepped onto the escalator, and made his way out of view. I watched him go, my attention so focused on the human that I all but ignored the Bear standing beside me until a huge, heavy paw came to rest on my shoulder. 1243 waited until I looked at him before he leaned down, presenting me with a compass. He spoke in English, saying whatever it was he was saying as he used the blunted black paw from his pointer finger to denote the pip on it that would provide us direction, presumably back to my cabin if my handler was to be believed.

The trip back was not exactly direct; the terrain was rough enough that we had to weave between rises and drops in the terrain, meaning that daylight was not on our side. Even though 1243 couldn't understand me, I started talking to him again, but only after I verified to make sure he was no longer wearing one of those uniforms with a recorder on it. The act of speaking helped keep me centered, focused on the task of getting home safely and keeping concern at bay; it was difficult enough to be wandering the wilderness after dark in any setting, but in the arctic it was doubly dangerous, and, as the sun continued to set the temperature dropped steadily.

Our path continued to stretch before us and, even though I caught sight of the smoke as promised by my contact back at the corporate installation once the sun had gone down the only thing keeping us on track was the compass. I'd lived in my cabin for over a half a decade but I generally avoided the areas south of my home because the terrain was unforgiving, which meant I didn't know it very well. That became an even larger problem when, just as I was starting to recognize where we were, I discovered that we were wandering over the top of a frozen lake. Seconds later, I found myself underwater as our combined weight caused the spring ice to give way.

The cold was a horrible shock to my system and I gasped out in pain and surprise, costing me most of my air before I clasped my mouth shut and tried to scramble for the surface. Hypothermia is an insidious killer, robbing you of your strength, then your consciousness, and then your life. In a manner of seconds I found my clothing too confining for my meager energy and the surface seemed so far away. A powerful grip encircled my wrist painfully and, before I knew it I felt as though I was launched into the air. I remember colliding with the cold, hard ground, coughing for breath; everything went hazy... then black.

* * * * * *

Life had done a complete flip during the time I was unconscious. I had been engulfed in black when passing out but when I came to I was surrounded by white. After taking a plunge into icy water I'd been freezing to death but when I regained consciousness I was warm beyond measure. For the second time in a day I was required to fight back the heartless grip of oblivion and regain my senses, re-familiarizing myself with the waking world. One other opposite I took note of was when I inhaled deeply; when I had succumbed to the cold I'd been surrounded by the scent of wet pine but after the passage of time I took in a lungful of damp, animalistic musk. Only then did I realize what it all meant: a wall of white, warmth, and bestial aroma and two massive arms wrapped around me.

The sound of fire crackling behind me accompanying the aura of heat helped me realize that I was back in my cabin laying on the floor in front of the hearth. The floor was far softer than I remember, and, coupled with the sea of snow-covered fur taking up the entirety of my vision my brain connected the dots and, as I wriggled out of a semi-loose grasp I confirmed that I was indeed using 1243 as a mattress. The soft snoring beneath me and the lack of movement made me realize that he was asleep, and only then did I feel free to take in the whole of my surroundings.

We resting on the floorboards with a comforter beneath us; in addition to his thick arms he'd also wrapped a quilt around me, engulfing me in every opportunity for warmth. It had definitely been the best bet for helping me survive and I was glad that he'd managed to get me back to the safety of the cabin. His body heat had done wonders as well, keeping me easily as warm as the fire at my back but, as I sat up and disengaged I got a rather rude awakening: we were both completely naked... and I couldn't help but stare.

1243 was sprawled out on the floor, fur slightly crumpled from where it had been pressed between our bodies. During the days he'd been unconscious in my care I'd had plenty of time to admire the thick, coarse fur of his arms, shoulders and chest, but anything lower than his fur-hidden navel had been obscured by his uniform, but that was no longer an obstacle to my vision and I got more than an eyeful. The Bear's thick fur trailed from chest to abdomen and down to his groin, coarse, curly white nesting a furry sheath as thick as a teacup. It was as snowy white as the rest of him, all except for the tip, which was identified by a coal-black circle at its tip. Not to be outdone, an enormous, velvety, ivory-colored sac drooped heavily beneath it, contents looking like two plumbs held together in his furred pouch.

The Geneticon's breathing was slow and steady; he appeared to have been bothered little by the cold but his intervention had likely saved my life. I continued to watch him sleep, blanket still wrapped around me as I kept close to the fire. Unlike when he was unconscious from his wounds, 1243 looked at peace, his features relaxed and calm. He had a certain noble look to him and, despite my hesitation to admit it, a certain handsome charm. I'm not sure how long I watched him sleeping but his soft snores were occasionally interrupted by murmurs in English quiet enough that I was pretty sure I wouldn't be able to understand him even if he'd been speaking Russian.

Whether it was due to my numerous hours unconscious throughout the day or still processing my near-death experience I couldn't bring myself to sleep so, instead I continued watching him. I knew that Geneticons had the capacity to be viscous creatures but the peaceful early-morning hours passed without event and, despite my many concerns I couldn't help but find myself smiling. I'd been awake for perhaps an hour at that point but I finally crept closer to the Bear. Unable to withstand the inclination, whether due to curiosity or to prove to myself that I wasn't dreaming I knelt beside him and reached out to feel his fur. His eyes shot open the moment my fingers connected.

I jumped in surprise, recoiling at the sudden movement but he made no other move; whether I was anticipating him to lash out or not was beside the point as he did nothing aside from rotate his head to regard me, ears up with a worried gaze. He sat up slowly, reaching a paw forward, but stopped before it made contact with my arm. There was distinct concern in his voice but, as with all times before, I couldn't understand what he said. Putting on what I hoped would be an expression of reassurance I told him "I am fine. You saved me... you don't have to worry about them coming to pick you up again."

He was quiet for several moments until his eyes began to meander about; a split second later he pulled up the comfort around himself. The Bear's gaze left mine and his ears lowered; I could have sworn I saw redness color his skin in the few places it was peeking out between the fur and he offered up something in English that I was willing to bet was an apology. Considering he'd saved my life and wasn't purposefully trying to be indecent I couldn't really be mad at him. Then again, I'd also really liked what I'd seen. Laughing, I touched his elbow. "Don't worry about it. It's fine. It's fine."

Even if he couldn't tell what I was saying my laughter and relaxed posture must have done the trick since he calmed down. Once he'd wrapped the linens around his waist he glanced around the room, and then to the window. Gesturing to it with his muzzle he said a few words in English then pointed to me then the bed. I hadn't really ever had someone concerned for my well-being but his obvious interest in me getting enough sleep was impossible to ignore. At the same time, however, I wasn't about to be a bad host. Standing up with my own quilt wrapped around me I gestured to him. "Come on... stand up. We both need some sleep."

He didn't quite get the meaning until I reached out and took hold of his spare paw. I took three steps with him extending his arm the whole way before I came to a stop; his bulk didn't move so much as an inch. I had to repeat the request, giving his arm some pretty solid tugs before he got the idea and followed me. I sat down and, at first it looked as though he was about to start tucking me in but I slid to the side and patted on the mattress. "You're a good heater and, besides, you need some sleep too, 1243... the bed should be big enough for both of us."

It took another set of gesture from me for him to figure out what he was supposed to do and at first he seemed to think that he was going to displace me but, when he finally settled onto the mattress there was still enough room for me so I laid down beside him. The fabricator had made my bed with storage drawers beneath it, providing a very hefty frame so the furniture barely creaked beneath our combined weight, which was probably for the best since 1243 seemed slightly concerned about it in the first place but he ultimately calmed down and rolled to his side, providing me more room to lay beside him. He murmured over his shoulder "Thank you, Mister Kuzentsov."

Rolling my eyes at his limited knowledge of Russian, I appreciated that he tried, and so I still responded. "You're welcome."

The mattress was definitely more comfortable than the floor but it was further from the fire so it was an important component so I squirmed in place, spreading the bedding out over us to trap as much warmth as possible. One side effect, however, meant that it left our naked bodies touching. He remained stock still as I set the bedding in place and, once I finally got everything the way I wanted it I realized that a new problem had arisen... literally. The feel of his warmth and his fur against my bare skin was too much; I'd spent so many years alone that certain parts of me had responded, and so I did the only thing I could think of: I rolled onto my side as well so that our backs were pressed to on another. At that point I figured I would be laying there forever trying to get to sleep... but that was not the case.

Despite my inability to find sleep 1243, at some point rolled over and I found myself pulled close to his chest. The humor of the situation was not lost to me when I compared myself to a stuffed human being snuggled by a bear rather than the other way around, but the levity left me the moment I felt something hot, thick and slick against the back of my thigh. Behind me, the Geneticon let out a soft, contented rumble and, with the gentle flexing of his hips I felt the firm flesh slide between my legs just above my knees; I gasped, half in surprise, and half from sheer... excitement.

It was hard for me to admit but harder to deny that the situation was enticing, and I found my breath quickening. Unable to resist the affections of the massive Geneticon, I whispered, calling to him. "1243..."

He froze immediately and quickly disengaged, going so far as to actually fall off the opposite side of the bed. The 'thump' signaling the end of his trip to the floor was enough to shake the bed frame and he started scooting further away even as I crawled across the mattress to address him. 1243 was speaking rapidly, not that I could understand him, but he was stuttering enough that I probably wouldn't had I known English anyway. Before he could get too far away I reached out and grabbed hold of his forearm. He recoiled as if he'd been burned, but I had enough fur in my fingers that he succeeded in only pulling me off the bed too.

We both ended up on the floor together in a pile, both of us naked. The Genticon let out a decidedly distressed, animalistic sound but I still managed to keep my wits about me, raising a hand to push it against his cheek, forcing him to look my way. "Stop."

Even though he didn't understand Russian it was apparent that my tone reached him. Freezing in place, free arm still half-covering himself, the Bear looked to me, and I slowly released his arm, sliding my hand down to his wrist, and I pulled his paw away from his groin. He only half-resisted, ears lowering further and blush even more visible. Controlling his paw for him, I slipped the back of my hand into his palm, which completely engulfed it entirely, and then lowered my fingers until they grazed across his exposed maleness; he jumped in surprise, but didn't pull back. I offered my reassurances. "See? It's alright..."

From there, I pulled my hand back, taking his huge paw with it. As soon as our arms were between us I slowly rotated my wrist, sliding my fingers around until they were pressing against the back of his paw. Still meeting his gaze with my own I applied pressure, lowering his paw down between us again, this time not stopping until his digits were resting against my rock hard erection; his eyes widened in surprise, and I only smiled when he finally seemed to realize just how okay I was with it. His entire demeanor changed, and a powerful, rumbling growl emerged from his chest, rising up into his throat, and finally manifested as he lunged forward, muzzle hitting me in the face as he opened wide.

My heart skipped a beat for a split second as I saw teeth, but he didn't bite down. A tongue washed across my mouth, forcing my lips apart and, at that point, I parted my teeth, unwilling to deny him. His growl grew and my heart skipped a beat a second time, but for an entirely different reason. His obvious increase in confidence was undeniable as he forced my back against the bed, looming over me as his tongue overpowered my own. By that point he was leaning over me, both paws on the bed frame as his enormous bulk loomed, all but pinning me in place, but leaving my hands completely unoccupied, but I was about to fix that.

1243 disengaged the moment my fingers encircled his girth, a fresh rumble rising up from deep within him, only to spill over from his maw, accompanied by a line of saliva. Gazing down at me, the Bear murmured something in English, the hunger in his eyes frightening, if not for the fact that I realized he wasn't seeking food. What he was hungry for, however, I could offer aplenty, as my tastes were so closely aligned that I couldn't deny it any longer. Even as I stroked him, I motioned with my head. "Back onto the bed."

Either my gesture or his own inclination provided the result I was seeking but, rather than him giving me the space to get back onto the mattress, I found myself hefted up bodily and tossed onto the bed. A moment later I had a wall of fur and muscle surrounding me. His muzzle sought me out again, but not my lips; I felt his large, blunted teeth graze my flesh as his broad, mighty tongue followed up with long strokes against my collar bone. I didn't bother trying to withhold my moans, which only seemed to drive him onward.

He was in full control at that point, moving me each and every way so he could get at my body. My chest, neck, and shoulders were subjected to endless attention by his muzzle, teeth and tongue but, ultimately I ended up on my side with him behind me, nose nuzzling my cheek as my head rested on one of his muscular arms. His other paw took hold of my hip even as I felt his rigid shaft slip between my legs just above knees. The Bear began rocking his hips forward against my back, each time his flesh sliding higher and higher until I felt it stroke my scrotum, at which point he growled against my cheek, murmuring something in English as he released my hip and instead grabbed my wrist.

1243 had stopped his thrusting long enough for him to guide my hand where his shaft emerged from between my legs and, with his direction, I realized what he wanted. Spreading my fingers as wide as I could I managed to hook my thumb just behind the head of my shaft and barely succeeded in slipping my fingers around the underside of his, pinning them both together. His pleased rumble identified that I'd done what he desired, and then he let loose, nearly taking my breath way when his hips hit mine from behind.

The Geneticon growled freely, sounding far more like a wild animal than a person, but I was so lost to the moment that I didn't mind-- in fact, it only made the act that much more intense. 1243's teeth found their way to my shoulder and, as he picked up the pace I felt the distinct pain as he bit down, just hard enough for me to notice, and I felt a mixture of pain and pleasure as I felt the force of his thrusts against my testicles, which were pinned between his turgid shaft and my pelvis... but I still couldn't bring myself to object.

Even as I started drawing close to release I could vividly feel that he was not far behind. The Bear's muscles were tensing up and his breath was coming out as ragged rasps mixed with growls. Thank god his teeth hadn't bitten down any harder because I didn't miss the sound of tearing fabric from his claws clenching down on a pillow. No longer able to focus on 1243, I cried out as I lost control and gave into the sensations flooding through me. I adjusted my grip just enough that my spray freely shot out onto the floor, which would be far easier to clean than the bed... but that didn't account for the Bear, whose jet of semen I'd just blocked with my index finger. Things got messy... very very messy.

1243's ejaculation was strong enough that my finger actually went numb from the force of the blast, and his entire body shook as he released it all. Jet after jet shot out, arcing across the bed and going easily twice as far as mine. Three concise, well-timed thrusts further accentuated the pulsing streams of thick, sticky semen and I reveled in the sensation of each shot, able to feel the pressure throughout his shaft's contact with my skin. I only realized he'd been holding his breath through the duration of his orgasm when he let it out as a big blast against my cheek. He collapsed against the mattress after that, his arm flopping down over me as he began alternating between what sounded like pillow talk and providing the side of my face a long, meaningful snuffle-lick. Ultimately he resorted to the one phrase he seemed to be able to get right. "Thank you, Mister Kuzentsov."

Rolling my eyes, I corrected him. "Petr. Call me Petr."

Even as he tried to make sense of it I focused on calming my body down; it had been years since I'd been around anyone, let alone intimate with them. The feel of the bear's virile seed dripping from my fingers; making a mess out of the linens didn't really appeal to me. Whether it was his powerful musk or the light-headed dizziness of the moment I felt no need to hold back and I proceeded to clean them with my tongue. I was heedless of the effect the display had on the Geneticon until I heard the heady rumble from the bear and felt the vibration against my back. It wasn't until his thick member began to swell and harden anew that I realized just how much he was enjoying the show. He also finally got my name right with his insistent murmur between fresh nibbles on my shoulder. "Petr..."

It turned out to be a long morning, but that was fine since I was insatiable as he.