FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Written by: Duxton H. Rainford

Cuddling with someone soft and warm on a night like this ought to be anyone’s right, Kaisl Blume thought to himself, lamenting the controversy of his relationship. Cold rain buffeted the windows of their small apartment, and the soft hiss of tires on wet roads could be heard every few minutes. Kaisl’s strong, tanned arms encircled a brown tabby cat hybrid from behind, the furry form swelling gently with every breath, low and quiet while he slept. Sighing softly, the human closed his eyes and nuzzled into the cat’s collarless neck, breathing in a scent that though wasted on his nose, was one he’d grown to love just as much as the rest of his feline lover.

Kaisl gently removed his arm from underneath the cat so as not to wake him, and he rolled onto his back to search for pictures in the impasto ceiling texture while the blood rushed back to his extremities. He sat up. Sleep escaped him, as it did most nights, but he usually managed to find something on TV that would bore him to the point that he could fall asleep, or at the very least would rather try than watch any more of what Hollywood considered ‘reality’. He stood up, slid his feet into fleece slippers and slipped into the kitchen in his boxer shorts. He poured himself a tall glass of cold milk by the light of the refrigerator, and slumped onto the hand-me-down couch in his usual spot. It smelled like Roman, which made it perfect for cuddling up on when the cat was fast asleep in bed.

Congressman Kelley Gold was on television, a snippet of an interview with news reporters being broadcast on the ten o’clock news. Kaisl was suddenly very much awake, and he even debated waking Roman, but he could always deliver good news in the morning if there was any to be had. Alas, Gold was simply laying down the truth for the skeptics to denounce, for the media to warp, and for the believers who clung to the hope that someday soon; hybrids would be accepted as equals.

“This will not be an overnight transition, no, but every step that we take towards equality is step in the right direction. Rome was not built in a day, as they say. It has long been my belief that everyone has the potential to do good things, even hybrids. My hope is that with the passing of this bill, future generations will reap the benefits of a society where all sapient, living beings are viewed as equals, and I believe that we will see a better future because of it.”

Kaisl wanted to clap, but he simply raised his glass of milk in a toast to the Congressman before taking a hearty swig. Several short clips of protesters and counter-protesters were shown, the former greatly outnumbering the latter. Disheartening as it was, Gold’s bill had gotten further than any bill before it had, and it was quickly becoming clear that he had no intentions of slowing his roll.

Washington was having none of it. Fortunately, for them, the Hybrid Rights Movement had little support from the left, virtually none from the right, and any independent candidate who chose to take a stance on the matter invariably sided with the majority. Most of them owned hybrids anyway. Even the exposed truth concerning the history of human-hybrid relations was largely denounced as pro-hybrid propaganda, snake oil designed to shore up support for the mongrels. Who could blame them? They’d been taught since birth that the hybrids had once been savage, violent creatures hell-bent on destroying humanity. It was a losing battle, but those in charge of the country’s newest civil rights movement weren’t giving up hope just yet.

Kaisl thought of his feline lover at the Congressman’s mention of Rome. He closed his eyes, tuned out the TV, and recalled the day they’d first seen one another, three years ago.

Originally, Kaisl had viewed being a slave owner in the most common light, which was that to own a hybrid was a status symbol, the sapient equivalent of wearing a Rolex watch. He’d picked a scrawny runt of a cat, who the farm owners were selling at a discounted rate (six hundred marked down from fifteen), and they were all too happy to be rid of him – malnourished hybrids did not bode well for farm owners on their quarterly health & welfare inspections. Kaisl reveled in the benefits of owning a slave. Friends and co-workers seemed to respect him more, people treated him better in public, and his apartment was always clean to boot.

At first, the new slave owner barely spoke to his hybrid. Kaisl’s orders and Roman’s affirmations summed up their conversations, but the former quickly understood that you couldn’t live with someone and not get to know them. Kaisl was showing unprecedented leniency to Roman by the end of their first month together. They often found themselves laughing over good movies and TV together, playing video games, cooking dinner, cleaning the apartment, and eventually, the tan-skinned male removed the collar from his tabby cat hybrid’s neck for good. Roman had turned from a scrawny, scared little kitten raised on a farm into a happy, well-nourished, and smart hybrid; he could read, write, and cook with the best of them. Somewhere along the line, Kaisl decided that sleeping on that old hand-me-down couch wasn’t good enough for his best friend, and so they began to share the queen-sized bed in the human’s bedroom. Closer and closer they slept, until a particularly blustery night found them curled up together, and somewhere in that sleepless night, their lips met for the first time, a silent acknowledgement of what they both already knew.

One thought was all it took for him to miss that feeling. It waited for him just beyond the bedroom door. Kaisl grabbed the remote and silenced the TV, plunging the room into as much darkness as the streetlights outside would allow. It saddened him to know deep down that never in his lifetime would he see a country free of hybrid oppression, but he took solace in the hope that one day, the history books would feature his generation as the one that pushed a new civil rights agenda through to fruition, however long it took.

Standing up, he finished his glass of milk and set it down in the sink, then returned to the bedroom where Roman lay sound asleep and buried in the sheets, his whiskers twitching ever so slightly in the way they did when he dreamed. Kaisl sat gently on the edge of the bed and swung his legs up onto the mattress, pulling the sheets over himself and waiting for sleep to take him. He involuntarily remembered what lay in store for them, should their illicit relationship ever be discovered. Somewhere, perhaps not too far away, a hybrid was soon to be executed while his or her human lover rotted in a prison cell for a crime as innocent as love. It took him a while, but eventually, he drifted off to sleep to dream of better horizons.

BANG!

Kaisl awoke with a start, catching the tail end of the boom that seemed to reverberate throughout the apartment, and he wondered if one of the transformers had blown outside. It happened all the time in their low-rent neighborhood, and it never failed to scare the daylights out of him. He was just about to lie down again when he heard the footfalls outside, and before he could react, the door was flung open and the room was flooded with light.

Roman stirred, but was still too far within the reaches of sleep to comprehend what was going on. Kaisl fought, wrestling against the men that had forcibly entered his home, but they quickly overpowered him with a shot to the ribs, and he was rolled onto his front, arms pulled discomfortingly behind his back and secured with flex cuffs. Roman was getting the same treatment, or so it sounded like. They screamed one another’s names, but the screams were soon muffled by thick, opaque black bags that were pulled over their heads, throwing them into abysmal darkness.

***

A hybrid purgatory existed halfway across the United States. Not quite heaven, but a far cry from the hell in which hybrids lived. Several hundred hybrids of all shapes, sizes, and species called the sprawling ranch in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains home, and its paradisiacal lore had spread only by snail mail and word of mouth – no hybrid who came to the legendary Davenport Ranch ever left, and many who had never been refused to believe that such a place existed. A place where the beds were exactly that – beds, not hay, blankets, or a floor. A place where the food was hot, plentiful, and served three times a day. They stayed cool in the summer, and warm in the winter. Brick buildings not unlike military barracks housed them, complete with air conditioning, showers, laundry facilities, a gym, and dayrooms for hybrids to unwind and enjoy some leisure time when it was allocated.

Jim Davenport himself was a bit of a recluse, known only to his hybrids, his doctor and a few close friends, and his fellow VFW Lodge members. Only on rare occasions would he leave the seclusion of his ranch; it was one of the only places where he felt safe, though he wouldn’t admit that fact to anyone. Jim had been held as a POW for one year, four months, one week, three days, and two hours – he’d counted – and he swore that for as long as he was in control of his ranch no living thing there would be subjected to the intolerable cruelty he’d suffered at the hands of the enemy.

It haunted him every day.

Jim awoke with a start, and the screaming between his ears gradually faded into the wind chimes hanging from the porch awning just outside. A breeze harmonized with them, rustling late fall leaves while sunlight lit the room and the smell of breakfast filled the air. Sighing heavily, the old man lumbered out of bed in the slow, mechanical way that old men do, and he slid his feet into a pair of well-worn slippers that carried him into the kitchen where Mary, a doe hybrid, was cooking breakfast. Outside, a tractor started up, and in the living room, a few young hybrids were watching cartoons on television.

“Good morning, Jim.” Mary said sweetly, flipping an omelet in the pan.

“Morning, Mary.”

“Sleep well?”

“Oh. Well enough.” He mumbled, taking the only seat at his small kitchen table. Mary just smiled softly, knowing she should have expected such a downtrodden answer. Jim used his hands to slick his silver hair back, Mary delivered the omelet to him, and he thanked her with his kindly smile that wrinkled the corners of his steely blue eyes.

Outside the kitchen window, Jim could see hybrids working in the cool, early morning light. They tended the cattle and crops, collected eggs, and shoveled hay, among their many duties. It was a self-sustaining farm, and it ran like a well-oiled machine because of the work the hybrids put in; Jim figured he owed them the best life he could afford them in return. No one had to be told to do anything. They simply did it. The difference was that the hybrids at Davenport Ranch wanted to be there. No one was unhappy, because everyone knew he or she had a hot meal, a warm bed, and a roof over their head at the end of the day. It was the paradise hybrids thought existed only in death.

Jim was often ridiculed by the US Government’s Bureau of Hybrid Affairs. Anyone who held a Federal Hybrid Resale License was required to undergo a quarterly health & welfare inspection, during which field agents of the BHA would visit hybrid farms all around the country to grade owners on the performance of his or her duties. It didn’t take much to pass inspection, and many times, those who would normally fail were given little more than a stern warning and a low – but passing grade. Even a dilapidated old barn would suffice, but when the agents came to Davenport Ranch, derision and contempt were all they had for him.

You’ve got a gym for these mongrels? Ha-ha! My gym doesn’t have equipment this nice!

What are you feeding these pukes? Beef stew and corn on the cob? You know you don’t have to do that, right? They can live on beans and rice and a little meat here and there; you can buy them by the barrel so much cheaper!

He could only grin and bear it. It wasn’t as though the approval of Tom, Dick, and Harry at the BHA mattered to him; he didn’t even mind it when they came to conduct their inspections; he passed with flying colors every time. Jim was just about done with his omelet when the phone rang in the kitchen. Mary dried her hands on a dish towel and walked over to the wall-mounted landline, picking up the receiver.

“Hello, Davenport Ranch.”

“Hello! It’s Anthony Edwards. Is this Mary?”

“It is! How are you, Dr. Edwards?”

“Doing just fine darlin’, is Jim there by chance?”

“He is; he’s right here.” Mary handed the phone to Jim, who had wasted no time getting up when he heard who was calling.

“Tony, how’s it going?”

“Quite all right, I gotta say. Got some news for you, just wanted to call and let you know that I am hanging up the white coat.”

“No! You’re retiring?”

“It’s high time I did, and the time’s right, Jim. I’ve got a promising young man here who’s going to be taking my place, fellow by the name of Ryudo Peterson. I think you’ll like him.”

“Well, congratulations, Tony. What’s next for you, sunny Miami Beach?” Jim chuckled dryly, and Edwards laughed.

“No, I think Miami’s a little too high-energy for me. I’ve been running eight miles a minute for years. I’m about due for some R&R.”

“I’ll say. Well hell, don’t be a stranger, if you’re ever in the area, you’re always welcome to stop by for a visit.”

At the sink, Mary continued with the dishes, humming softly to herself. Looking up through the window, she could see a black SUV rolling up the dirt road towards the house. Hybrids out in the pasture stopped to watch as well. The Bureau’s vehicles were easy enough to spot, they were clearly marked as such and had government plates; this SUV had neither. It was about that time that Jim caught it out of the corner of his eye, and he approached the window to see two men disembark from the car.

“...Tony, I gotta go. I’ll call you back.”

Jim had returned to his bedroom and retrieved a .45-caliber handgun from his safe in the time that it took the two men to reach the front door, which they rapped on sharply. The farmer tucked his weapon into his belt and cracked the door just enough to be heard, and barely enough to be seen.

“Can I help you?”

“Mr. Davenport?”

“Yes.” He responded curtly, wary of the two men. They were well dressed in plain, navy blue suits, and their hair was coiffed in such a way that Jim assumed they wouldn’t dare get their cordovan brogues dirty out in the pasture. Definitely not BHA goons.

“Good morning sir, my name is Brian, this is Lyle, and we represent Patheon and Edward Szyman.”

“Do you, now?”

“Yes sir, as I’m sure you’re aware uh, may we come in?”

“No.”

Brian averted his eyes awkwardly, “I see, well, as I’m sure you’re aware, Mr. Szyman is interested in purchasing your ranch.”

“It’s not for sale, I already told him that.” Jim said, turning to shut the door in their faces, but the men were steadfast in their attempts to get the old man to hear what they had to say.

“Uh, Mr. Davenport! I apologize if we’ve caught you at a bad time, but you see Mr. Szyman is willing to increase his offer. You stand to make an eight-figure amount from this investiture, with retention of ownership in the form of partner. Believe me sir; this is a business venture you do not want to pass up.”

“Don’t tell me what I want, boy!” Davenport spat, “I’m almost seventy years old, and I’ve been selling hybrids since you were just a twinkle in your daddy’s eye! I’ve already made as much money as I am ever going to need. I’m retired now; I don’t have any more time or energy for your big business brouhaha.”

Brian was just about to take his accomplice and leave when Jim spoke again, quieter this time.

“You know how I made so much money in the hybrid trade?”

They shook their heads.

“I made the fortune I made by selling hybrids who were happy. Skilled hybrids, ones who could read and write. They were well-fed and in shape, not malnourished. Go to any other farm in this country and look around at the hybrids they’ve got, they keep them just healthy enough to pass inspection and no more. They don’t even realize they could get away with charging twice what they do if they’d just take better care of them because they’re too wrapped around the axle with kicking them around and treating them like dirt!”

For a fleeting moment, the two men almost looked ashamed of themselves. Jim stepped to the side and pulled the door open wider so that they could peek into the living room where the little ones sat on the carpet, eyes transfixed on the TV screen. He gave himself a moment to compose his thoughts, and wet his lips before speaking again.

“They watch the same cartoons as my grandkids. They eat the same food, they play with the same toys, and when my son comes over with his children, they do all of those things together. Somewhere along the line, the divide grows. It saddens me to think that someday my grandchildren may look at them the same way you do.”

They nodded.

“Now get off of my property.”

Brian and Lyle left with their tails tucked like scolded pups, though they were not as ashamed as they were fearful of the berating they would receive when they delivered the news to the big boss.

“Szyman’s gonna be pissed.” Lyle said, climbing into the passenger seat.

“Don’t remind me.” Brian rested his head against the warm leather of the steering wheel, “We’re going to have to appeal to his heart, not his wallet.”

“You think he’s a little on the odd side, yeah?”

“What do you mean?”

“I think this fella’s got something to hide. Huge ranch. Hundreds of hybrids, but you never hear of anyone buying one from this place.”

“It’s out in the sticks. I think it’s too far of a drive for most people, and every major city around here’s got at least one retailer. Kind of makes me wonder what Szyman wants with this place.”

“S’above our pay grade.” Lyle muttered.

“Yeah. Way above.” Brian concurred as they pulled out onto the rural highway, headed back with the black cloud of bad news hanging over them the whole way.

***

Singer’s Farm sat nestled in the Texas Hill Country, several hundreds of miles away from Davenport’s, but the farm was a far cry from the latter in more ways than one. The Singers never had that much start-up capital to begin with, but they weren’t using their barn for anything else; Bob Singer figured he could earn a little money on the side selling hybrids as ranch hands to property owners in the surrounding locale.

He was wrong.

Few hybrids from Singer’s farm found homes with other families. The market was spread thin, and many of Bob’s neighbors already had as many as they needed; something the old farmer hadn’t thought to find out before applying for his Federal Hybrid Resale License. He’d turned his rotting old barn into a barracks of sorts, using old military surplus bunks, blankets, and mattresses purchased from an online retailer. Hybrids were purchased from a wholesaler that worked in conjunction with the BHA and found homes for hybrids who had nowhere else to go. It was a depressing network of foster homes, but to a hybrid, anything was preferable in comparison to the treatment they received in the custody of the Bureau.

Bob was just beginning to creep into the black a decade after placing his initial order, and he welcomed the day that Mrs. Singer would finally stop griping about the cost of upkeep. Some of the original hybrids were still there, through some stroke of chance. He’d seen them come and go over the years, but he had to admit he’d grown attached to some of them over that length of time. It was going to make him sad to see them go, but he had to do right by his family.

Aaron Singer was just returning from the barn when he heard his father in the kitchen, cursing the market for all its worth.

“Damn Szyman’s monopolized the trade.” Bob said, brushing his right hand back through his thinning brown hair, a Marlboro cigarette soldering between the weathered fingers of his left. Next to that hand was a coffee mug with the insignia of his farm printed on it. In front of him were the documents that allowed him to keep, buy, and sell hybrids.

“What’s up?”

“I was saying, Szyman’s the biggest retailer in the US for the hybrid market right now. Whatsit...Patheon. Patheon. Yeah, they just opened up a supercenter in Austin, and it’s sucking the life out of the small guys like us.”

“Are you going to sell?” Aaron asked, pulling out a chair and sitting down slowly.

“We have to.” Bob responded quietly, peeling his reading glasses from his face by the earpiece, “It’s just not profitable for us anymore, well, hell; it never really has been, according to your mother. It’s costing us more to keep them fed than we can make off of them, and it’s sucking up just about all of our cattle and produce profits.”

“Isn’t there anything we can do to stay in the game?”

Bob shrugged and shook his head disparagingly, “Our license is about to expire. I’ve been going back and forth on whether to renew it or not, but we won’t need a current copy just to keep a few around. The rest...” Bob made a fleeting motion with his hands before replacing the cigarette between his lips. Aaron felt his face flush with apprehension.

“Which ones are you planning on keeping?”

“The ones that can work. Probably those younger dogs we’ve got, you know, they’re what, late teens, early twenties? Strong backs, weak minds. Just like I like ‘em.”

“You’re only keeping the males?”

Bob frowned, “I don’t see why we would need to keep any of the females around. I don’t want them breeding, the last thing we need is a bunch of pups running around raising hell.”

“Well what about Amanda? She’s an excellent hybrid; she could help Mom out around the house. Then I wouldn’t have to do so much.” He added with a nervous laugh. Bob just smirked and rolled his eyes.

“You know how your mother is; she doesn’t want any of them inside the house.”

“Right...”

“Plus, if we keep one female and multiple males, they’ll probably kill each other over the right to mate with her; you know how primal they can be.”

Aaron held his tongue.

“Last thing in the world we need is to get in hot water with the BHA over one of ‘em getting hurt. God forbid one of ‘em gets a splinter out in the woodpile, the government’ll jump up our ass!”

Bob sighed as he stubbed out his cigarette and continued.

“They’re living things too, I guess.”

***

The jail was loud, bright, and cold.

Kaisl had never been incarcerated in his life, well, save for one night spent in the drunk-tank for disorderly conduct in his early twenties; but he became increasingly aware that this would not be a simply overnight stay as he was herded into in processing with several other future inmates.

He began to think about all of the times morbid curiosity had gotten the better of him. Late night TV during bouts of sleeplessness, shows about prison life and misguided youth, censored and cropped for public broadcast. He thought about the horror stories he’d read and seen in fiction, and wondered if they were only fiction.

“What’s taking you so long boy? Hurry up!” It was only after this outburst from a guard that Kaisl realized that everyone around him was beginning to disrobe. All of the men placed every last article of clothing he’d worn there into a clear plastic bin along with his possessions – possessions many of them would not see for a long, long time. Kaisl turned to speak to the man next to him, but was immediately silenced.

“No talking!” The guard shouted. Kaisl didn’t need to be told twice, the man standing next to him didn’t exactly look like the kind of person he would want to talk to anyway.

Scrubs – khaki – and white T-shirts were issued to every prisoner, along with socks, slip-on shoes, a towel, some soap, and various other hygiene items they would need for their stints in lockup. Each man was marched to his cell by a correctional officer, and Kaisl was introduced to his new home, Cell 2B, a six-by-eight foot, poured concrete room where he would be spending and unspecified amount of time with only thoughts of Roman to comfort him. Well, aside from his cellmate, but the man on the bottom bunk wasn’t exactly the portrait of consolation.

Kaisl’s heart skipped a beat and he jumped when the cold clang of the metal cell door resounded behind him, echoing through the common area of the prison.

“You get used to it.” His new roommate said nonchalantly, not even bothering to look up from the book he was reading. Gulping, the newcomer nodded and he set his new things down on a stainless steel desk that was bolted to the wall.

“Whatcha in for, dog?”

“I’m still awaiting trial.” Kaisl answered softly.

“That ain’t what I asked, dog. You seem dodgy. I don’t like dodgy motherfuckers. You chomo?”

“Chomo?”

“Child molester!”

“No, fuck no!”

“Fur fucker?”

The stranger was quizzing him. Evidently, indecency with minors and courtship with hybrids were in close proximity to one another in terms of how much contempt the justice system had for them. At least the chomo question came first. Kaisl hoped that means that there was at least one class of prisoner lower than he was. He didn’t respond, which told the stranger everything he needed to know.

“Hey homies, we got a fur fucker in here!” He shouted in the direction of the cell door, and a cacophony of deriding yips, howls, barks, and various lewd noises filled the jail until the guards demanded silence. Fighting back tears, the tan-skinned man took a seat on the stainless steel toilet and buried his face in his hands.

“What are they going to do to Roman?” He asked through the lump in his throat as if to suggest that the stranger should know who Roman was.

“Who’s that?”

“My hybrid.”

“Oh! Well, from what I hear, they usually get killed. Either that or the BHA sells ‘em off for medical experiments or product testing.”

“Oh, God...” Kaisl whispered.

“I hear they grind them up and put them in dog food, bro! How crazy is that? It’s like dual purpose, you know? Like they make them eat the dog food first to make sure it’s safe, and then they use them for the dog food!”

“Okay, you can stop.”

“Maaan, but what if they’re like...testing the dog food that’s already been made with the hybrids, bro?”

Kaisl could only tune him out at that point, because the stranger was now on a roll with all of the things that he’d heard about, and he didn’t want to start a fight by telling him to shut up. Kaisl wasn’t sure if he could even talk without vomiting, because the anxiety churning in his gut was working up some of the worst nausea he’d had in a long time. Giving out with a groan, he slid off the toilet and collapsed to his knees in front of it, retching into the stainless steel bowl while the stranger laughed and laughed.

***

Aaron lay quietly in bed, two hours after bidding his friends on Skype goodnight and retiring to the sheets for some well-deserved rest. He found it difficult to get to sleep despite how much work he’d done that day, as his mind was abuzz with the impending sale of nearly every hybrid at the farm. It wasn’t fair; he’d known many of the hybrids since he was very young, hybrids that had been there since the beginning. One such hybrid was a wolf by the name of Henry, and even though Henry was considered a lesser being, it mattered not to Aaron. To Aaron, Henry was like a part of the family.

Then there was Amanda. Amanda was Henry’s nineteen year-old daughter. She’d come to the ranch with him from the wholesaler in the rare stroke of luck that occasionally allowed a hybrid family to stay together. None of the Singers had the heart to tear them apart, so while Henry had always been for sale, the one stipulation was that Amanda went too. No one ever seemed to want her, something Aaron found most fortunate. He was an only child, and living in rural Texas didn’t afford him many friends, so when someone else his age showed up at the farm, he didn’t care who or what she was. Aaron and Amanda became fast friends, something Bob Singer never understood, but couldn’t see the harm in either.

Aaron smiled when he thought about all the memories he’d made with her over the years. Sneaking out to play with her when they were younger. Doing his homework out in the barn, so that she could learn to read and write. He’d even tried to teach her to play guitar, but that lasted about as long as it took them to figure out that hybrid fingers and claws were not conducive to operating the instrument. So he serenaded her instead, whenever he had the opportunity. He wasn’t getting any sleep that night. Aaron threw his legs over the side of the bed and grabbed the comforters, wadded them up under his arm, and carried them outside where he threw them into the passenger seat of his pickup.

All the feral cows on the farm were probably wondering just what Aaron was doing with their dinner when he began to shovel hay into the bed of the truck, headlights glaring out into the pasture beyond the house. Rough, farmer’s hands gripped the wooden shaft of the pitchfork behind leather gloves as he worked, his breath fogging in the cool air. For a moment, he wondered if he was making the right decision, though it didn’t take much debate for him to determine that it was. The way he saw it, he didn’t have much time left to make it.

Moonlight crept in through the open side door of the barn – it seemed no matter how cold it got outside, the inside of the barn could still get stuffy. Aaron darkened the door with his shadow, stretched across the hay-strewn wooden floor of the structure, and he crept silently over to the bunk where Amanda slept. He laid a hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle shake.

“Amanda.” He whispered. She stirred in bed with a cute little whine, opening one eye just slightly enough to recognize who was next to her.

“Aaron?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” He smiled.

“What time is it?”

“It’s late. It’s like one in the morning. Here, get up. Come with me.”

“Where?” She asked. Somewhere off to the left, a snoozing hybrid snored, making them both jump.

“Just come on.” He reached out to take her hand. Sitting up, she rubbed her eyes, and Aaron’s face softened when he was reminded of the poverty in which their hybrids lived. Amanda slept in a thin, thrift-store T-shirt and moth-eaten, fleece pajama pants, both of which had seen better days. Sneaking out of the barn, they piled into the old pickup, and Aaron drove them out into the pasture, so far, in fact, that the only light they had came from the moon overhead once he shut the truck off.

“Come here.” He said, and helped her out of the truck, showing her what he had done with the bed. It had been turned into exactly that, with a foot of hay for a mattress, and two comforters between which to hide from the chilly, night air.

“Aaron...” Amanda cooed, smiling as she slid between the two comforters. He joined her, and they snuggled up close beneath the thick blanket, staring up at the black, night sky, peppered with stars around a full moon. She sighed happily and rested her head on his shoulder. He rested his cheek on her head, breathing a scent that to Mrs. Singer was vile, but wonderful to Aaron.

“Look at those stars...” She mused, “I’ve never seen them so bright before.”

“Yeah, not a cloud in the sky.” He whispered in reply.

“What made you want to come all the way out here at this time of night?” She asked innocently.

“Well, you, of course.” Aaron smiled.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.”

Amanda smiled and rolled onto her side to face him, laying her head on his chest so she could listen to his heart beat.

“Do you remember prom night?” He asked after a few minutes of silence.

“Yeah.” She whispered, “I’ll always remember seeing that girl you took. That pretty dress she had on...the way you two posed together on the porch while your Mom took pictures. I remember at the time I didn’t know what that was all about, I thought you were getting married and leaving with her!” She laughed poignantly.

“Oh, God, no. Not to her. Yuck. I had to take her. Her Dad and my Dad are friends and the poor girl didn’t get asked to the prom by anyone. I wished I could have taken you. I remember seeing you when we left, you had on those jeans, and that flannel shirt, you were just...gah! So hot!”

Amanda scrunched her face up as she blushed beneath her fur while Aaron laughed.

“You could make those farm clothes look ten times better than that girl could ever have looked in that dress. And I remember seeing the look in your eyes as we left. It broke my heart.”

She cuddled tighter to him.

“I knew that night that I wanted to be with you, and I promised myself I would never want for anyone else as long as we could be together.”

She smiled, “Do you remember our prom night?”

“Do I? I remember it like it happened yesterday. My parents had gone to San Antonio...”

One year ago...

“Aaron, we’re leaving!”

“Okay, Mom!”

“We’ll be back tomorrow morning! Don’t forget to feed Rusty! And remember to-”

“He knows. He knows...” Aaron could hear his father saying as Bob ushered his doting wife out the front door, a sold hybrid in tow. In his bedroom, the eighteen-year old Aaron rolled his eyes and waited for the sound of the door closing. With the telltale sound, he jumped up from his chair and grabbed a pair of binoculars, watching from his window as the Ford F-350 turned onto the highway at the end of the gate and disappeared from sight. He waited half an hour just to make sure they hadn’t forgotten anything, and with that, he went to work.

Aaron worked up a sweat rearranging the furniture in the living room to clear the center of it, and he carried the heavy, wooden coffee table into the dining room, where he pushed it up against the wall. The rug was rolled up and stowed underneath the dining room table, leaving the hardwood floor of the living room open. Then, he climbed up into the attic and retrieved the box containing the Christmas lights, which he strung up around the ceiling and hung from the blades of the ceiling fan in a makeshift chandelier of sorts.

“Where is it?” Aaron whispered to himself, creeping through his parent’s closet with all the stealth of a Double-O agent. Wrapped in cellophane was a ball gown that his mother had worn to her parents’ 50th wedding anniversary party more than a decade ago. Draping it over his arm, Aaron departed from the closet and then reentered his bedroom, where he laid out the closest thing to a tuxedo he had, a plain, black suit and tie.

Still in his work clothes, he hopped into his truck and drove out to the barn, where various hybrids were working, including Amanda. Everyone watched curiously, as Aaron rolled up in the grass next to the side door of the structure, the shimmering dress in his arms while he stepped out of the truck. Amanda watched as he approached her, and handed her the dress.

“I think it should fit. Brush off, clean up, and put it on. I’ll be back in half an hour.” With that, he turned back to the truck and left with not a word to anyone else in the barn.

At home, Aaron stepped out of the shower and dried hastily, blow-drying his medium length brown hair and styling it with some hair dressing. He brushed his teeth. Cleaned his ears out. Clipped his nails. His heart beat fast when he cinched his tie up to his throat, dressed to the nines in a suit he almost never wore. Outside, the sun was just beginning to set when he got into the driver’s seat of the truck, his jacket laid across his lap so as not to wrinkle it.

Inside the barn, the hybrids knew something was going on. What, they didn’t know, but all they knew was that seeing Amanda in that dress was about the loveliest thing any of them had ever seen. Amanda blushed underneath her fur from all the attention and fawning over her, but thankfully, it didn’t last long, for just about that time, Aaron appeared in the doorway of the barn, hands in his pockets, a debonair smile gracing his features. Had that barn been a high society ballroom on the Titanic, they might have said he cleaned up well for a farmer’s son. Grinning, he escorted Amanda out to the truck after instructing the hybrids that the event was never to be spoken of in front of his parents. If there was one thing hybrids were generally good at, it was following orders, and Aaron knew he could trust them.

“You really look pretty in that dress.” He said as the truck rolled over the bumps and ruts of the pasture towards the house. Amanda wasn’t sure what else to say, so she simply said ‘thank you’. She was shy, and Aaron could tell, but he wasn’t too far from it himself – it was his first date with a girl he actually fancied. They arrived at the house, and Aaron opened the door for her, escorting her out of the truck and up the steps to the front door of his house where just beyond the frosted glass, the dim light of the decorations within could be seen.

“Are you sure this is okay?” Amanda asked apprehensively. She’d never been inside the ranch house, even after being on the farm for almost a decade. Hybrids were not allowed in, per Mrs. Singer – she was convinced that the entire house would need to be fumigated if they were. Aaron smiled at the mental image of the freak out he knew she would have if she could see one in her dress.

“It’s fine. My parents are out of town, and they won’t be back until the morning.”

“Oh.”

Aaron reached into his trouser pocket and discreetly pressed a button on a remote for the stereo, filling the living room with the soothing opening of a Celine Dion slow jam. When he opened the door, he smiled as he watched the wolf’s eyes widen.

Inside, the living room was illuminated by several conjoined strings of Christmas lights, a paltry substitute for the lightshow they had at the prom, but it was the best he could do. Regardless, it was more than Amanda could ever have hoped for.

“Aaron...it’s beautiful.” She whispered, listening to the music. Smiling, he took her by the hand and led her into the center of the living room.

“What is this?” She asked, grinning helplessly.

“It’s prom.” He said, pulling her closer to him and wrapping his arm around her waist. “It’s a lot like what that girl and I went to when I left with her that night. I...wanted to do this for you.”

“Why?”

“Because you deserve it. Every teenage girl should have a chance to go to prom and dance with her boyfriend!” Aaron beamed at her, moving in slow rhythm, keeping the tempo low so as not to overwhelm his date.

“Are you my boyfriend?” She asked, looking up at him.

“I’d sure like to be.” He met her big, doleful eyes, those eyes that no matter how dirty she got, always shined out from her face with a kind of beauty Aaron had never seen in a girl of his own species. She opened her mouth to speak, but immediately closed it again, lowering her head so that she was staring at the sheen of the silken tie dividing the man’s chest in two.

“What...what about that girl?”

“Tracy? The one from the other night? Believe me, she wishes she meant as much to me as you do. I wish I could have taken you, and not her. I just hate that it can’t be that way. So that’s why I did this, tonight, for you.”

Amanda wept a few tears of joy over the sentiment and she rested her head against his chest while they danced together. Together, they swayed to and fro for some slow tempo songs, and when Aaron decided to mix it up with some faster songs, it turned more into him teaching her how to dance than actually dancing with her, but they sure had fun doing it. It was the most fun Amanda had ever had in her life, and she couldn’t think of anyone she’d rather share it with.

They danced well into the night, often taking breaks to share drinks of the non-alcoholic variety, and simply talked in the candid way they always said they would if they had the chance to be alone. Eventually, it began to get late, and it was time for Amanda to go back to her domicile. Aaron wished that they could sleep together in his bed, but he didn’t want to jeopardize anything by moving too quickly with her. So they piled into his truck when it was all over, and he took her back to the barn where everyone else was already asleep. He escorted her to the door in the manner of a proper gentleman, and waited outside while she changed back into her pajama pants and ragged T-shirt.

“Thank you, Aaron.” She whispered, handing the dress back to him. He smiled, and leaned down to kiss her. She jumped slightly from the contact, feeling his warm lips against the end of her muzzle, but she kissed him back anyway, and enjoyed every second of it. It would be the first of many that they shared, but regrettably, they all would be in the most secret of times and places.

Present Day

“I slept like a baby that night.” He laughed, “I remember driving back home, I was so happy over getting to kiss you that I had forgotten all about the whole setup back at the house, I had to take it all back down!”

“Aww.” She laughed. For a few moments, they lay in silence one more, their eyes cast up to the stars above.

“I wish it didn’t have to be like this.” Aaron breathed a sigh, pulling her a little closer.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean this...” He gestured to the bed on which they were laying, “I wish that we could be in my house right now, in my bed. I wish we could sleep next to one another every night, and that I could wake up next to you every morning, and see your beautiful face.”

“Oh, stop it...”

“You know, Amanda, it’s not easy being in a relationship with you. But...it’s worth every bit of time I’ve dedicated to it. And it will always be worth it. It’ll be worth it, even if we have to keep it a secret for the rest of our lives. The family’ll wonder why I never got married or had kids, and they might gossip about us, but I won’t care. Not as long as I have you. I love you. I love you so much...” He whispered, closing his eyes.

“I love you too, Aaron.”

So began a make-0ut session that lasted the better part of five minutes, during which clothing was shed between the comforters and tossed to the side. Aaron slid Amanda’s pajama pants down off of her hips, and gently removed her old, ragged T-shirt, which he intended to replace with a new one the next day. He slipped out of his jeans and underwear, and sat up briefly to kick them off while he shed his flannel shirt, his muscled arms and chest visibly pale in the cool, white moonlight. It was cold outside, but it was warm between the sheets, and they had each other for body heat that was about to get much, much hotter.

Aaron caressed her back as they continued to kiss, their naked bodies pressed against one another’s underneath the full moon. Tongues intertwining, they prepared to make love for the first time, Aaron slipping his length between her legs and feeling the wetness of her sex against the top of his modest erection. It was almost enough to make him climax right then and there, but he harnessed every bit of restraint that he had in him to keep his load inside him – for the time being, at least.

Allowing his hands to wander, Aaron slipped one down her back until he was cupping her firm rear, likely toned from all the work she did on the ranch, but surprisingly, her pads were remarkably soft against the stiff erection the male was sporting.

“It’s so hard...” She whispered, closing her eyes while she curled her fingers around his shaft, stroking it gently while his hands explored her body, slipping a finger between her legs to rub at her vulva, spreading it and feeling the juices against his digits. Knowing just what to do, Amanda guided him towards her aching entrance, pressing the tip into the pink folds, and Aaron gasped, his mouth hanging open as he felt his penis twitch from the contact. Like her, he was a virgin, though the tale he told his friends was far removed from the truth. Removing his hand from her rump, he got on top of her and lined up for entry.

He pushed after a moment’s hesitation, feeling Amanda’s vagina part around his pulsating length until he could push no deeper. It was hot, wet, and very tight, so tight in fact that when he pulled back to begin thrusting into her, he had to put his back into it. Aaron had no fear of breaking her, he knew he wasn’t that big, but at the same time, he didn’t want to go all out like they were filming a porno. So he took it slow; easy in, easy out until they fell into a rhythm with one another that was just quick enough to make the truck bounce on its suspension there in the pasture.

“Feeling good?” He asked, breathing heavily while he penetrated her over and over.

“So good...” She panted out, raising her arms to wrap them around his back, holding him tight and pulling him down onto her. She tightened her grasp on her boyfriend while she came, and Aaron began to pump even faster, feeling the passage grow slicker from her juices, which were no doubt soaking a nice little stain into the comforter that Mrs. Singer herself had quilted.

“Breed me, Aaron...I want it...I want it...” Amanda panted out, squeezing down on his cock while it slid in and out of her like a piston, and like an engine, an internal explosion was about to occur. Aaron could feel his climax creeping up in his loins as he watched her breasts bounce in front of him, the fire already ignited and going strong as he prepared to finish, never skipping a beat in the rhythm of his thrusts. She panted loudly, shamelessly, and wantonly, not caring who heard as she dug her claws into the flesh on his back, almost to the point of drawing blood, and she gripped down tight on his pulsating member, her pussy squirting around his endowment as he came.

Aaron collapsed onto her as the most powerful orgasm of his life gripped him with ecstasy. Burying his face into her neck as he pushed as deep as he could, he flooded her womb with what had to have been the biggest load he’d ever shot in his life. Amanda cried out in pleasure from the feeling of warmth that radiated through her from the inside out, and she could feel his penis stiffen inside her as it twitched and shot every drop of semen he had into her.

It didn’t last long as Aaron had originally hoped, but neither of them could have asked for a better first time. He pulled his now half-erect, swollen member out of her, and his semen pooled on the comforter between her legs as it drooled out of her. He didn’t care; he’d wash it in the morning.

“I’m really glad we did that.” He whispered, holding her close.

“Me too.”

“It’s been a year, and I just...I felt like it was the right time. I wanted to do this with you, because...” Aaron faltered, “...Well, because I love you, but...”

“But what?”

“But also because this may have been our last chance.” He said timidly, his voice quivering as he thought about the impending sale. Amanda was struck with worry, and she looked at him with eyes that pleaded an answer to a question that didn’t even need to be asked.

“My Dad is selling the farm, and he’s getting rid of all but a few of the hybrids, he’s-he’s only keeping a few around.” Aaron stammered his response, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“What’s going to happen to me then? Am I ever going to see you again? Aaron, I don’t want to lose you!” Her voice cracked on the last word, and her eyes glossed over with tears.

“You won’t. You won’t, I promise you. Whatever it takes, I don’t care what, we will be together.” He held her close, “Don’t cry. I have a plan. I don’t know if it will work, but we just need to have faith, it’s all we can do at this point.”

“Aaron?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t leave. Stay with me tonight, just...hold me. Please.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He whispered, caressing her back and kissing her forehead.

“You don’t know how many nights I’ve spent sleeping on that bunk in that barn, wishing you were there to hold me just like this...” She whispered so softly he could barely hear, nuzzling into his chest and drifting off to sleep, safe and warm in the arms of her lover, though for how long she would be, she was no longer sure.

Aaron sat at his computer several hours later as the sun came up, eyes dutifully scanning the screen for information while the love-stained bed dressings tumbled in the laundry downstairs. Bob had already made up his mind, and was already making preparations to turn over his license and remaining hybrids over to the Bureau of Hybrid Affairs – a literal death sentence for many hybrids.

Aaron vowed to do everything in his power to prevent that from happening as he penned a letter to the only person he knew would have a chance at saving Amanda and her peers from death, or fates even worse. An envelope and a stamp later, the letter was on its way, and all he could do was hope for the best.

***

Compared to Roman, Kaisl had gotten the long end of the stick. Unlike the Bureau of Hybrid Affairs, county lockup did not betray its commitment to human rights. Kaisl had a semi-comfortable bed to sleep in and the promise of three squares a day, but human rights were not extended to hybrids, and the prisons in which they were kept reflected that fact to such a degree that they made Alcatraz look like Hilton Head. The BHA did not conduct health & welfare inspections on itself. There was no system of checks and balances in place to make sure hybrids were treated fairly or humanely in their custody. Hybrids had no legal rights to begin with, and the BHA pulled no punches in reminding them of that at every turn.

Roman’s first experience with sensory deprivation ended the moment that the opaque, black bag obscuring his vision was removed. Squinting into the daylight outside, he barely had time to react as he was collected by two guards, pulling him forcibly out of the back of the van. He wasn’t outside for long, but his vision was no better for the white linoleum and fluorescent lighting inside the building into which he was taken.

It was chaotic by design. Roman could barely process what was going on as guards hounded him like sharks in a feeding frenzy. They removed his pajama pants and shackled his wrists in front of him with hinged, stainless steel cuffs. He began to regain his vision just in time to see a man approaching him with a hard, plastic collar. The donut-like collar was clamped around his neck and locked shut, and the administering agent inserted an electronic device into it, which emitted a beep.

“Charlie-One-Zero-Eight-Four.” He said, and pulled the device out while a second agent punched the code into a tablet. He raised the tablet and took a picture of Roman’s face, and there on the screen read the hybrid’s new name, C1084.

“Hall E, Cell Eighteen.” The man with the tablet said, electronically assigning a cell to Roman. Roman, guided along by guards who gripped two handles on the sides of his collar was marched down a side hallway and through a set of double doors into a place where clean, white linoleum turned to cold, grey cement. Crying and moaning could be heard coming from cells at the end of the hall, which itself seemed to be endless, and smelled strongly of urine and feces. Cell Eighteen was like any of the others – a poured concrete room right six feet long and four feet wide, with nothing but an old aluminum bucket in which to eliminate. Roman was thrown into the cell naked, frightened, and alone, and the door was shut with a loud bang.

Roman immediately rushed to the wall furthest from the door and slid down it until he was curled up in the fetal position on his haunches, hugging his knees close to his chest in an attempt to stay warm inside the frigid room. In front of him, a brown stain on the floor suggested blood, and he tried not to think about what happened to the last person who had been imprisoned in that cell. With no sunlight and no clock to be seen, it was easy to lose track of time, but by the time the evening meal arrived Roman was still far too scared to eat.

An employee of the BHA pushed a cart down the center of the cell row, looking like a macabre flight attendant as he tossed sealed packages of food through the bars of each cell, along with small bottles of water. Roman grabbed the items as they were tossed inside, and he looked up into the cell across the hall from him, where a dog was tearing open the package as if he hadn’t eaten in months. His eyes were sunken and dark, his fur was thin and patchy, and his ribs could be seen outlined therein. Roman watched in horror while the dog tore the opaque, avocado-colored package open with his remaining teeth and dipped his hand into it, removed a spongy mass of yellow solid, stuffed it into his mouth and barely even chewed it as he wolfed it down. Then, he tipped the package up to his mouth, a similarly-hued liquid draining out of it into his gullet. That was the last straw for Roman. He let out with a choking sob as he started to cry, unable to take his eyes off the dog, who looked as though he did not have much time left, but was fighting for it tooth and claw.

“Hey...” A strange voice said from across the hall, and Roman looked up to see the dog eyeing him through the bars of their cells, “You gonna eat that?” He asked. Roman looked down at the package and then shook his head. He crawled forward, took the package in his hand and slid it underneath the bars across the hallway to him, and the nameless dog consumed it with all the fervor of the first one.

That night, Roman cried himself to sleep to the tune of the other prisoners doing the same. He wondered while he tried to find a comfortable way to use his arm for a pillow if he was the only one wishing that a human lover once held during the night were there to share this hell with him. He’d have given anything to be with Kaisl in that moment, but he wouldn’t wish his current surroundings on his worst enemy, let alone his lover.

Well, maybe on the BHA.

At precisely four o’clock AM, a claxon blared down the length of the cell block, waking them with a start while the echo of an air raid siren resounded through the concrete walls and floor of the prison. Footfalls thudded across the polished concrete running down the center of the cell row, and cells were checked one by one. Roman stood and walked slowly to the door of the cell, and looking left and right, he saw that everyone else was standing at his or her door, waiting to be checked off for the day. The beeps of the collars grew louder as they got closer, and it was not until then that Roman realized that the dog across from him from last night was still curled up on the ground asleep.

“Psst!” He hissed hotly across the hall, trying to stir the dog. A quick glance confirmed that the guards were still a good ten cells down, but they were moving quickly.

“Hey!” He said, a little louder. “Get up!”

“Quiet down there!” Someone shouted, and Roman stiffened up again. When his turn came, the guard reached through the bars and grabbed him by the collar, jerking him forward until his face smacked into the iron bars. The device from the previous night was plugged into his collar, and the same beep echoed in the cell as he was counted off for the morning.

“Open it up!” Someone shouted, and Roman watched as a guard who appeared to be of higher rank stood in front of the dog’s cell. Two men in white coats unlike the uniforms worn by the BHA Field Agents unlocked the door and pulled the cell open. One stepped inside and knelt down by the dog, appearing to check for a pulse.

“Cold as ice. Get it outta here.”

It was like a bad car wreck. Roman could do nothing but watch, too horrified to cry as his ears blocked out sounds and the image of the strange dog’s lifeless body being loaded onto a stainless steel cart was burned into his memory forever. It would be the only thing his mind would envision for the next few hours, spent lonely and cold in his prison cell. Perhaps the worst part of his incarceration, he thought, was how boring it was. There was nothing to do but sit. Talking was expressly prohibited, as was making any noise at all for that matter. Every so often, his ears would twitch and swivel towards the door as someone entered or left. It seemed as though the selection of who got to leave his or her cell was random at best, but many times, the hybrid being pulled along seemed more eager to remain locked up.

Roman lifted his head as he heard the door open for what must have been the twentieth time that day. He hadn’t seen sunlight in several hours, and combined with sleep deprivation, it hadn’t taken him that long to completely lose track of time. Two men walked in front of Roman’s cell door and stopped, and for a moment, so did the cat’s heart. To his horror, they unlocked the cell door without a word and pulled it open, reaching in to grab him. Roman did not resist; it hadn’t taken him long to learn that noncompliance did not get one far in the custody of the BHA.

Roman’s heart rate increased with every step toward the end of the cell block. Survivor stories of BHA lockup had traveled from muzzle to ear over the years, and while some knew more than others did, it was universally understood that the Bureau was a bad place to be. Most told tales of backbreaking labor, which was not something many hybrids were unused to, but the rations, hours, and treatment were all far worse than any civilian farm could get away with. Roman realized halfway through the next set of double doors that he wasn’t going to be swinging a pickaxe on a chain gang all day. No, for him, they had planned something far worse.

Screams of anguish were only partially muffled by the ballistic glass partitions that divided one laboratory of torture from the next. No privacy was afforded them, and Roman quickly realized why. They wanted him to see. They wanted every hybrid there to see what happened to the insolent, the insubordinate, the criminal, the unwanted, the abandoned, and any other hybrid that was deemed unfit to cohabitate with humans on the surface. To his left, a dog hybrid of indeterminate species was being subjected to a new delousing treatment, and was writhing in agony against the restraints holding him down in the chair.

“It burns! It burns!” He screamed audibly behind the glass. Roman folded his ears flat and forced himself to look away. To his right, a female Labrador hybrid was being held down and muzzled while another technician stuck her with a needle.

If only all of this could be exposed, Roman thought. But who would care?

A room at the end of the hall welcomed them with an empty glare, and the guards removed the cuffs from the cat’s wrists. He rubbed his sore flesh where the steel rings had pinched him, and he watched while the guards took up positions near the door behind a man in a white lab coat.

“Test subject, Charlie-One-Zero-Eight-Four. Feline. Product, LE formula six, beta test number two.” He spoke into a recorder, which he dropped back into his coat pocket. He retrieved a thick, plastic case and produced a small, black can with no label and a red button on top, then approached Roman.

“Hold still, please.” He said calmly and raised the can, swiftly spraying Roman in the face with a law enforcement-grade oleoresin capsicum spray.

It was like nothing Roman had ever experienced in his life. It stung in more places on his face than he knew existed. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t breathe, at least for how much he was coughing. It clogged his sinuses, and burned his lungs. His eyes watered. He collapsed to his knees, rubbing and clawing at his face while crying in agony.

“Significant discomfort...coughing...” The man in the white coat spoke into his recorder, watching the spectacle unfold in front of him, “Difficulty breathing.”

The cat felt his stomach turn and he retched, though he couldn’t be sure if it was from the pain or from the effects of the chemicals. There was nothing in his stomach but bile and acid, and it cascaded from his mouth in a greenish-yellow fountain, pooling on the floor at his knees.

“Vomiting...”

Roman lost control of his bladder at some point during all the crying and vomiting, and what little urine he had streamed onto the floor in a short, dark yellow display of dehydration, just one more thing for Josef Mengele’s long-lost protégé to record on his little device. Dr. Sicko donned a pair of latex gloves and approached the cat, bending down to pry open his eyelids.

“Ocular irritation. Reddening. Swelling of the tear ducts. Voiding of the bladder, test subject is extremely dehydrated. The experiment will be conducted again after test subject is adequately hydrated.”

Roman was thrown back into his cell after having his face thoroughly scrubbed with milk, baby shampoo, and water. It left him looking like a hot mess, but at least the pain had subsided. The cold, concrete floor of his cell felt good against his face, and though he’d only been there one day, he never thought he’d actually wish to be back on the farm where he’d been purchased by Kaisl.

Kaisl.

What was he doing now? Would he find another hybrid to love? Was that how humans did it? No, not Kaisl, he wouldn’t...would he? It broke his heart to think that his lover may be in the arms of another, but if he was happy, that was all that mattered to him. Yelping, followed by the sound of a door being thrown open disturbed everyone inside, and crying could be heard coming from whoever was about to join them. Roman raised his head and was shocked to see the Labrador from the room earlier in the day, marched along in the nude by two guards, her wrists shackled in front of her.

“We’re not done with you yet, sweetheart...” One of the guards muttered into her ear, laughing cruelly while the other joined in and opened the door of the cell where the dog from the previous night had so recently expired. With a short cry, the Labrador was thrown into the cell with such force that she fell to the hard, concrete floor, curling up into a quivering ball while they locked her up. It was nearly an hour before she finally stopped crying, and Roman wondered if she’d cried herself to sleep.

“Hey.” He said quietly, his face mere inches from the bars of his cell. “Are you awake?”

She sat up and turned to look at him, a good six feet of distance between their gazes.

“I’m Roman.”

“Shay.” She said in quiet reply, their tones hushed in keeping with the standing order of no talking, laughing, coughing, or sound in general.

“Do you want some crackers and peanut butter?” Roman offered the diminutive lunch that they’d provided him.

“No.”

“How long have you been in here?”

“A few days.” She sat up some, leaning against the bars. “What about you?” She didn’t even look at him, just down at the stained, grey floor.

“I just got here last night.”

“What did you do?”

“I was in a relationship with my master. I learned how to read and write. I didn’t wear a collar. You know all the things we aren’t supposed to do.” He said dryly. Roman prided himself on having more personality than other hybrids did, though sometimes it made him feel like an outcast.

“I killed mine.” Shay said, quivering again with the onset of fresh tears, “It was an accident. I didn’t mean to. We were on the farm, and the tractor was stuck in the ground. We were trying to get it out, and it tipped over and landed on him and crushed his chest.” She dissolved into tears again, and Roman forced himself to envision her master as a cruel and callous man, deserving of having his chest crushed by several tons of steel. It drove out the thought of what he would do with himself if he’d ever hurt Kaisl in such a way.

“What’s going to happen to us?” She wailed softly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Roman closed his eyes.

“I don’t know.”

That marked the end of their conversation. Shay curled back up into a golden ball, shaking until she finally fell asleep. Roman stretched out on the floor, staring up at the cracked, concrete ceiling and envisioning the fan he used to watch in their bedroom when he couldn’t sleep. Now, he had nothing but a memory, and he intended to cling to it for as long as possible. It was, after all, the one thing they couldn’t take away.

For the time being, he decided, that was good enough.

***

“Congressman Gold, sir?”

Kelley looked up to see April bringing him a tablet with an e-mail open on the screen. April made it a point to siphon out all the hate mail that Congressman Gold received for trying to help hybrids in their fight for equality so that any important matters could get through. While he had separate e-mails for that, they weren’t made public, and every now and then a rejuvenating boost of support would shine through in his charred inbox.

“You might want to read this.”

Kelley donned a pair of reading glasses and took the tablet from her, reading the words under his breath.

“Congressman Gold, I hope this e-mail finds you well. My name is Aaron Singer, and I live in Spicer, Texas. My family has owned a hybrid ranch for the past decade, and due to budget constraints, my father Bob has decided to sell...”

Gold scanned the letter a few times, the screen of the tablet reflected in his worried eyes while April looked on. It was dead quiet, save for the sound of Lily in the other room, playing with Sonya. Eventually, Gold set the tablet down on the table and picked up his cell phone, glancing back at the e-mail.

“You’re going to call him?”

“I’m going to call someone who can help.”

***

Jim Davenport was halfway through his usual morning omelet when for the second time that week; he was interrupted by a ringing phone. Mary was tending to the laundry in the other room, and the phone was within easy reach, so he picked it up and brought it to his ear, answering in the tail end of a bite.

“Hello.”

“Jim?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s Kelley.”

“Kelley Gold? I’ll be damned, good to hear from you! How are things?”

“All right, all right...listen; you got room for forty-four more hybrids?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I just received an e-mail this morning from a young man in Texas; his family owns a farm out there. They’re about to turn them over to the BHA, I’m sure they’d sooner sell them at a steep discount than give them up for free.”

“Of course. Got any way for me to get into contact with these people?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a number right here...” Kelley pressed the button on the tablet to wake it up, and read off the number to Davenport, who wrote it down on a pad hanging next to the phone.

“I’ll give them a call here shortly.”

“Great. Thanks for all you do, Jim.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Hey, did you hear Edwards is retiring?”

“No!”

“Yep, brought in some new kid in his twenties to run the show. Oh, shit, what’s his name? Peterson! He’s young, but evidently he’s got his head on straight, so we’ll see.”

“Yeah, yeah. Good for him, though. He’s definitely earned the rest.” Gold smiled and leaned back in his chair, watching Lily play tea party with his little girl. “Anyway. I’ve got some stuff to tend to, Lily and Trevor are about to take Sonya out to eat. I’d better get going. It was good talking to you again, Jim.”

“Same here, Kelley. Good luck with your campaign and let me know if you need any more money.”

“Shit, Jim. You’ve given plenty; I can’t thank you enough for that.”

“Anytime. Have a good one.”

Back at the ranch, Jim hung the phone back on the receiver and glanced at the number he’d written down. He would call in short order, but for the time being, there was an omelet to be finished.

***

Minding one’s own business was not always an option when it came to the rec yard. Kaisl was doing exactly that, or at least attempting to; half-wishing that he were a smoker just so that he would have something to do other than stand around looking like an idiot. Given his ‘rank’ in the system, he was terrified to talk to anyone. Even his cellmate despised him. He’d made sure that everyone knew exactly what Kaisl was in the pen for, and the other prisoners pulled no punches in making sure that Kaisl knew how much he was hated.

“Yo, fur-fucker!” Someone said, and Kaisl had the wind knocked out of him as the offending juvenile threw a basketball at him, hitting him square in the chest. He did his best to ignore the taunt, but it didn’t seem to help.

“Bet he’s still picking the fur out from between his teeth...” Someone said.

“So you like that red rocket, huh?” Another one asked, and the small crowd erupted in laughter. The skinny, but muscular bully pushed the shorter Kaisl back up against the wall. Kaisl reflexively shoved him back, and was met with a right hook to the mouth, busting his lip. He was then shoved to the hard, concrete ground, lying defeated in the shadow of the prisoner who was now untying the string holding his scrub pants around his waist.

“Guess you ain’t used to suckin’ human dick, huh?”

“I’ve done it.” Kaisl spat on the ground, a bit of blood visible on the cement, “Doesn’t quite stack up, if you ask me.”

“Oh!” The offense chuckled, raising his eyebrows. “Well, I think you just haven’t found the right one yet.” He sneered; grabbing his crotch and giving it a little shake in front of Kaisl, who shrank. This was it. All the stories were true; he was about to be a victim of prison rape, right in front of everyone, no less.

“You think you’re better than me or some shit?”

Kaisl didn’t even have time to answer, and when a seven foot-tall behemoth of a man butted in, he wondered how he didn’t notice him sooner. A large, white, bald man with a goatee stepped between them and stared down the offending party, causing him to back off. The man was no less than seven feet tall, and must have weighed just north of 350 pounds, making him quite the imposing figure. His face was wide and short, with a chin of bar stock steel, and his prominent brow was reminiscent of the earliest humans.

“You want to get to him? You’re going to have to go through me.”

“He your bitch?” The smaller man asked. Seven-footer just stared down at him, shaking his head. Bully played it cool, sauntering off with his friends with the kind of look that suggested that the battle was won, but the war was just beginning.

“Thanks.” Kaisl said quietly, hanging his head. Seven-footer turned around to look at him.

“Is it true what they say?”

Kaisl sighed, “Yeah.”

“What is his name?”

He looked up at the man who towered over him by nearly eighteen inches.

“Roman.”

“Roman...” Seven-footer repeated, just nodding his head.

“I’m not even sure if he’s still alive. I’m trying not to lose hope.”

“Was he in good health?”

“Very.”

“Then he’s still alive.”

Kaisl looked up with a glimmer of hope shining in his eyes, “How do you know?”

“I used to work for the Bureau, many years ago. The BHA very rarely actually executes hybrids; they simply die under their care, or lack thereof, rather. I’m sorry to tell you that he will not be well taken care of, but he is almost certainly still alive. It is likely that he is being forced to do manual labor, but if he is in good condition, eventually he will be re-homed.”

“Even if he’s guilty of adultery with a human?”

Seven-footer shrugged, “It’s the government. They only care about money. If they can make money off of selling him, then they won’t execute him. But be warned, the BHA and the justice system will do whatever it takes to keep you from being reunited. I’m sorry to say it, but it’s the truth.”

Kaisl just sighed, “I don’t care so much about that. I just want him to be okay. I want him to be happy and just...” he got choked up, “I wish it didn’t have to be like this. Why is no one doing anything? I mean, Congressman Gold-”

“Congressman Gold is fighting a losing battle.” Seven-footer explained, cutting him off, “He is almost single-handedly trying to overturn a practice that has the support of more than seventy-five percent of the country. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of ‘Enough’?”

“Enough?”

“They’re an underground paramilitary resistance faction run by an anonymous network of operators. They work sort of...under the radar.”

“And this ‘Enough’ will be able to bust Roman out of the Bureau?”

“Not likely. Chances are they don’t even know where he is, the BHA has holding centers all over the country.”

“Wouldn’t they have taken him to the one nearest to where we lived?”

Seven-footer sighed, “Look, there’s no easy way to say this. They’re not going to come for Roman. No one will. All you can hope for is that the BHA shows him some mercy and finds him a nice farm to live on.”

Kaisl went silent.

“If they come for one, they’re coming for all of them. Trouble is they just don’t have that kind of manpower. Not yet, at least.”

Together, they shared a moment of silence, looking like quite the paradox next to one another in the common area of the jail.

“Sometimes, you have to look at the big picture. We’re lovers in a dangerous time, we fur fuckers.” Seven-footer chuckled, and even Kaisl had to raise the corner of his lips in the wryest of smiles. “But...it gives me hope to think that someday, we’ll all be able to exist in peace.”

“You had a hybrid?”

“I did. Her name was Lyn. She was a leopard. Beautiful. And one of the only people who ever saw any beauty in me.” He joked, chuckling dryly with respect to his Cro-Magnon-like features.

“She sounds like a wonderful person.”

“Mm.”

“Can I ask you how long you’ve been here?”

Seven-footer drew in a deep breath through his nose.

“Next month will be two years.”

Kaisl balked.

“But don’t worry. Your arraignment and trial can happen a lot sooner than that, if you want.”

“And you don’t?”

“I’m holding out for a miracle.”

Kaisl went silent, weighing his options. Seven-footer likely had nothing to go back to on the outside, and like him, Kaisl was in a similar predicament. On the outside, there was no longer a job waiting for him. There was no longer a home, a bed, a bath; there was only a soul out there, waiting for its counterpart to return to the only thing it had left.

***

Aaron blinked himself awake to the tune of his ringtone, a rockabilly record that screamed through the speakers on his cell phone at uproarious volume. He groped blindly for the phone and picked it up, brought it to his ear, and answered it.

“Hello?”

“Hello, this is Jim Davenport. To whom am I speaking?”

“Who?”

“Jim Davenport of Davenport Ranch. Have I reached Singer’s Hybrid Farm?”

“Yes, um...if you’re interested in buying, you’re going to have to talk to my Dad, he’s the owner.”

“Is this Aaron?”

Aaron remained silent, wondering how the stranger on the phone knew his name.

“Did you send an e-mail to Congressman Kelley Gold yesterday?”

“Yes!” Aaron shot straight up in bed, suddenly very much awake.

“Congressman Gold asked me personally to get into contact with you, is your father available at the moment?”

“I’m sure he is; will you hold for a second?”

“Of course.”

Aaron was already out of bed by that time, and was doing his level best to contain his glee long enough to get his pants on. He threw on a shirt, grabbed the phone, and bounded down the stairs to the tune of a diesel engine running outside. A quick peek out the window revealed a large, white bus parked in front of the house, and Mr. Singer was standing next to it, speaking to a man in a black polo shirt and tactical khaki pants with a badge and a gun on his belt.

“One second, Mr. Davenport.” Aaron said calmly, not taking his eyes off the bus.

“Sure.”

Mr. Singer was halfway through a sentence when his son came bursting through the front door, arm extended, a cell phone in his grip. Bob reached out to take it, but before he could, Aaron pulled it back to his cheek and spoke into it.

“Sorry for the wait, here he is.”

Bob looked curiously at the phone and then held it up to his ear. “This is Bob, can I help you?”

“Bob, my name is Jim Davenport of Davenport Ranch. As I understand it, you have some hybrids you’re interested in getting rid of?”

“Are you a wholesaler?”

“No, I’m not a wholesaler, but I am interested in taking those hybrids off your hands.”

“You’re too late, pal, I’ve already got the Bureau here to pick ‘em up. Besides, I couldn’t sell them to you anyway; my license expired as of this morning.”

“The Bureau will grant you an extension.”

“Look, Mr. Davenport, I’m washing my hands of this business. I’ve already signed everything over to the Bureau, but I appreciate your call. Have a nice day.”

Aaron watched in horror as Bob ended the call and handed the phone back to him without so much as a word before turning back to continue his conversation with the BHA field agent.

“Dad! Why didn’t you take that deal?”

Bob turned to face his son, “Aaron, they don’t grant extensions without a commitment to another four years of licensure. We’d wind up spending more money doing that and trying to ship them out there than we would make off the deal, it’s just not worth it.”

“I don’t want them going to some BHA holding center, they’ll die in there!”

The field agent began to laugh, and shook his head.

“We’ll take good care of them, son. Don’t let the rumors get to you. We won’t even have them that long; we’ll find good homes for each and every one of them, I promise.”

“Yeah, there you go.” Bob said, corroborating what the agent was saying. Aaron just shook his head, and locked eyes with the agent.

“You’ve got some bullshit stuck in your teeth, there.” He said to the agent, mockingly picking at his front teeth while Bob frowned. Aaron disappeared around the other side of the bus where the hybrids were lined up with what few possessions they had in their arms, waiting for the order to board the vehicle that might as well have been one giant coffin. Henry stood towards the back of the line.

“Henry!”

The older wolf turned to the see the young human rushing towards him, and his face softened with pity. He too, was sad to part ways, but his gaze was set with the kind of wisdom that suggested he knew it was just the life of a hybrid.

“Good morning.” Aaron said, a little out of breath.

“I’m sorry to say that this morning, it’s good-bye.” Henry said sadly, and some of the other hybrids watched morosely while the human threw his arms around the wolf, pulling him into a hug.

“I wish there was something I could do, Henry. I wish this didn’t have to happen.”

“No one does, Aaron.” Henry said, looking back down the line towards the bus. Older hybrids typically did not fare well in BHA custody – no one wanted to purchase them, in dealer or end-user markets. “There’s nothing you can do for me at this point, I’m afraid.”

“I know. But I want to save Amanda. I don’t want her going to that place. I’ve heard...stories. Horror stories.”

“Yes. It’s a horrible place, the Bureau. I was there in my youth. I saw terrible things. I’ve heard tale that the conditions have improved there in the last twenty years or so, but I have my doubts.”

Aaron turned to look back towards the bus. Hybrids were beginning to stow their possessions in the storage bays underneath the bus and then boarding. They were getting closer, and time was running out.

“Aaron!” A voice said, and Amanda was seen rushing towards him from the front of the line, where she’d been doing her best to console some of the little ones. She threw her arms around him, and he pulled her into a hug, burying his face into her neck fur.

“I’m going to get her out of here.” He said to Henry, but the wolf grabbed him by the arm just in time to stop him.

“Aaron, don’t! Don’t compromise yourself or your future, not for us! It isn’t worth it!” He whispered hotly.

“She is.” Came the curt reply, and Aaron nodded to the wolf, pulling Amanda along by the wrist towards the front of the bus and around to the side where Bob was chatting with the field agent.

“Dad. Dad!”

Bob turned around.

“I want her to stay.” Aaron said with his tender voice shaking as he lifted her hand slightly. Amanda said nothing, but simply kept her gaze averted in the subordinate manner required of hybrids.

“Her?” Bob asked indignantly, gesturing to the smallish canine. “Why? I mean, we’re keeping four already. Why would we need her?”

“I just...I want her to stay. I know what...” His eyes flicked to the BHA field agent standing nearby, “...I know what goes on there. At the Bureau.”

“I don’t understand; what is it about this hybrid that you want to keep her so badly?”

Aaron was beginning to sweat, and his heart was beating out of his chest. He was rapidly losing his footing, and he could he feel his mind tripping over the words before he could even get them out of his mouth. Bob waited for an answer, his face taut with consternation. Aaron looked up into the bus window, and he watched as Henry boarded the bus and took a seat, staring straight ahead with the content and peaceful gaze of a man who knew he was headed for the execution chamber.

“I love her!” He said at last, his heart skipping a beat as the words left his lips.

“Oh, jeez.” The agent muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. Not wishing to get involved with the affairs of the family, he walked away, and Bob just stared blankly at his son, shaking his head for a moment.

“Aaron, these aren’t pets! They’re working class, they’re-they’re slaves for Pete’s sake!”

“Not her.” Aaron shook his head quickly, “She’s not a pet, and she’s not a slave. Not to me!”

“Then what is she? Huh? Tell me, Aaron, what is she? Because if she’s neither of those things, I can’t possibly imagine what else!”

“She’s my girlfriend!”

Bob’s brain short circuited. Aaron could almost see the smoke wafting out of his ears, and as frightening as it was to think he might explode with rage at any moment, there was a cathartic and oddly satisfying feeling of a weight being lifted from the young man’s shoulders. There was no turning back now. Thankfully, Aaron had a contingency plan; one that he’d put together months ago just in case they were ever found out – he didn’t know where they would go, but they would go somewhere far, far away.

“Go inside.” Bob fumed, turning beet red while he obviously fought to keep from choking the life out of his own son. “And you,” he pointed to Amanda, “get on the bus. Now!”

“Yes sir.” She mumbled sadly, casting a look over at Aaron, who looked back at her with a wink on his way into the house. Nearly all of the hybrids had boarded by that time, and there were just enough seats left for those that remained. Henry had saved a spot for his daughter, and he could see her out there in line, knowing that soon, he would be able to comfort her.

Once inside the house, Aaron grabbed the pack that contained everything he would need to stay on the road for a few days with a hybrid; including some paperwork Bob had long since signed – a blank check of sorts allowing his son to take a hybrid with him should he ever decide to move out on his own. Aaron had already filled out everything with Amanda’s information; species, gender, height, et cetera, and he’d had a collar made shortly after they kissed for the first time.

“Never thought I’d actually need this...” He muttered, and gripping it in his sweaty hand, he slung the loaded backpack over his shoulder and dashed out of the house. “Amanda!”

Just outside the bus, Amanda’s ears swiveled up and towards the house and the sound of her lover’s voice coming from it just as the field agent grabbed her wrist to put a fluorescent green band around it, marking her for transport.

“Aaron?” She called back, and in a fit of emotion, she jerked her hand away from the agent, tearing off around the front of the bus while the agent shouted for her prompt return. Somehow, she knew exactly what he had in mind. “Aaron!”

“Hey!” The field agent rushed over to stop them, but Aaron shoved the paperwork into the man’s hands and then pulled the collar out of his pocket.

“Put this on.” He instructed, and Amanda took it from him, securing it around her neck.

“What the hell is this?” Bob sneered, storming over, “You! I told you to get on the bus!”

“She’s mine, Dad. She’s staying with me.”

“Not in this house, she’s not! Give me that!” He snatched the paper from the now-placated agent’s hands and looked at it, face red and forehead sweating.

“No. I’m not transferring her to you!”

“You have to!” Aaron shouted.

“Will you do something?” Bob turned to the agent, “Arrest her, do whatever you have to do!”

“I can’t! That paperwork is legitimate; it shows the date of sale as occurring during your most recent period of licensure, the transfer can happen at any point, as long as the owner has the necessary credentials.”

“I don’t believe this.”

“You don’t have to. I’m doing right by myself.” Aaron said flatly, jogging over to the truck with Amanda in tow. Slamming the door, he started the truck and slipped his sunglasses onto his face.

“You’re not going anywhere!” Bob said, pulling on the door handle while his son started to drive away.

“Bye, Dad! I’ll be in touch!”

“Don’t do this, Aaron! Don’t do this to your mother and I!” He shouted now running next to the truck. “All for a fuckin’ hybrid!”

Aaron hit the brakes, stopping the truck.

“I wouldn’t talk like that Dad. You only get one chance at a first impression. After all, if Gold gets his way in Congress...she might be your future daughter-in-law.”

Amanda leaned forward a little so she could be seen, and she waved sheepishly to Bob with a smile as the color drained out of the old man’s face. Aaron threw the truck in gear, dropped the clutch and peeled off down the dirt path towards the highway, leaving a trail of dust in their wake as they headed out for new horizons together.

***

“...And then I said, ‘you’d never get more than five-hundred thousand for this two-bit operation, I’m offering you one-point-two million!’”

Edward Szyman laughed through his cigar as he readied his putter, flexing his gloved fingers around the rubberized grip of the club before giving the small, white ball a calculated tap, watching it roll gracefully into the cup on the putting green in his high-rise office.

“He broke like a dry twig. Gave up the whole farm and all of his hybrids. Given the quality of their products, they’ll be worth millions.”

“And what about the Southern Hybrid Exchange?”

“Don’t worry about them. They might be big-time, but we just opened up another hybrid supercenter forty miles north of them. They’ll be out of business before they know it.”

Allen Mink, Head of Operations for the Bureau of Hybrid Affairs sat on the chestnut brown, tufted leather couch in Szyman’s office, puffing on a cigar of his own while he nursed a glass of 40 year-old scotch.

“No, I’m not worried about them. It’s Davenport that concerns me.”

“Davenport...” Szyman grumbled. He leaned against his desk and tapped the underside of his ring against the edge.

“Yes, he just purchased another farm. One that we were just about to run into the ground.” Mink sneered, re-lighting his cigar.

“We’ll still run it into the ground. Which one was it?”

“Ah, it was the Davis’ place.”

“Oh.”

“What concerns me is that he doesn’t seem to be doing anything with the farms that he’s purchasing. None of them are currently active. Do you think he’s on to us?”

“Allen, it’s not as though what we’re doing is a secret. We’re the big business in this game, we run the small guys out. It’s just what we do. Granted, no one knows the BHA is funding it, but...” Szyman shrugged and popped the cigar back into his mouth.

“He’s our only competitor, Ed, and he doesn’t even sell to the public! Who does he think he is?”

“Relax. I’ve got an idea.” Szyman smiled slyly, his bald head shining in the track lighting of his office, “I’m not raising my offer again, so we’re going to have to work at him from the inside out.”

“How do you figure?”

“It’s easy. Do you have field agents who you can trust with our partnership on this?”

“Yeah, definitely.”

“Good. Have them conduct the next quarterly inspection at Davenport. I’ll take care of the rest. I think we’ll find that these hybrids can be good for more than just manual labor.”

“What about Gold?”

“Gold has been taken care of. I’ve got Ivory and her team working on that as we speak, he won’t be around long as this rate. I’m sure of it.”

“To victory.” Mink said coolly, grinned, and raised his glass. Szyman echoed it, and two rich and powerful men drank to a scheme that could only be devised by men who were as smart as they were evil.

***

No one looked twice at Aaron and Amanda when they stopped. Of course, they kept their distance from one another in public so as not to arouse suspicion, but otherwise, everyone just assumed that Amanda belonged to him. Legally speaking, she did, but they had an understanding that transcended far beyond.

“Won’t your Dad be looking for you?” Amanda asked as they filled up the truck. The sun was setting ahead of them, and they’d been on the road all day.

“I’m sure he will. But I have every intention of making it to Davenport’s before he finds us. If worse comes to worse, I’ll drop you off at Davenport Ranch and I’ll come back for you later. It’s a safe haven for hybrids, so you won’t have anything to worry about.”

“Except for you.”

“I’ll be fine.” Aaron said, and they entered the small service station to get some drinks and snacks for the road. “What would you like?”

“Just some water.” She said, and opened the cooler door only to be sharply reprimanded by the store owner.

“Hey! Get your grubby paws out of there!”

Amanda let go of the door and laid her ears back. Aaron held his tongue. He’d have liked to knock the man’s teeth out, but that sort of thing wasn’t conducive to laying low. Instead, he retrieved the water for her, and approached the counter, mumbling a meek ‘sorry’. The man just scoffed.

“What, you’re buying that for her? I’ll give you a cup; you can fill it up with water from the faucet outside, no need to waste money on a hybrid.”

“It’s quite all right.” Aaron insisted quietly, paying for the items with cash.

“Suit yourself.” The man replied with a shrug over the ping of the cash register drawer opening and handed him his change. Minding his manners, Aaron thanked him, and they departed the shop feeling a little sourer than when they entered.

“The nerve of some people.” He muttered, topping off the truck’s gas tank, “I’d like to think that one day, Gold’s bill will triumph, and we’ll see a new generation of accepting and compassionate human beings. But it won’t happen in our lifetime.”

“Why do you say that?” Amanda asked, her ears low as she got back into the truck.

“Well, humans don’t have the best reputation for taking care of themselves, let alone each other.” Aaron started the truck and put it in gear, “For centuries, the lighter colored humans like me enslaved the darker colored humans just as they do with hybrids today. Eventually, they declared slavery to be illegal, and the slaves were freed. But it took another century for them to gain equality, and even after that, they still had opposition.”

“I see.”

“I’d like to think we humans learned from our past, but as they say, history repeats itself.”

“But if history repeats itself, does that mean that someday hybrids will have rights too?”

“Well, all we can do is hope.”

“I hope that we can get my Dad back.” Amanda fidgeted in the seat and wrung her hands. She stared out the window at what little scenery rural Texas had to offer whizzing by, and Aaron took a breath.

“I’ll do whatever I can. I wish that I could promise you that we can get him back, but there’s no way to know for sure.” He looked over at her, but she did not look back at him. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok. I know he’s happy just to know I’m in good hands, it’s just that he’s all I’ve got. I’m all he’s got. Our family has all been sold off, my Mom was sold off years ago and we haven’t seen her since. I miss her terribly.”

“Things need to change.” Aaron said quietly, and fixed his eyes on the road. Dusk was on the horizon, and behind them, night had set in to the east. Amanda was drifting off to sleep next to him, and he was about ready to stop for the night as well, so he began to keep his eyes peeled for motels that were hybrid-friendly. The next town was nearly twenty miles ahead, and he wondered if he would have enough energy left to make it there in time to refuel his truck and himself. He fixed his gaze on the large, white bus in front of them and noted that it resembled one of those large, white buses used to transport prisoners. Just then, he noticed the tags on the vehicle: government plates.

“Oh, shit.”

Amanda stirred in her seat, “What’s wrong?”

“I think...yeah, that bus is full of hybrids. I think that’s the bus that was at the ranch earlier.”

She shrank in her seat a little, eyes going wide.

“Do you think they can see us?”

“No, it’s too dark and my headlights are on...I wonder how far we are from the BHA holding center?”

“What can we do?”

“I don’t know. Maybe if we – whoa!”

Aaron muttered a few choice words under his breath as someone in a black SUV shot past him in the oncoming lane, speeding all the way past the bus and disappearing in front of it. What a jerk, he thought, but no sooner than the thought had left his mind, a second SUV of the same kind pulled the same stunt, inserting itself rudely between the old pickup and the back of the transport bus. Aaron started to become concerned; something was definitely going on and he wasn’t sure he wanted to be a part of it, but when he looked in his rear view mirror to see a third black SUV following closely behind him, it began to appear as though he would not have a choice in the matter.

On the bus, the hybrids that were not already asleep were beginning to take notice of the fact that something was amiss, and many were looking out the windows trying to see just what was going on outside the bus. They were slowing down to a crawl, and with a hiss and a squeal, the bus stopped altogether.

Aaron felt his glutes clench involuntarily when he was forced to stop. They were alone on that rural Texas highway, no one around but the hybrids, the BHA, and whoever was in those black SUV’s.

“Shit...shit...”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have made your Dad so mad?” Amanda said, her suggestion too little too late.

Aaron took a deep breath and held it as he watched two men disembark from the SUV behind him. They matched their vehicles, clad in all black, balaclavas obscuring their features, and they approached on either side of the truck at a brisk run, guns drawn.

“Out of the truck! Both of you!”

“Okay! Okay!” Aaron kept his hands raised, stepping out of the truck while Amanda did the same, and they found themselves thrown to the ground, their wrists secured behind their backs with flex cuffs.

“Amanda?”

“Shut up!” One of the men ordered, “Keep your eyes on the ground!”

Aaron did as he was told just in time to come within a hair of soiling himself the moment he heard a fusillade of gunfire and yelling erupt from the general direction of the bus.

“Dad!” Amanda screamed, and she attempted to get to her feet with arms behind her back, but the masked man behind her gave her a hard shove between the shoulder blades with the heel of his boot, pushing her back down onto her front and immobilizing her with his weight.

The last few gunshots died out in the rural air, and over that, some conversation and commotion could be heard. Shuffling. Orders being barked to the hybrids aboard the bus. Zippers? Aaron was desperately trying to control his breathing, and he kept his eyes on the gravel for fear. Footfalls came near, and he listened to the conversation that transpired above him.

“It’s secure. Alpha team’s got the cargo. Bravo team; you’re on transport. Charlie team, get rid of that truck.”

“Roger.”

Whoever had just given the orders knelt down beside Aaron, who didn’t let him get one word in before he started to spill the beans.

“We’re not a threat...” He said, voice shaking, “I have a hybrid here, and her father is on that bus. I’m trying to get her to Davenport Ranch.”

“You’re Aaron Singer, aren’t you?”

Aaron turned to look quizzically at the man.

“Yeah. Yeah! Yeah, I am, who-who are you?”

“Don’t worry about that. Hey Wyatt, I got a P.I.D. on Singer, we’ve got him.”

“Roger that. Get ‘em in the trucks.”

The man in the balaclava pulled out a large knife and brandished it at Aaron, who quivered where he lay.

“You gonna cause me a problem?”

“No sir.”

The man nodded and slipped the knife between Aaron’s wrists, cutting the flex cuffs in two and freeing the young man’s arms. Aaron was helped up, and he turned to see two men going to work on his truck. One was removing the license plates and VIN plate; the other was emptying a five-gallon can of gasoline into the cab and the bed.

“Come on.” The unidentified man took the frightened farm boy by the arm and led him towards one of the SUV’s where in the reflection of the rear windshield he could see his truck being set ablaze on the side of that barren Texas highway.

“Where are you taking us?” He dared to ask, thankful, at least, that he wasn’t still sitting in the cab of his now burning old Dodge.

“Davenport Ranch, of course.”

***

The hunger pains had finally stopped.

Roman looked sourly at the package that had been tossed to him in the cell from the man pushing the cart down the row, and though he debated actually throwing it back in a show of defiance, he refrained, knowing that it would not end well if he did. What was in the package was invariably disgusting and on the verge of unpalatable, but even he knew that he couldn’t survive long on the little bit of water they afforded him on a semi-daily basis. Scowling, he tore open the greenish-colored package and looked inside to see what looked like beef stew. It smelled all right, not too terrible in comparison to the egg-like concoction he’d been presented with the previous morning, and there was enough in there to sustain him for a little while longer. He pinched a cube of meat between his thumb and forefinger and lifted it out of the gravy, shaking it off in the package before popping it into his mouth. Roman’s eyes lit with glee when he tasted the meat, and he went back in for more with all of the visceral, primal enthusiasm of a starving animal. He actually had to stop halfway through to catch his breath, and only then did he notice that Shay across from him had gotten the raw deal with only a package of nuts and raisins.

“Shay.” Roman hissed with his face pressed up against the bars of his cell, the open package of beef stew clasped between his hands. She looked up. Roman checked to make sure that the man with the cart had his back turned, and laying it down on the floor, Roman slid the package across the hall to her.

The shhhhhhhh of the package on the concrete floor alerted the man with the cart. Wheeling about, he stormed back towards the cells where he heard the telltale sound come from.

“Who did that? Whoever did that had better fess up, or there won’t be shit for food for the rest of the day!” The man shrieked, turning to look at Shay, who was holding the package like it was her own child.

“Open that cell!” The man shouted, and two other men started towards them. Shay backed all the way up to the far end of the cell, sat down on her knees and started trying to eat what was left of the cold stew in the shortest possible amount of time. The door rattled open metallically, and the guards rushed in.

“Hey!” Roman shouted from his cell, grabbing the bars, the chains from his shackles ratting against them. “Leave her alone!”

“Shut up, cat!” One of the guards said, and threw a fist through the bars, punching Roman square in the mouth. He stumbled back with a yowl, bringing his hands up to touch his smarting lip. A bit of blood stained the pads of his fingers, and when he looked up, Shay was being pulled out of the cell, restrained by two of the men while a third inserted something into her collar. There was a beep and Shay yelped loudly just before going limp, dead weight in the guards’ arms.

“Whoa, jeez, she’s fucking heavy.” One said.

“Yeah, no shit. Curvy too. She’s got bigger tits than your girlfriend.” The other laughed.

“Man, shut up!”

The banter ended as they exited the cell block and shut the large door behind them, plunging the room back into silence, save for the footsteps of the man with the cart. He stopped at Roman’s cell and looked at him with a piercing gaze.

“You mouth off to me one more time and see what happens. Give me a fucking reason to beat your ass.” He sneered and walked off to finish distributing the food to the other prisoners. Roman shook as he wrapped his hands around the bars of the cell and rested his forehead against them. Somehow, some way, he would find his freedom, and he would find his way back to Kaisl.

Hours passed, and he still hadn’t seen Shay. Roman tried not to think too hard about what might be happening to her somewhere in the hell hole they were forced to call home. He had one more person to worry about now, but in an odd sort of way, it kept him motivated, and kept his will to live up. At the end of the hall, the doors opened, and more guards appeared, but Shay was not with them. They approached Roman’s cell, unlocked it, and tossed in a pair of plain, white boxer shorts.

“Put them on and get up.”

Roman didn’t need to be told twice. He put on the first thing he’d worn in days as quickly as he could with shackled wrists, and he stood up, turning around when instructed, and he was marched out of the cell block and down a hallway, one he hadn’t been down before.

I’m really in trouble now, the cat thought to himself when he was ushered into an office where sat a middle-aged, bald man in a three-piece suit. The bald man looked Roman up and down for a few seconds, and then nodded aloofly.

“He’ll do. Leave us.”

“Yes sir.” The guards said, and left them alone in the room. Szyman was the first to speak.

“Don’t try anything funny.” Szyman smirked, pulling the left panel of his pinstriped suit jacket away to reveal a nickel-plated Colt pistol in a shoulder holster. Roman just nodded.

“Do you know who I am?”

“No sir.”

“My name is Edward Szyman. I’m the CEO of Patheon, but that’s not important. I know they give you a number here, but I’m an ardent foe of such practices; do you have a name?”

“Roman, sir.”

“Roman, I’d like to make a deal with you. A proposition, if you will. You go to work for me, and you’ll be handsomely rewarded.”

“I’ll do anything to get out of this place.” Roman blurted out exhaustedly. Szyman just chuckled.

“I figured as much. Tell me, Roman, what is it that you want more than anything?”

“I want to see Kaisl again.”

Szyman nodded his shiny head slowly, his hands folded in front of him.

“Who is Kaisl?”

“My mate.”

“I see. Roman, you do what I need you to do for me, and if you are successful, then I will make sure that you and this Kaisl are reunited for good. Do we have a deal?”

Roman actually gave it some thought for a moment. He wasn’t sure what this impeccably-dressed stranger had in store for him, but whatever it was, it had to be better than the conditions he was currently facing. It was his ticket out. It was his first step to seeing his boyfriend again.

“Deal.” He said, and he stopped short for a moment. “Can Shay come too?”

“Shay?”

“She’s a Labrador hybrid who is in prison here because of an accident that happened that killed her master. It wasn’t her fault, she doesn’t need to be here, and they’re torturing her!”

Szyman wet his lips, “Roman, I don’t condone the things that they do here. I’m a powerful man, but I don’t have enough power to influence an entire government agency. Indeed, this is a hellish place, but I’m sure that this Shay will be fine. Now, the guards are going to take you to the immunization room, you’ll receive some shots, and then we’ll get you on a bus out to the ranch where you’ll be staying.”

“Yes sir.”

The guards came in to collect him.

“Roman?” Szyman said as he was led out of the room. The cat turned to look at him.

“Don’t let me down.”

The cat’s heart thumped in his chest as he was led towards the room where the immunizations were to be done. Two swinging doors at the end of the hall welcomed him, beyond which he could not possibly imagine the horrors he would witness. Ten feet from the doors, Roman watched them swing open, and Shay was led out from them by two more guards, looking in worse shape than she’d been in when she was taken from her cell earlier. Her eyes were empty, glassy and lifeless, and the fur all over her face was matted down from what only could have been tears.

“Shay...” Roman whispered. “Shay?” He asked, louder.

“Shut up, fleabag!” Ordered the guard.

“Shay? Shay!” He cried, but she did not respond as they passed him. “Shay, stay strong! I’ll come back for you! I promise!”

“I said shut up!” The guard said and thumped him in the back of the skull. Roman was pushed through the swinging doors into a whitewashed laboratory of stainless steel and white linoleum, several large examination tables lined up against one wall. One such table contained a hybrid that was strapped down, a muzzling device keeping his mouth shut, but failing to contain the screams of pain and terror that were emitting from the poor man’s vocal cords. Roman didn’t know what they were doing to him. He didn’t want to know. He just tried to tune out what he was seeing and hearing while the guards readied the shots he was supposed to receive.

Roman was seated in a chair next to a female guard who began to draw a clear liquid out of a bottle with no label on it. He’d had shots at the hybrid hospital before, and he certainly wasn’t afraid of needles, but it wasn’t until that moment that he realized that they hadn’t even told him what was about to be injected into his bloodstream. He had seen too many movies for that to be a good thing. But this was necessary. There was no turning back now. He’d already agreed to the deal, even though he didn’t know what the details of it were. Whatever, he thought as the needle was inserted into his arm.

Any step that led him closer to Kaisl was a step worth taking.

***

Davenport’s was a sprawling place, occupying several hundred acres of property in the Western United States. A cozy little ranch house could be seen from the highway, and several larger buildings could be seen further to the east of that. Aaron of course had his reservations about the new place, but he had to admit, it was beautiful. Lush, green grass covered the rolling hills of the property, and mountains could be seen in the distance through the morning fog.

“Sleep well?” Asked the driver, turning his head to face Aaron, who rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and turned to look at the man next to him. Whoever was driving was a man in his thirties, clean-shaven, with short brown hair – just an average-looking guy. He was a lot more imposing with the balaclava and submachine gun, but there were more important matters at hand.

“Well enough.” He answered, yawning. His sleepiness was grappling with his apprehension for control over his current mood, and without his truck or a home to return to; he wondered where he was going to go from that point. All he knew was that Amanda was on that bus in front of them, and in a matter of minutes, they would be reunited once more.

The vehicles stopped just in front of the house, and a doe hybrid stepped out of the front door to greet them. Aaron watched while she stuck her head back into the house, calling for who he could only assume was Mr. Davenport himself.

“Wait here.” The driver said, and he stepped out of the car to confer with the one driving the bus. Aaron figured the hybrids were probably as confused as he was, but they might have been told something he didn’t know yet. After all, they were going to be staying there. He watched while an older man stepped out of the house and stood on the porch with a cup of coffee. For being a man of legendary status amongst the slave trade, Mr. Davenport seemed a harmless and innocuous man. He was thin and wiry, wore pressed blue jeans over plain cowboy boots, and a light blue denim shirt framed by a pair of suspenders. His white hair was combed straight back, its color robbed from a lifetime’s worth of stress, and his face was beset with the wrinkles that come with age, but he smiled as he conferred with the men from the previous night. Aaron took that as a good sign.

Ahead of him, the hybrids began to file off the bus at the instruction of the resistance. They waited for further direction as they assembled, Amanda standing near the front near her dad. Henry put his arm around her. Jim set his coffee down on the porch railing and walked over to address the group. Aaron rolled down the window in the SUV so that he could hear.

“Good morning!” Jim said with a smile on his face.

“Good morning, sir.” The hybrids chorused in unison.

“That doesn’t sound like a very good morning to me! I said, good morning!”

“Good morning, sir!” They said, louder this time, though still lacking in volume. Jim just laughed. They weren’t used to that kind of thing and he knew it; he just liked to have fun with the newcomers.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, it’s early. Any of you familiar with where you are right now? Any of you heard of this place?” He looked at Henry, who was raising his hand at about chest level. “Yes, you there, wolf. What’s your name?”

“Henry, sir.”

“Henry, all right. Where are we, Henry?”

“We’re at Davenport Ranch, sir.”

“Correct! You’re at the finest hybrid ranch in the country. Probably all the world. Now don’t be fooled, this is no vacation spot, you’ll still be expected to work. But things are a little different on my farm.” Jim began, walking back and forth across the breadth of the crowd so as to be heard by all.

“On this farm, you don’t need to be afraid of being whipped, or beaten. No one is abused here. You won’t have to worry about going hungry. You’ll receive three meals a day. You’ll be expected to keep your living quarters in top shape, as well as conduct personal hygiene on a daily basis. Now I know some of you are not used to that, some of you may have been on farms in the past where a rainy day is your only hope for a shower. Not here. All of the barracks have hot, running water and fully functional toilets!”

Muzzles gaped in awe at the prospect of using the same household fixtures that humans took for granted every day. Some of them had never used anything but an outhouse. All of them, however, were thoroughly confused. Henry spoke up, raising a hand.

“Sir? I’m...I think I speak for everyone when I say we’re a little confused.”

“Entirely understandable! You’re unused to these kinds of conditions. But before I go any further, I want you all to know one thing: this is your last stop.”

Everyone was silent. Even Aaron, who waited in the car, held his breath at the end of that sentence.

“On this farm, you are not slaves. No one here is for sale, unless you wish to be. If you decide that the Davenport Ranch lifestyle is not for you, then...you’re free to go! If you don’t like it here, don’t be afraid to tell me. I’ll find another place for you to go within a day, and we’ll have you out of here. That has yet to happen, but as they say, there is a first time for everything. No, on this farm, no one is a slave.”

He met their vacant and uncertain gazes with a sly one of his own.

“But on this farm, everyone is a soldier. We’ll explain that in more detail later. Now!” Jim snapped his fingers, “Who’s hungry?”

Jim laughed when every hybrid in the formation raised his or her hand. Aaron watched while the driver of the car that he was in began to walk back towards the vehicle. He opened the door and climbed into the driver’s seat.

“Sir?” Aaron asked. The driver froze with his head turned towards him, but did not respond. “Am I going to be allowed to stay here?”

“I don’t know.” He answered after a moment’s thought, “You’ll need to speak with Mr. Davenport about that.”

Aaron just nodded. The driver started the car, and following the lead vehicle, they took off across the ranch towards the copse of buildings lined up in neat little rows. Behind them, the hybrids were getting back on the bus, presumably to join them.

“You hungry?” The driver asked.

“Not really.”

“You ought to eat something. Some of these hybrids here, they can do it up right in the mess hall.”

The mess hall itself was pure military. The caliche road that led up to the large building in the center of what appeared to be barracks buildings turned into a semi-circle lot in front of the brick structure, and an American flag flapped proudly in the wind at the top of a pole in the middle. Aaron departed the car along with the driver and they walked inside to be greeted by the smell of honey and maple syrup, fresh-baked biscuits, and the salty smell of bacon all joining in a medley of scents that made his mouth water.

“So this is the dining facility, or D-FAC, for short.” The driver explained, walking the young man towards the chow line. A few hybrids were mopping the floor while others took chairs down from the tables, setting them upright.

“All those long, skinny buildings are the barracks. We also have a gym, and a school for the young hybrids.” He continued. Aaron walked down the chow line, watching while hybrid kitchen staff prepared food and drinks for breakfast.

“Where is everyone?”

“Probably still waking up. They’ll be in soon.” The driver responded, looking at his watch.

“I never did catch your name. I’m Aaron. But you knew that, I’m sure.”

“Wade.” They shook hands.

What happened next was a thing of beauty; a rare sight for the hybrid world, and seeing it reduced Aaron to tears. A cacophony of voices followed the opening of the doors, and a line of hybrids filed in, the first few picking up trays and silverware before proceeding to the line. They were each dressed in freshly laundered work pants or jeans, button-down, cotton twill work shirts, and boots or shoes, all of which appeared to be of reputable quality. Some of them even wore a watch. Each hybrid was served generous portions of whatever he or she wanted, and all of it looked first-rate. This was nothing special. At Davenport Ranch, it was an everyday occurrence. Aaron could tell by the looks on their faces, and he was overcome with emotion when he thought about how they might view the newcomers in their ragged clothing. Aaron clasped a hand over his mouth, and he wept as he watched. Wade turned to look at him with a stoic gaze, understanding what the young man was going through.

“My hybrids are going to hate me when they see this.” He whispered amidst his tears.

“No. They wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

“Do you work for Mr. Davenport?”

“I wouldn’t say we work for him, per se,” Wade began as they proceeded towards the chow line, “you might say that he...’hosts’ us.”

“What about Congressman Gold, do you work with him?”

“No, and we aim to keep it that way. You see, he doesn’t condone the kind of work that we do, and if he knew that Davenport was associated with us, he would cut ties with this ranch immediately, and our funding would go...” Wade made a downward spiral with his hand, imitating the flushing of a toilet.

“You mean murdering BHA field agents.” Aaron said flatly.

“Sounds bad when you say it like that.”

Aaron just shrugged a little and watched the hybrids ahead of him hold out their trays to be served. It struck a chord with him. There they stood in line, waiting in line behind hybrids to get food. To him, it was like a glimpse into the far future. So simple a display of equality was seen nowhere else in the world, and the young man couldn’t help but smile when he thought about how lucky he really was to see such a thing with his own eyes.

“Jim funded most of the start-up for this place using his life’s savings, but we live mainly off of donations.” Wade explained, sitting across from Aaron at a table while they ate in the vicinity of several hybrids, “They come in from Gold’s op. They use what they need to keep their website up and running, and they use some of it to campaign with, but the rest of it goes to us. That’s how we’re able to provide meals like this, clothing, shoes, et cetera. Mr. Davenport would be a millionaire if he kept all of the donation money for himself, but he’s really dedicated to the cause.”

“He sounds like a great man.” Aaron remarked.

“Well, he’s been through a lot. You’ll get to meet him at some point today. You know, I see a lot of potential in you. You’re from Texas, yes?”

“I am.”

Wade nodded, “I like Texans. They don’t take any shit.”

“When will we get to talk to him?”

“At some point today, I’m sure.” The older man swallowed the bite in his mouth and went in for another, continuing the conversation. Aaron wondered if cold-blooded killers like Wade were known for not having the best of table manners, but he tried to keep himself from thinking too hard about it.

About that time, the hybrids who once were residents of Singer’s Farm began to file in behind the last of the hybrids that lived at Davenport Ranch. Aaron kept his face in his breakfast, unable to meet the eyes of the hybrids he knew, for he could see their gazes of shock and awe in the periphery of his vision. They’d always done the best they could do for their hybrids – that was all they’d had, and all they’d had as a result was cheap, government surplus meat, beans, and rice. It was all he ever deserved to eat again, he thought.

Once breakfast had been consumed, it was time for the newcomers to be shown their new homes. Aaron followed along with Wade, who explained how everything worked.

“It’s a lot like when you get to boot camp in the military. We made it that way by design; it’s the most efficient way to handle taking care of this many people at once.”

Aaron followed Wade into one of the barracks where the males were getting set up. Showerheads hissed somewhere down a hallway off to the left. The bunk beds that lined the walls were stacked two high, and were constructed of quality hickory, not rusted metal like those at Singer’s Farm. The mattresses were thick and supple, and every bed was made in the manner of a military bunk. Wall lockers of the same material were at the foot of each bunk, allowing the hybrids a place to store their clothing and personal items.

“This place is a ‘round the clock operation.” Wade explained, gesturing to some hybrids, still asleep in their bunks, “They were on the breakfast shift, for instance. They have to be up in the wee hours of the morning to prepare breakfast for this many people, so they sleep at a different time.”

“I see.”

Off to his right, a wolf hybrid with a clipboard was writing down each new hybrid’s name and assigning him a bunk. He greeted each newcomer with a smile and a handshake, though seeming to take care not to spook his new comrades.

“This is where the showers are.” Wade said, taking Aaron down a row of sinks and toilets. Next, it was out the door to the clothing issue facility, a large, metal barn that was nicer than most living quarters for hybrids around the country.

“This is where we issue out clothing.”

Aaron reached into a large, industrial cardboard container and pulled out a neatly-folded, brand-new work shirt, still in the packaging. Soon, one of his old hybrids would likely be wearing it. Wade led him to another building on the outskirts of the miniature town, one that looked far more secure. The exterior was brick, and the door was steel. The inside was constructed of poured concrete, and a large vault door loomed in front of them.

“What’s this?”

Wade did not reply, but simply busied himself with the dial on the door.

“The armory.” He said quietly, and pushed it open.

“Why are you trusting me with this?”

“We don’t have any other choice.” Wade explained while the fluorescent lights in the poured concrete structure flickered to life, “And you have no choice but to trust us.”

Aaron’s eyes flicked to a large, cardboard container on a pallet filled with empty, black body bags.

“If Davenport chooses to let you stay, of course.”

He just nodded. The armory was a room about the size of Aaron’s bedroom back home, though instead of a bed, a desk, nightstands, and a dresser, the two foot-thick concrete walls were lined with racks upon racks of different weapons, most of which the young man had only seen in video games. Wade walked calmly to the center of the room and pulled a weapon out of a rack sitting there, fiddling idly with it.

“Who are you people?” Aaron asked at last, his voice brimming with apprehension. Somehow, he already knew the answer. Wade just smiled.

“We’re ‘Enough’.”

“So you do exist...”

“Aaron,” Wade started, setting the weapon back into the rack, “We are more than just a haven for hybrids. We are the control center for the resistance. And ‘Enough’ is not about us humans who are sick of seeing hybrids treated as slaves. ‘Enough’ is about hybrids that have had exactly that. We have to be their ambassadors to the outside world, because if the hybrids were to stand up for themselves, they would pay for it with their hides. Here, we train them so that when it comes down to it, they won’t have to.”

Suddenly, Aaron thought, it all began to make sense.

***

Dear Mom and Dad,

I am writing to let you know that I am doing well. I’m sorry that I left the way that I did, but I am an adult now, and it’s time that I move on with my own life. I have been presented with some new opportunities, ones that are more in line with the lifestyle that I’ve chosen. I love you both with all my heart, but I love Amanda too, and I’m sorry that you don’t respect that, even though I can understand why. Please understand that given the nature of my job, I cannot disclose the details regarding it. I will keep in touch.

Love,

Aaron

Aaron picked up the sheet of notebook paper and stared at it, reading his words over again while he waited for the men in the other room. Once all the hybrids had been settled in, Wade had taken Aaron back to the house, where he’d conferred in private with Jim and Red, the man in charge of ‘Enough’. Aaron folded up the letter and placed it in his jacket pocket just as Jim walked back into the kitchen.

“I understand you’ve got nowhere else to go.” Jim started and took his seat. “That’s not my problem. It ain’t my problem, and it ain’t my responsibility to fix it for you.”

Aaron’s heart sank. Things were already not sounding good.

“I understand, sir.”

“It’s your responsibility, all right? And if you want to stay here, then you’ve got to be willing to work. You’re going to have to show that you want to be here every day, because let me tell you something, young man, there are secrets in this operation. Secrets that if they were to be disclosed to the wrong people, could shut our asses down lickety-split, you got that?”

“Yes sir!”

“You ever kill a man, Singer?”

Aaron balked. That was the last thing he expected, and Jim was far from joking. He could tell by the look in his eyes. Those icy, grayish-blue eyes that stared out from deep-set sockets, dark in an odd contrast to the stark white hair atop his head.

“I saw three men die last night.”

“Damn it, I didn’t ask you if you’ve ever seen someone die! I asked if you’ve ever pulled the trigger on a man and watched him drop! If you’ve ever taken your knife and gutted someone and watched the life slip away in their eyes...”

“No sir.”

“I did it more times that I can count. More times than I would admit to, even if I knew. I earned my Silver Star. I earned my PTSD. I earned my scars, my money, my golden years...” He trailed off, his piercing eyes staring off into space before fixing back on him.

“And you’re going to earn yours, too.”

Aaron gulped silently and nodded.

“You willing to do that? You willing to be a part of something bigger than yourself, and dedicate yourself to this cause?”

“I’m willing.”

That affirmation was all they needed. Aaron knew there was an unspoken agreement that he’d be killed if he were to compromise them in any way, shape, or form. If these guys could make BHA field agents disappear, they could easily do the same with him. But he was willing. He had the farewell letter to Mom and Dad in his pocket. Now, all he needed was the stamp.

***

On the other side of the country, Edward Szyman strode across the exotic hardwood floor of his bedroom in silk custom-monogrammed pajamas, a glass of water sweating in his hand. He slid his feet out of his matching slippers after placing his glass on a coaster that had once been used in the Imperial Palace of Japan, and then slid into sheets that cost more per set than the average American citizen grossed in one month.

“Was the hybrid delivered today?” Mrs. Szyman asked.

“No, he’s on a plane heading out there now; he’ll be there tomorrow morning.” Edward hit a button on the bedside table, and a slot in the ceiling opened. From that slot descended a TV screen of immense proportion, and he turned on the nightly news. “I have faith that he will accomplish the mission. Hybrids don’t have much, but when you take away what little they have and then promise it back to them in exchange for a little dirty work, you’d be surprised what they’re willing to do.”

“I can imagine. Davenport’s is a big place though; don’t you think it may be a little too much work for one hybrid to manage?”

“Hybrids are an impressionable bunch, love. They’re very easily swayed, especially if they think one of them has more knowledge than the rest. This one, Roman, he’s been given a briefing on what to do, and he’ll be our eyes and ears inside the farm. With the intel he gets us, we’ll know exactly what we’re up against.”

“What did you promise him in exchange for this?”

“He’s got a lover. A human, name of Kaisl. Man’s in jail on charges of interspecies adultery.”

Mrs. Szyman turned to look at her husband incredulously, “You made a deal with a gay, species-mixing hybrid?”

“I don’t care if he’s a Satan-worshipping, virgin-sacrificing, meth-dealing baby puncher, he was the healthiest one in the holding center, and he had goals. All the rest of them had just about lost the will to live. He was the right man for the job, and for what it’s worth, no, I didn’t make a deal with him. As soon as the rest of the hybrids there find out what he’s up to, they’ll eat him alive.”

“Well, so long as he and that lover of his aren’t reunited.” Mrs. Szyman said with an air of disgust, “It’s nice to know that there is one less interspecies couple out there, fouling up the world with their so-called ‘love’.”

“Mm.” Edward concurred and turned up the volume up just as the news broadcast returned from a commercial break.

***

Aaron was beginning to settle into his new lifestyle at the ranch quite nicely. He headed up jobs such as getting new hybrids accustomed to life at the ranch, including Amanda. It wasn’t the most illustrious job there at Davenport Ranch, but he looked forward to the advancement opportunities that were promised to him. Amanda had been permitted to stay with him in the small bedroom he’d been given, and she and Aaron shared the small twin bed there. They practically had to sleep on top of one another, but in comparison to the accommodations that they’d had previously, but it was a welcome adjustment. Even on the coldest nights, neither party was without warmth, even with the wealth of blankets they had on hand. Mornings were early, but growing up on a farm had gotten Aaron used to that.

“We’re going to take some chow out to the field for the guys at the range.” Jim explained as Aaron piled into the passenger seat of his truck at five o’clock in the morning. Groaning in the way that old men do, Jim slid into the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition, “When we get out there, don’t walk onto the firing line, it’s hazardous. You’ll get your opportunity to get out there and train.”

“Yes sir.” Aaron affirmed, buckling up. Together, they rode in silence through the morning fog to the chow hall, and parked around the back where several hybrids began to load large green containers full of food into the bed of the pickup. Once that had been completed, it was off to the firing range to make sure that all the hybrids there were well-fed while they practiced putting rounds on target. In its own way, Aaron thought it was kind of cool to be in the presence of the only hybrids in history who had ever fired a weapon of any kind.

“How long have you been doing this for?”

Jim appeared to think for a moment, “We’ve been in operation for about ten years now, maybe a little more. It’s taken a while to build up to this point, but we’re far from being done.”

“It doesn’t seem like there’s much left to do.” The young man commented, jostling with the truck over every dip and bump of the dirt road.

“Oh, there’s plenty more. We’re currently in the process of acquiring some smaller farms, since we’re running out of space with this one. Our horns are locked with Szyman right now, in terms of purchasing the small ones. It’s like that board game, Risk.”

“Okay, I gotcha.” Aaron nodded.

“It takes so much money to get an operation like this up to speed, though. It takes a lot of effort. That’s why I need people like you around.”

“People like me?”

“Yeah. If it weren’t for that wolf girl of yours, I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could throw you.”

“She vouched for me, huh?” Aaron laughed.

“She didn’t have to.” Jim stated flatly, “I can see the way you look at her. I used to look at my wife the same way. It’s been years since I lost her, and I swore to myself I’d never love another woman as much.”

“I’m sorry...”

“I need people like you, because I won’t be around for the revolution.”

“The revolution?”

“There will be one. Eventually, there will be one. But barring a miracle, it won’t be for several years.”

“You’re absolutely sure of that, aren’t you?”

“I wonder how long the American public and the government think they’re going to be able to keep the hybrids oppressed like this. It’s as if we haven’t learned anything from our own history...” Jim mused as they drove past a range where several hybrids were dressed in fatigues, shooting at targets with handguns.

“It’s why we’re purchasing all of these smaller farms. Our strength will be in our numbers, and eventually, we will have training centers exactly like this one all over the United States. But we have to act fast. If we don’t, Szyman will succeed in monopolizing the entire trade. If that happens, we’re screwed.”

Jim’s musings gave Aaron something to think about while they served hot meals to the hybrids on the range. Between handing plates of hot food to grateful hybrids, he wondered just how long it would be before he could place a ring on Amanda’s finger and call her his wife. He wondered how long it would be before he could simply be open about his love for her. That alone, he felt, would be sufficient.

Mary had lunch ready by the time Jim and Aaron returned from feeding the hybrids. Grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup were presented to them, and they sat and ate in silence at the small kitchen table, where a second, mismatched chair had been added for Jim’s young, new protégé.

Aaron busied himself with a corkboard mounted to the wall next to the kitchen table while he chewed his lunch. There upon the corkboard were several letters, each written by hand and inscribed with various passages, pledging support and well wishes to Davenport Ranch.

“They keep me motivated.” Jim said, swallowing a bite. Putting his sandwich down, he wiped his mouth, “This one...” he pointed to a fresh-looking sheet of paper, thrice folded, “this one came from a currently incarcerated person. Fairly recently, at that.”

Aaron chewed another bite, silent.

“You can always tell which ones came from the jails. They’re written cryptically, in a sort of code that’s been developed over the past decade amongst people who’ve been imprisoned for being caught with hybrids.” Jim pulled a letter down, “This one is the most recent. Fella hasn’t even been to trial yet, but his hybrid was taken as well.”

“We could get that hybrid out, right?”

Jim actually laughed. It was the first time Aaron had seen the old man laugh, but it wasn’t in good spirits. It was a dry and cynical laugh, one that impugned the very suggestion that ‘Enough’ would be able to rescue a hybrid from lockup.

“Absolutely not.” Jim chortled, going in for another bite.

“But why? Isn’t there a diplomatic way to go about it?”

“Son, if I could purchase hybrids out of lockup, I would. Hybrids have a penal code and a set of laws to follow that half of them don’t even know about, and the government uses it as an excuse to arrest and imprison them in special detention facilities. You don’t even want to know what goes on in there.”

“I’ve heard...stories.”

“Well, they’re probably all true.”

“So, why don’t we run operations on the holding centers?”

“Because we don’t have that kind of manpower yet. We have one central location, one base of operations, and we’re sitting on it. If the government knew that we were training hybrids to fight a war, they would JDAM this place.” Jim shook his head, glancing out the window. “Blow us all to hell.”

“And then all of this would be for nothing.”

“Right. A time and place will come for hybrid freedom and equality. We’re their only hope for it; we can’t risk our security for one hybrid. More hybrids will be experimented on or killed by the BHA, but it’s just the nature of the beast. What we are doing is for the greater good, for a brighter future for hybrids everywhere. You understand, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Mmm.” Jim said through a mouthful, swallowed quickly and wiped his mouth on a napkin, “I forgot I’m expecting a new arrival.” He pointed out the window, and Aaron leaned forward and pulled the drape aside to see a car rolling down the dirt road to the house. By the time the old man reached the porch, so did the car, and a woman in heels and a very expensive-looking outfit stepped out of the driver’s seat.

“I’m looking for Jim Davenport!”

“That’s me!” He said jovially.

“Hi, I’m Wendy Simmons; I called about dropping off a hybrid?”

“Yes, I’ll just have some paperwork for you to sign inside in just a moment; in the meantime, I’d like to see who you’ve got for me, here.”

“Of course.” Wendy said, and treading carefully over the uneven ground in her heels, she rapped on the window of the rear passenger side door. There was no way she was going to open the door for him like some kind of car service. The hybrid opened the door and stepped out, turning to look at Jim and the quaint little ranch house to his rear.

“Well, he looks like a healthy one.” Jim smiled, looking the brown tabby cat up and down, dressed only in a pair of blue jeans and a plain, white T-shirt, “You two come on inside, Wendy, I’ll get those papers ready for you and we’ll have this young man off your hands in a jiffy.”

Ever the gentleman, Jim opened the door for Wendy, and she entered the house ahead of the hybrid whom she would be releasing into the welcoming arms of the fabled hybrid haven.

“What’s your name son?” Jim asked as the cat passed on his way into the house.

“Roman, sir.”

“Well. Welcome to Davenport Ranch, Roman. We’re glad to have you.”