The Karn Dominion, The Hybrid War, Brad Part 1
This story is part of a series based on the invasion of Earth by a race of highly advanced aliens who use mutagen viruses to transform humanity into new hybrid species created for the use of the invaders as intelligent livestock. I will be writing stories about other characters who will sometimes interact with others, and eventually hope to weave them into a larger final story in the series. It is my sincere hope any readers will enjoy it.
The Karn Dominion, The Hybrid War
Brad, Part 1
by
William W. Kelso
It has been approximately fifteen years since the Karn invaded the earth, taking over completely with only minor incidents of resistance. They did not invade with armies and super weapons, though that was always an option in extreme cases. Their weapon was a simple one against which there was no defense. They unleashed a broad range of different mutagen viruses which physically and mentally transformed the dominant intelligent race, in this case humans, into many different kinds and species of human/animal hybrids that would be of the most use to the colonists who would soon follow in the steps of the conquest. Most of the initial colonists were members of other races who were subjects of the Karn, they would develop the local resources and prepare the way for their Masters.
The Karn are an ancient space-faring race, and extremely advanced technologically. Their tailored viruses were completely immune to any kind of antidote or antibiotics as they attached themselves directly to the hosts DNA, and transformed them from the inside out. And the change was irreversible, and the result was a new Hybrid species. The hybrids were viable, and could be breed. However the breeding was strictly controlled by husbandry specialists to control the population. Depending on the degree of hybridization the change could take from only a few days up to a month at the most.
Most humans did not even realize they were under attack until the colonists arrived and began to assimilate the new world into The Karn Dominion. Most humans thought it was just some sort of horrible plague, with the possible exception of some of the more brilliant geneticists and other scientists. Many more blamed it on their own governments. During the "plague" a great many died, or were killed, and many short wars were fought before the viruses had completely infected the population rendering it mostly incapable of doing anything during the transformation process. Some committed suicide, unable to accept what was happening to them, while others were murdered by other terrified humans in their desperation to stop the plague from spreading. The death rate among the very young was high. Still far fewer died then if it had been an actual armed invasion. We became the very animals the invaders would use to colonize our own planet, nothing more than intelligent livestock for the use of the colonists. The Karn revere life above all else, and in their own way are benevolent Masters. I should know, I served them willingly for over fifteen years.
My name is Brad, and I am a "1st Generation, Stage 3, Donkey/Human Hybrid, Male", and my function is Groom/Handler. All this information is on my DNA and can be scanned, and for those without a genetic scanner it is tattooed on the inside of my right leg. All hybrids have the same types of ID labels. My hybrid species was created to perform specific functions, as were all of the hybrids. I worked at a large Feed and Salt factory complex that produces salt blocks and various kinds of feed for herbivores like myself, both natural and hybrid. It had originally been a factory for the same thing prior to the invasion, and not much had been changed. The colonists use as much of the preexisting native technology as possible while slowly "modernizing". It was more cost effective.
My "job" was the take care of and maintain a team of two Human/Mule Hybrids, a transport wagon, and the tack and other required equipment. I lived in a large barn/stable with numerous other Donkey and Mule hybrids, under the supervision of a Tawn overseer name Rutchek. The Tawn are another subject race of the Karn, but are on a much higher level in the hierarchy. Not really slaves, more like Civil Servants. They look kind of like giant hamsters and for the most part are very good at what they do as they are middle level managers, and take good care of their charges. One thing the Karn do not tolerate is the deliberate mistreatment or torture of their livestock, and woe to a Tawn, or any other subject race, who is caught abusing any livestock without a very good reason!
I was about fifteen years old when the "plagues" started. At first there were a few isolated cases of a strange new virus that were mostly rumors at first. But soon the viruses began to spread like the flu, but much faster, both airborne and by touch. The viruses had been released in controlled areas so that the transformations would be least affected by climate, available food, etc. The Karn had been doing this for millennia, and had perfected the process. Some areas received a "cocktail" of viruses designed to cause many different hybridizations, other areas were limited to just a few or even single viruses. Since I lived in a large rural ranch/farming district in Texas the area was largely seeded with equine and bovine based mutagens.
The first symptoms when you were infected were similar to the flu, you got aches & pains, fever, etc. For the first day or two not much happened and you just felt terrible, then the more noticeable external changes would start. During the transformation process the virus kept you in a state of semi-stupor, so even though you knew something horrible was happening to you, you were pretty much unable to respond other than to try to find as much food as possible, and sleep as much as possible. This was part of the design of the virus, to limit the pain and trauma as much as possible.
Of course it varied considerably depending on the extent of the physical transformation and the species. For me, as a Level 3, it was fairly painful, and the change lasted almost three weeks. I was infected fairly late due to being in a remote location, and by the time I began to change the local and federal governments had pretty much collapsed. The world had become a terrifying place of monsters and strange animals, and I knew I was becoming one of them! I can still remember the horror of bovine and equine monsters roaming the streets aimlessly, bellowing in terror, not knowing what had happened to them or what to do. And I remember the horror of seeing my own body change, first the hair spreading all over my body, then the agony as my feet became hooves and my very bone structure changed, growing a tail, my face and neck stretching and taking on strange, new, shapes. I think if I had been able to I would have killed myself, but I was too weak and disorientated to attempt it. That's not to say many others didn't succeed. And the worst was feeling my humanity slipping away slowly but surely, and strange new thoughts, instincts, desires, and needs replacing much of it.
And when it was over I was so very confused, and terrified. I was still intelligent, and knew what had happened to me, but I also knew I was something else now. Less than a man, but more than an animal. And disoriented and desperate for company of others like myself, I had joined one the many herds of other equine hybrids who were roaming the land, our instinct for protection and comfort in numbers manifesting itself, the same as in true equines. And for several months lived as basically a wild animal, grazing on grass and other plants, and occasionally lucking into some oats or other feed at an abandoned farm. And then the roundups started.
One day as my herd was lazily grazing on a nice field of tall succulent grass some strange flying machines, emitting painful sonic sounds, drove the now panicked herd into specially designed collection pens. We had seen similar machines more than once before then, and of course we remembered airplanes. So we knew what flying machines were, so it was the noise that drove us more than anything. And once in the pens we were separated by species, and began our training.
It really did not take much to "break" and train most of us, in addition to our equine forms we also had the equine tendency to be docile and accept the authority of our "masters" almost without question. And to be truthful most of us, myself included, were glad to have someone to take care of us, and give us something useful to do. A nice warm stable and regular feed sure beat wandering around the countryside eating whatever you could forage, and living outside in the weather.
After a thorough series of veterinary exams, being well fed and groomed, shod, and trained for my new "job", I was ready to become a productive "Sapient hybrid" in the service of the Dominion. Not quite a slave, and not quite a dumb animal, but something in-between. And so I was assigned to Agricultural District 5, Feed and Salt Factory Complex 7, and my designation was: 1st Generation, Stage 3, Donkey/Human Hybrid, Male, function: Groom/Handler. Humans had become the very animals/livestock the invaders would use to colonize our own planet! And the majority of us were content with our new lives, and to be fair we really didn't have much of a choice.
Like I said, I am a Stage 3, Donkey/Human hybrid. I am about five feet tall, weigh about 200 pounds, and am bipedal. I have a complete covering of equine hair, mine is mostly gray changing from a dark gray stripe on my back to lighter shades on my arms, legs, and sides. My belly is white, and I have modest white "feathers" on my legs. I don't have feet, I have hooves and fully developed equine hind legs to walk on them with. It looks a little awkward but is actually very comfortable and I have good balance. I still have fairly human arms and hands, my fingers have thick black hoof material nails. I have a fully developed tail and my sexual organs are equine in appearance, but somewhere between human and equine in size. When my penis is retracted into my sheath, which is most of the time, nothing gets in the way, if you know what I mean. About the only time it emerges to any great length is when I urinate. My diet and my droppings are entirely equine. My head and neck are fully equine, and I am incapable of intelligible speech. But I can talk through a special collar I wear that the Master provided for their more intelligent livestock. I have no idea about how it works, if it uses telepathy or somehow feels the vibration of my equine vocal cords, but it produces a soft subservient voice, and it's not the same on any two hybrids. The virus also made the infected hosts physically younger in most cases, and also extended their life spans, not for them but for the benefit of the colonists. A young healthy animal is easier to train and care for, and a longer lifespan provides more useful service for the masters. As a result of the virus I was now approx. a one and a half year old Donkey Jack, and my useful period of service would be almost one hundred human years. I have complete equine senses, instincts, and a definite need to be with a herd. A lone equine hybrid is just as miserable as any lone equine. My hybrid was created exclusively to care for, and work with, the other equines, both hybrids and natural. We are perfect for this since we are just like them, and can understand and communicate with natural equines, yet at the same time still communicate with our masters.
Thankfully most male Donkey/Hybrid stallions; or Jacks, are allowed to keep their loins intact and are seldom gelded. That is not the case for most Mule & Horse hybrids, the poor bastards. Both male and female Donkeys perform the same functions, however we are kept impotent due to additives in our feed. When we reach a certain age we are carefully selected for breeding. A male who is found suitable is given a drug to counter the effects of the impotency, and is then put in a special isolation barn with selected Jennies and/or Mares. When they have been serviced by the Jack both he and the females are returned to regular duties. When the females reach a certain stage in their pregnancies they are put on light duties, then eventually transferred to a special husbandry farm to give birth. The foals and colts stay with their dams for up to two years, then they are put into small groups to start their training and learn their functions. By the time they are three they are ready to assume full time duties. The dams are then are reassigned back to regular Groom/Handler duties until they are selected to be bred again. The Jacks seldom ever see their offspring, which hurts us more then I think the Masters realize, almost every night in the stable you can hear a dam crying for her foal. It is done this way to keep us more docile, and keep the Jacks from fighting over females if there was a regular natural breeding season. As a result even though there are quite a few Jennies who are also Groom/Handlers, there is no actual intercourse and no real urge for anything other the mutual grooming and regular equine ways of showing affection to one another. We groom members of the same sex the same way as females, but females DO smell nicer!
I was selected for stud service for the first time when I was fifteen years old in human years. My herd mates were excited and happy for me, and a few Jennies even told me they hoped I was paired with them. At first I had mixed feelings as it was a totally new experience for me, and I was kind of scared. Of course, like any human or animal my age I knew what mating was, but having been chemically neutered until then I was pretty much just like a gelding, and had nothing to compare it to as I hadn't even had any real sexual longings before. First the selected Jacks and Jennies were taken to a special breeding stable. The Jacks were then given shots to neutralize the impotency drugs, and the Jennies were give shots to make then capable of breeding and bring them into estrus. The shots took a couple of days to take effect, and by then I was very aware there were Jennies in estrus in the area, and was responding like any Jack. My arousal was not truly pure equine, but a combination of human and equine. I had the lust and need to mate of any Jack, and the affection and love of any equine for its mate, but it was tempered by human affection and love and as well. But the human emotions tended to manifest themselves more after the initial matings. When the first Jenny was brought to my isolated stall all I could do was sniff and snuffle her, making soft squeals and deep nickers of lust, trying to determine her state of readiness, my entire attention and reason for living totally focused on her. Usually it didn't take very long, she would respond to my courtship with sounds and signals of her own, and when she was ready for me she would drop to all fours and raise her tail for me. I would mount her and we would copulate, both of us squealing and braying in mutual pleasure and ecstasy. After mounting my mate I would grasp her in front of her hind legs and thrust in a regular powerful rhythm, squealing and braying in ecstasy when I wasn't gently biting her back or neck. It was always done in the equine manner, we were not built for sex lying down. The intensity and pain/pleasure was incredible. Plus I was able to experience it as both an animal and a man, which greatly increased the sheer ecstasy of servicing a willing mate. We were not allowed to pick our mates of course, but it was seldom that nature didn't take its course. The Jenny would be left in my stall for several days, and in that time we would mate many more times. After the first few times the urgency would wear off, and that was when the human emotions would manifest. We would start to hold each other more, tenderly blowing and nuzzling, lipping and kissing. And the last few couplings were just as human as equine, and more tender and long lasting. It was heaven for both of us. And in that short period we developed both equine and human love for one another, it went far beyond the mere matings of animals.
And when each female was taken from me it broke my heart, but when the next female in heat was brought I would forget for awhile in my lust for my new mate. However a Jack would never forget the Jennies he had mated with, and they would never forget him. Our master always took away our speech collars so we couldn't tell one another our names, besides mating animals didn't need to talk anyway. But even twenty years later we could easily recognize one another by sight and/or scent. That love would last for their entire lives. It was different from human love mainly in that we had no former human inhibitions against poligamy, a Jack would consider a harem of several females as perfectly natural. After that wonderful time was over the Jacks were given new impotency shots, and returned to the herd. And after being studded a Jack was never quite the same, he'd experienced the pleasure and joy of mating, and had lovers. Even though he was again incapable of sex until the next time he was selected, he always remembered what it was like. I quickly found out that there was a kind of underground grapevine that would help Jacks and their mates stay in contact as often as possible, and even get word of their foals after the dams gave birth. It was better than nothing I guess, but the yearning to be with them would always be there. And sometimes if a Jack and Jenny produced particularly desirable offspring they might be paired again later, and those rare reunions were always very special. And I was also very lucky in that two of the Jennies who were my mates were also assigned to the same stable, and I spent much of my spare time with them both before, and after, they gave birth and returned from the husbandry farm. Onse was name Peaches, and the other Suzy-Q, and both bore me fine little Jenny foals, and I was so proud when I found out.
When I first arrived at the Factory my first duties were working in the stables as a general service hand. I helped feed my fellow hybrids, cleaned the stalls while they were at work, learned to repair tack, received further training, and performed other general duties. My big day came, the day every Donkey hybrid looks forward to eagerly, when I was five years old. I was finally paired with a matched pair of Stage 4 Human/Mule Hybrid geldings to be my team mates. They were 2nd Generation, Stage 4 Human/Mule, male, gelded hybrids. They had never known what it was like to be human, and a part of me envied them for that. Though I was very content in my service, I still remembered deep in the back of my mind what had been done to myself and my fellow humans. Their parents had been special Human/Mule Hybrid stallions who had been made viable and able to breed by the mutagen, and their dams natural Mares or Jennies. They had been born and raised like any other colts or fillies, or in their case Jacks or Jennies.
They were four year olds, and I was their first full-time team mate. Their names were Rob and Bob. They were huge draft mules, almost 1500 pounds each, way larger then I was, massive ans squat and all muscle. But so gentle and affectionate, and I loved them dearly. The main differences between a Stage 3 and Stage 4 hybrid are size, muscles, and intelligence. Their bodies were more massive and equine then mine even though they were still bipedal, and they had clumsy three-fingered hoof/hands. They had no thumbs, but could still grasp enough to lift heavy boxes or other loads. They could not talk, even with a collar, and mentally were at the level of a young child. But Donkeys understand them with no trouble, just as we understand all equines and they understand us, naturals or hybrids. Some handlers were assigned natural mules, but I preferred my fellow hybrids.
I was their team mate for over ten years. You must understand I was NOT their master, I was as much a member of the team and a fellow member of the herd as they were. We shared the same stall, the same food, and everything else herd and team members shared. We bonded in a way a pure human could never understand, it was something way beyond friendship and love, both human and animal love. We were meant to spend our entire lives together, and wanted it no other way. I took care of them, but they took care of me just as much. Their function was to pull the wagon and perform other heavy labor when required. It was my function to keep them well groomed, fed, in shape, assist in the labor whenever possible, to keep our tack in good order, and to maintain and drive the wagon we were assigned.
Losing a team mate is a Donkey's worst nightmare, a vision of equine hell. A Donkey who loses a team member is a truly miserable creature, but if it is just one team mate another can usually be found to help fill the void and take the dead team mates place as a new and beloved team mate But the Donkey and other mule will always grieve for their missing partner. A Donkey who loses both his team mates quite often just dies of grief, they just cannot stand to be parted from their life partners and simply lose the will to live. It is rare they can bond to a new team. Those that do survive are most often permanently reassigned to stable or other duties. Having a new purpose, and being with the herd helps to ease their horrible grief The other Donkeys always treat these older Donkeys with great respect, the same respect all equines give herd leaders.
One human characteristic and need that most hybrids retain is the need to know where a team mate is even after they have died. To take away a dead team mate to be rendered or suffer some other unknown fate is one thing hybrids will not accept, and after several incidents of near riots the colonists figured it was best to let us have our way. In the early days it was the only organized "resistance" they encountered. A dead hybrid is cremated and the remains turned over to the surviving team mates or the herd leaders. Every equine facility has a well maintained little cemetery. There are no head stones, usually just small piles of rocks, an old piece of harness, or some other token to mark the graves. All the graves are well tended, even those who have no team mates left to visit them. And every spring there are great bunches of flowers on every grave and many will have treats or other small gifts left on them on a regular basis. And you will often see a Donkey, or sometimes even a mule hybrid, carefully tending the graves. We never forget a herd mate. The Karn are not really cruel beings, and to their credit they understood our need to grieve.
Not all Donkeys were drovers though, though that is the favorite job. Some were permanently assigned to barn and stable duties, caring for sick or injured naturals or hybrids, distributing the feed, etc. Usually though it was the older, or handicapped, Donkeys who were assigned to those duties. They would supervise and train the youngsters temporarily assigned to stable duty until they were ready to bond with a mule team. However, we were ALL members of the herd, all our duties were important, and we worked as a big extended family of sorts. My mules and I were a good team, and our Masters were pleased with our service. We had a good reputation and were proud of it. It was the ultimate praise a herd could give a team.
My daily life was pretty much a seldom varying routine. I woke up very early as always, the sound of others stirring always woke me up at almost the same time every morning. I didn't have an alarm clock, I didn't need one. I moved with the herd in a regular routine. I would get up and stretch, brush off as much of the straw from the pile of hay that was my "bed" as best I could. I would call to; and answer the calls from, my fellow equines.
The mules slept standing up locking their legs like a normal equine, usually leaning against one another or a side of the stall, and even though Donkeys mostly curl up on the floor to sleep, it's not unusual to find one sleeping standing up and leaning against one of their team mates, especially after a hard day. I sleep that way a lot. Sometimes other Donkeys would spend a night in my stall, or I would in theirs. It was usually a Jenny that I had been mated with, and we would cuddle and groom one another well into the night. Sleeping with a nice warm sweet smelling friend next to you is so comforting. I have no clothes to worry about as Stage 3 hybrids have full body fur or hair, and require no special coverings. I was not embarrassed by my nudity anymore then a natural equine would be. Rob and Bob were starting to stir too, but were always a little cranky in the morning. I gave them a soft "Good Morning" whicker, to which they replied with rude non-committal grunts, the big lazy goofs. I nuzzled and nibbled at their manes and muzzles a little, chuffing and nickering in affection, and they finally broke down and returned the pleasantries, giving me big sloppy equine kisses that I enjoyed as much as they did. The ritual morning greetings over I collected our feed rations from the carts being trundled around to the stalls by other Donkeys. Since they'd be pulling the wagon today we got an extra helping of oats, much to our delight. Food pellets and/or oats, and fresh hay or other fodder made up most of the rest of the rations. Usually there would be some carrots, apples, or other treats as well. Rarely we got a kind of delicious biscuit that I think probably contained vaccines and other medications. Donkeys do not hog the treats, we always share equally with our team mates. And there were always salt blocks in one corner of the stall for us to lick and gnaw on when we felt like it. I'd usually break off chunks for us for snacks later in the day, especially in the summer as we needed the salt. I put on their feed bags, and settled down to eat my own feed, sticking my muzzle in a bag to feed the same way they did. It was much easier than trying to use my hands. We have no personal belongings of any kind, other than our fitted halters and bridles with names embossed on them. What animals do?
I usually finished before they did, and while they continued eating I gave them the first grooming of the day. They whickered and rippled their skin in pleasure as I ran the brushes over them and combed out their tails and manes, checking for ticks or other vermin. Next I checked their hooves and shoes, but as usual they were in fine shape. The last part of breakfast was for me to give them their treats. I took the carrots and put them in my mouth, then offered the other ends to the mules, and we ate the carrots from both ends ending in more sloppy kisses of affection and mutual lipping and grooming. We would blow into one another's muzzles, giving soft grunts and squeals of pleasure and affection. There is no way to describe it, like I said it went far beyond mere friendship and love. Now it was time for my own morning grooming, and I usually paired up with another Jack from the stall next to mine, and we groomed one another. Oh that brush felt so good, and I loved having my mane and tail combed out! And after some more mutual grooming and other equine forms of affection and friendship it was ready to start the day.
I took my team to the hack barn, and picked up our tack. There was my own halter, a kind of Hackamore design, which I put on as it was required I wear one when on "duty" so I could be lead if a Master chose to do so. It was my regular one, and I hardly even noticed I had it on. I had been bit broken too, but didn't care much for that type of bridle. I have only had to wear a double bridle with snaffle and curb bits once, and had hated that experience as it hurt my mouth. That type of bridle was used mainly as a disciplinary measure, though all equines are given a taste of it to let them know what waits if they misbehave. A few days wearing a snaffle bit will make even the most unruly hybrid behave itself again. But such measures were rarely necessary.
All Donkeys have been trained to pull carts if the Masters needed a Donkey for that service, but we didn't care for it much. For Masters who used carts for regular travel they more often had Human/Pony hybrids trained for that specific function. For the mules there were regular bridles with blinders, and specially modified breast strap harness rigs to allow for their being bipedal. The tack was not made from leather, I have no idea what the material was, but it didn't rot or wear, and breaks were rare. It was soft and comfortable though and easy to clean, which was fine with us. All I had to do was hose it off before returning it to the tack barn to be hung up to dry.
By now the stables were a bustling crowd of equines. It looked like a Chinese fire drill, but was actually a very well practiced dance of efficiency. You wouldn't hear any English being spoken as there was no need for it. All instructions were relayed by equine neighs, whickers, brays, and other sounds, body language, and even scent. Plus everybody knew exactly what to do. We rarely ever spoke English to one another anymore, and then usually over technical matters that had no real translation in equine. And of course to respond to any questions our masters might have for us. You NEVER addressed a master unless it was required as part of your duties, or they asked you a question. After harnessing up my team I lead them over to the wagon barn and checked out our regular wagon. It was a Type 3 general purpose freight wagon. It was about the same as any normal wagon, but had large balloon tires instead of the traditional iron rimmed wheels. It also had rudimentary shocks and a hydraulic braking system, and running lights powered by one of those amazing inexhaustible power packs. The wagon was very plain and functional, no luxuries of any kind. The bench seat for the driver was completely open and was only padded as sitting down for an equine is not the most comfortable position, plus it was angled at a more practical angle. We really more leaned against it then sat in it. A human would have found the angle to be too steep to be able to sit on it, and they would have just slipped off. The bed of the wagon was plain with a few recessed hooks for tie-downs, and there was a small box containing the tie-down straps & hooks, tack repair kit, and lead ropes. That was about it. I hitched up the team, did a quick inspection of the wagon, and we were ready to roll!
I drove the wagon over to the loading docks, checking the brakes on the way. I do NOT use a whip when I drive, NO Donkey does. For us to whip our team mates would be a horrible and unforgivable insult. The masters do use whips though, but even then only rarely. They are not needed, my mules understand exactly what I want them to do because I tell them, and if there is a problem they tell me. Like I said I AM not their master, I am an equal team mate. Even the reins are more for emergencies than anything else. Then it was hurry up and wait in line for a dock to be open for loading. I got to the docks fairly early, and there were only two other wagons in front me. We called out greetings to the other Donkeys and mules, and I got down from the wagon to help with the loading. Since there were other hybrids running the docks and doing most of the loading my main job was to make sure the load was evenly distributed and securely fastened down, and I didn't have to unhitch Rob or Bob to help out. It would be different while were making our deliveries as I'd need their help for the unloading. Most likely we would be making routine deliveries to farms and other stops, but sometimes we'd have a full load for the supply trains in what used to be Dallas or other towns. That was a good four hour trip one way. But today we just had our regular delivery route to worry about.
The loading finished, we headed out from the Factory to make our regular round of salt block deliveries, We were part of a small convoy, some of the other wagons contained oats, food pellets, and other feed. Since our load was the heaviest we led the way, the most heavily loaded wagon always went first so the others would have no problem in keeping up. I don't know what our speed was, the wagons have no speedometers, but we traveled at a steady clip, the mules giving occasional grunts of pleasure as they were glad to be out in the open fresh air. A working mule is a happy mule. And since the Karn technology does not include any internal combustion engines the air WAS crisp and clean. It would get hot soon enough though, typical Texas weather in July. When it got too hot I'd stop and put "hats" on our heads, to help block the worst of the sun. We can't get sunburn due to our hair, but we do sweat a lot and feel the heat. The hats help a little. It never occurred to us how ridiculous we looked. Regular break stops for rest and watering helped even more. As we clopped along we passed long abandoned homes, businesses, gas stations, etc. Sometimes a Donkey would stop his wagon for a few minutes and stare at one of the buildings, maybe remembering when he used to live there, or a friend did. The whole convoy would stop, politely waiting until he or she had finished with their memories. I used to stop in front of my old High School to remember, but eventually stopped doing that as it was so painful. We traveled the old highways and roads mostly as the colonists had removed all the abandoned vehicles, and had maintained the roads that are still used. They don't use asphalt, but a kind of compacted material three inches thick that looks a lot like plastic, and it's skid proof too, and in the winter no ice or snow ever builds up on the stuff, much to our appreciation. One thing we do NOT like is ice and snow. And so we made our deliveries, unloading each freight consignment at its destination, receiving a signed chit in return, and then heading on to the next delivery. It was a very simple and efficient, just like the masters like. We had no supervisors or overseers with us, they just weren't required. We had no thoughts of running away, where would we go, who would take care of us, and what would we do without the herd?! Like I've said, we were well conditioned and trained, and didn't even realize it! We were completely cooperative and willing participants in our own servitude without even truly knowing it. Happy, content, livestock.
At noon we would break for lunch, grooming, and take up to a two hour break to let our feed settle while we dozed. Some of the stops had good dust or mud wallows, and we'd take the harnesses off the mules and we'd all have a good roll, squealing and braying in delight. There was nothing happier than a bunch of filthy mules and Donkeys! It meant it would take even longer grooming sessions to get us presentable again, and that was just fine with us! Those were good times, and I miss them horribly. The only real difference from a normal day was that over the last few weeks special Security Patrols and checkpoints had been set up, and we were stopped several times a day to have our DNA scanned. An armored patrol vehicle would signal us to pull over, and we would wait patiently and obediently as a warden or trooper would work its way down the convoy, scanning all the drivers and sometimes even the mules.
The security troops were mainly Krills, they were reptiles like the Karn, but while the Karn were mostly gentle intellectuals, the Krill were just like many other soldiers. Arrogant and nasty, all full of themselves and their authority, and they were rude and they stank. They love to create problems where none exist, and we had no choice but to put up with it since they were masters as well. Equines do NOT like Krills, and they don't much like us. And it goes far beyond the natural instinctive dislike of herbivores for carnivores. We actually liked the Karn better. But for the most part our Karn Masters and their overseers know to keep the Krill separated from the equine hybrids as much as possible. I had to keep a close eye on Rob and Bob when a Krill was sniffing around, otherwise they'd try to step on and/or take a bite out of the lizard. But make no mistake the Krill were also subjects of the Karn. A Krill will bow to, and be just as subservient, to a Karn Master as any slave or hybrid. And the Krill know that if they deliberately mistreat any livestock they will receive swift and harsh punishment. So basically we tolerated each another.
Our routes were designed to take us in a roundabout way back towards the Factory by the last delivery, so we could make as many deliveries as possible in the shortest time by the shortest route. Again efficiency was what it was all about. Sometimes our last one would be closer to the Factory then the first delivery. Which was fine with us because by then we were hot, tired, dirty, and hungry. And the last mile back to the stables was usually set in record time. First we turned our delivery chits over to the freight office, then we'd drop the wagons off at the wagon barn. I would give the wagon a last inspection, but thankfully the Donkeys that ran the barn took care of the cleaning, and any required repairs. Then it was back to the tack barn, clean the harness and other tack and turn them in, then back to the stables for the best part of the day!
First, and my team mates always came first, I would hose them down with nice cool water while they squealed in pleasure, then dry them off and carefully groom them. On a regular basis they would take the hose away from me and hose me down too, snorting in amusement at my own squeals of mock-enraged delight. Sometimes they'd gang up on me and hold me down, blowing big raspberries on my stomach, with me kicking my legs and braying in helpless laughter. But their baths always came first. Then I would turn them out into one of the large paddocks to visit and associate with the other mules for awhile.
Then it was show time for the Donkeys! We'd all get together and mutually wash and groom one another at specially designed troughs with running water. This included dunkings in the troughs for the dirtiest, nice hose baths, coarse towels to dry off with, and the usual butt flicking with rolled up towels and other foolery. Donkeys tend to be mischievous, and we like practical jokes too. More than one Donkey ended up with a garter snake in their feed bag! Sometimes we'd even sing, if you call a bunch of neighing and braying singing! And the mules usually let us know what they thought about it! Then we would have a good run in one of the exercise paddocks to work the kinks out. Small herds of Donkeys running and playing and making loud noises of pure equine delight. Than we'd settle down to groom one another and rest while waiting for dinner. We would move off in pairs, or in small groups with our best friends. Whenever possible a Jack would pair off with a Jenny with whom he had mated. Sometimes we would go visit a sick or injured friend or team mate in the vet hospital since that was allowed. Almost any sick Donkey or Mule would have friends come by to visit them all day long, and the masters would allow a friend or team member to keep a team or herd mate company all night long as they knew this often did better to help with healing then any medicine. A sick Mule or Donkey rarely spent a night alone, even casual friends would often spend the whole night with them. We were a herd, and cared greatly for one another. It must look weird to see all this going on without a single word being said, but like I've said before we don't need to talk most of the time.
Then we'd collect our team mates and return to our stalls for dinner. It was usually a lovely mash of some kind, more oats, fresh hay, and treats. Then we had some free time, and would sometimes go and visit with our friends some more. But most of the time we would just mutually groom and nuzzle for awhile with our team mates, content and full, until we'd drop off to sleep. Most of the time I'd fall asleep leaning against Rob or Bob, completely happy. Most of us would already be sound asleep by the time the lights were dimmed. And then the next day would come, and the years went by with little; or no, variation to our happy routine. I was put out to stud every two years much to my pride and delight. It was simple life, and we were completely content.
Then one day my life changed again forever, and I often mourn for those lost happy days at the Factory. But mostly I mourn for my lost herd mates and the comfort and security of their company. No human can truly understand that longing. But I can never entirely go back to that life. It started out like any other day, another hot Texas summer blazer. We had a large load of mainly salt blocks to deliver to the train terminal in Hillsboro, about forty miles one way. It was a long haul, but we were used to it and would be back home by night. It was about ten miles outside of Hillsboro that we were ambushed without warning by the resistance. It was totally and completely unexpected. It was hot and we were tired, and were plodding along with our heads hanging in a heat induced torpor, when all of a sudden I heard some loud pops and seconds later there was sheer bedlam. I looked up and brayed in alarm, and saw Rob and Bob both stagger and fall, and stood up in shocked surprise, and a second later something hit me in the head and knocked me back over the drivers bench to land on the hard tarp covered blocks of salt.
In a stunned daze I looked up to see the other wagons had scattered all over the road, and some of other the teams were down and one wagon had overturned in the bar ditch. I saw an unmoving Donkey hanging from one of the wagons, and some more lying on the ground. And I could hear brays of terror from some others who had escaped into the brush and trees. What's happening! I thought in confusion, and why does my head hurt so bad? I reached up and felt my head, and when I looked at my hand it was covered in blood. And about that time I heard Bob scream in pain and distress, and my only thought was to go to him. With a moan I managed to slide off the wagon, and holding onto the side I managed to remain upright as I staggered to the front of the wagon, and let out a squeal of terror at what I saw. Rob and Bob were both lying on their sides, and there was blood everywhere! With another squeal of terror I tried to go to them, but fell down and had to crawl the last few feet, my head hurt so bad and I couldn't seem to get my balance. Rob was lying so still, his head thrown back with his eyes still open, and I could tell he was dead, I just knew somehow. With a shaking hand I reached out to touch him, not wanting to believe. Then Bob moaned again, a horrible wet gurgling sound. I crawled to him, and put his head in my lap. He knew I was there and settled down a little, his sounds of pain growing less. I held his head and rocked back forth making very human sobbing sounds, and giving soft brays of anguish for my dear friends, for my life partners. I knew he was dying and I couldn't do anything about it! Why? I thought, who would do this? We were helpless! At some point I passed out, my muzzle draped over Bob's neck, his own head still in my lap, the blood from my own wounds mingling with his. I woke up some time later to hear someone say in a deep rumbling voice,
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"Oh, Sweet Jesus, look at this! I told that trigger happy SOB we didn't have to shoot up this convoy! They didn't even have an escort! They would have just stood there and let us take anything we wanted! Like good little slaves they would have been too confused to do anything else! They were just Donkey's for Christ sake! This bloodbath was totally unnecessary! The Colonel is going to be pissed big time, you know how he is about his fellow equines!"
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With a soft moan I looked up to find myself looking in the face of a Human/Bovine hybrid,
a bull. It jumped back in surprise,
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"Hey, the Donkey is alive! I thought he was dead!"
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I just stared at him in shock, still holding Bob's head and gently stroking him even though he had died while I was unconcious. "Why? I asked softy.
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I heard another voice say "What did it say?"
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The bull gave out a snort, and said "He asked Why? You stupid trigger happy cat! Why don't you tell him! I'm sure he'll understand!"
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I looked over at the other hybrid the bull was talking to, and for the first time saw a hybrid feline, a cougar from the looks of him. And I smelled his musk, and my flight instinct tried to kick in. Predator, it screamed, run, run!" But another emotion, a human one, completely blocked that instinct, Pure, raw, RAGE! I had never felt such rage, such HATE! With a roaring bray that caught them totally by surprise I launched myself at the cat hybrid, and even though I did it from a sitting position Donkeys, both hybrid and natural Donkeys and mules can jump amazing heights and distances from a standing start. I bowled into the cat hybrid, actually knocking him flying with a surprised yowl of pain. And I beat at him with my fists, and bit, and kicked, the whole time braying and screaming "WHY! WHY!". I heard bellows of laughter from the bull and other voices, bleats and yaps and other sounds of hybrid mirth.
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"Hey Tony! one yelled, I think you've met your match!" More sounds of hilarity. By this time the cougar had recovered from the suddenness, but most of all, the surprise and viciousness of my attack, and retaliated. I had hurt him, but even in the best of circumstances I was no match for a predator that even outweighed me, and with a roar of rage of his own he flung me off of him, and started to pounce on me to finish me off with his natural weapons. I landed very hard and would not have been able to resist, and my head wound had started to bleed again and I was almost delirious. But before he could tear into me several sets of hands grabbed him and held him back.
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"Leave him alone, Tony, don't you think he's had enough! You know how they bond to their mules, for all practical purposes you killed his family! What was he supposed to do??"
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Tony just growled for awhile, then said "OK, I've calmed down. I promise I won't hurt him, unless he attacks me again! I think the little fuck broke a fang!"
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In the meantime I had managed to crawl back to Rob and Bob, and was trying to hold both of them at the same time. I was too winded to make much noise, but my whole body was shuddering as I grieved for my best friends and team mates. I couldn't understand what had happened, I was in a Donkey's worst hell. I kept shaking them and calling their names, wailing and squealing in terror at being left all alone. And I could hear other Donkey's and Mules screaming their own loss and anguish. One mule team was trying to tear themselves out of their harnesses to get to their dead Donkey team mate, bellowing and roaring in desperation. And the air reeked with the scents of fear and terror. And finally I passed out again from the pain and unending horror.
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"God Damn It!, I heard a goat hybrid say, look at that! We're supposed to be liberating our fellow hybrids, NOT killing them!" And the ram started to blubber in a strange bleating sound.
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Then I heard a new voice say "What the hell happened here, I said NO shooting! OH MY GOD! WHHHIIINNNYYY!", and I caught the scent of a horse, and looking up found myself staring at the biggest stallion I'd ever seen. He must be a Shire or Clydesdale I thought in wonder, he was huge and beautiful and overwhelming. Just as big as Rob or Bob, but as I remembered my friends again, I lowered my head back down and continued to grieve in soft squeals and brays of equine pain and anguish, still trying to comfort my friends even though I knew they were gone. And I wished I was with them wherever they had gone.
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I could hear the stallions hooves clopping as he inspected the convoy, and he was getting madder and madder "WHHIIINNNYYY! WHO the HELL is responsible for this, this, massacre!" and he let out a squeal of equine anguish of his own. "They were helpless!"
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"I'm, I'm sorry Roth, I heard the cougar say in complete submission, I, I got excited. I'm so sorry, it's my nature! I felt my hunting instincts kick in and couldn't stop myself! When I started shooting others did too, and it got out of hand. I'm sooo sorry! I didn't mean to!", and to my surprise he let out sad mews of genuine regret and sorrow.
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The stallion named Roth stamped over to the cougar, and looking down at him, said "I believe you Tony, you're a good soldier and usually more professional then this, but if you EVER pull a boner like this again I will personally break your back! DO you understand me! SNORT!!"
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Tony replied "Yes Sir, Colonel Roth, I won't fuck up again!"
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The stallion stared at him for a few more seconds, then said "GOOD!" Then he turned away and yelled in a deep, commanding voice, "OK you worthless mooks, gather up as much feed and salt as possible! We're wasting too much time! NO telling when a goddamn security patrol will come by, and as much as I'd love to wipe out a bunch of Krill bastards NOW is NOT the time!"
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And they proceeded to plunder what was left of the convoy. As they did Roth wandered from wagon to wagon, trying to comfort the still living mules and Donkeys. He would nicker and make soft soothing sounds, blowing into their muzzles to introduce himself. As he saw the extent of the carnage he started to silently cry, trying to hide it from his troops, but they knew and it was one reason they loved him. At heart the tough stallion was a softy who loved his fellow hybrids, especially the equines. He gently removed the dead Donkey who was hanging from its wagon, tenderly holding the small body and nuzzling it in anguish, before placing it at the feet of its crazed team mates. Then he did his best to comfort the two mules who had knelt down and were holding the little Donkey, squealing and moaning in grief. He approached a catatonic mule, the sole survivor of its team, who was badly injured. He had been badly gut shot and there was no hope for him. Roth nuzzled and groomed the mule for awhile, making comforting sounds as the mule groaned and kept trying to kneel down next to his dead team mate, but the pain was too great. Roth just couldn't do it himself, so he signaled for one of his soldiers to put the mule out of its misery after he left, because he couldn't watch either. When he heard the shot he threw back his head and squealed in pain. After calming down he had one of the other soldiers, a hybrid goat Ewe, take the wagon with the one remaining intact mule team for their use as it would be a valuable asset. She put the dead Donkey handler in the wagon so the mules could still smell him and would be easier to handle. She would bury the little Donkey later, with the mules present so they'd know where their team mate was.
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Roth came back over to look down at me as they were finishing their plundering. A goat hybrid ewe was squatted down next to me, examining my head wound. She looked up as the stallion came up to us,
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"Roth, he's got a concussion and he'll die if he doesn't get some prompt attention from a vet, and soon." Her voice was soft and full of concern as she stroked my muzzle.
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Roth gave a soft snort, and said "Tina, you know we'd better not take him, you know how the Donkeys are, they go catatonic when they lose a team, especially like this! The poor little bugger, he just watched his whole team being slaughtered. Besides, a patrol will be by any minute, and they'll take care of him."
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"A patrol, said the goat, a Krill patrol! Yeah, they'd take care of him alright, most likely eat him and blame it on us! Dam carnivores!" She held me and listened to my labored breathing, and when she looked up she was crying. "Roth, she said, I'll be responsible for him. He's first generation like us, maybe we can salvage him! Please, you know I lost two children during the plague, and for all I know he could be one of them. Please!" she begged.
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Roth let out a tired snort, and said "You've always had a soft touch, Tina, that's why we all love you. OK, we'll take him with us."
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"Thank you Roth, she said as she kept gently stroked my muzzle, you won't regret it. There, there, little one."
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One of the canine soldiers came running up and saluted "Colonel, he said, we're all loaded up ready to go. Communications say we're in the clear so far, no alarms."
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"Thank God for small miracles, Roth muttered, OK, he said, tell everyone to move out, separate groups, and rendezvous at Camp Delta in three days! If you're followed let us know and head for an ambush site. We''ll make them wish they hadn't bothered.
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"Yes Sir!", the canine replied, and ran off to relay the orders.
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Roth turned to see Tina trying to lift me up, "Tina! he said, he weighs more than you do! Let me have him!" I woke up briefly as he leaned over to pick me up, and seeing what he was doing I shrilled "Noooo, I won't leave them, I won't leave them! Rob!! Bob!!! NOOOOO!" and tried to hold on to my friends. But I was no match for his incredible strength in the state I was in, and he picked me up easily, and as he did I passed out again from the horrible throbbing in my head. "God damn it, I heard him say again, God damn it."
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Roth, Tina and Tony were the next to last to leave the scene of the massacre. One lone wolf stayed behind and left some "presents" for the Krill security patrol that was going to arrive sooner or later. Boom! the wolf thought with a soft growl and an evil smile on his muzzle.
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Roth and Tina moved out together, Tony following a short time later to keep an eye on their back trail and provide security. If a Krill patrol did manage to track them his job was to fight a rear guard action and delay the patrol as much as possible. Tony was very good at this, and Roth wasn't much worried. He knew Tony would die before leading the enemy to any of his friends. The cat was a bone head, but his bravery and loyalty were never questioned.
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As they moved out, Tina said to him again "Roth, we need to get this little guy to a vet soon, or he'll die. I can't do anything for him under these circumstances."
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"I know, said Roth, we're going to head straight for the Docs even though it's a risk, but I think we'll be OK. There are feral natural goats and horses and even a few hybrids around here so it will be almost impossible for us to be tracked by hoof prints or scent. Good thing the collars don't give off a signal like some of that other Karn techno stuff does."
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"Amen to that!" said Tina.
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Soon they reached a creek bed, and turning back the way they had come they waded through the shallow water for over a mile. They finally left the creek at a large cattle wallow, the churned mud and dung would cover any attempts at tracking perfectly. The whole time the huge horse carried the small unconscious Donkey as gently as possible, nuzzling and lipping him in concern from time to time, making soothing human and equine noises. He was worried by my lack of response, and by my slow labored breathing. Once I spoke out loud, "Bobbbb!!", and then began to ramble incoherently.
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At one point Tina stopped him, "I'm going to give him a shot of adrenaline, it might not do any good, but it's all I've got!"
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Ten hours later they arrived at their destination, and I was more dead than alive. The shattered bone in my skull was putting horrible pressure on my brain, and I was delirious. I kept reliving the attack, kept seeing my friends die over and over again as I tried to reach them. I was in my own little private hell, and I wanted nothing more than to die and be with my friends again.
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They found the carefully camouflaged entrance to a tunnel, and quickly ducked inside. Tina remained behind with the guards to make sure there was no one following us, and Roth took me deeper into the tunnel. Eventually the tunnel changed from packed dirt to concrete and steel, and then it opened out in to an old long abandoned missile silo built in the 1950's. There was only one other entrance, another carefully camouflaged air vent pipe. The silo had been abandoned long years ago during the 1970s, and all the surface buildings and been razed and the main entrances sealed with dirt and concrete. From the surface there was no sign it existed, and due to the depth and construction of the installation it was almost impossible to spot even with Karn scanners. It was the perfect spot for a resistance veterinary hospital. As Roth emerged from the tunnel he was instantly surrounded by guards and other concerned hybrid soldiers.
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"Here Colonel, I'll take him! a large dog hybrid said.
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"NO! said Roth, where's the Doc!"
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A feline nurse, a Stage 2 hybrid who's only evidence of hybridization was her coat of fur, cat eyes, and short muzzle said "Follow me Colonel, he's in the main surgery!"
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"Thanks Betty!", said Roth as he hurried to the manually operated elevator. It rose swiftly to the entrance to the silo command and crew quarters, the two bulls operating it cranking as fast as they could. Roth had to duck his head as he clomped down the steel lined tunnel to the main area. "DOC! DOC! he bellowed, I've got someone for you, he's hurt bad! Neeiiiggghhhh!"
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"Bring him in here!" a voice yelled back. "I've just finished with another one, so I'm already
all set up!"
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Roth entered the old command center of the silo which had been turned into a fully equipped operating room, with an operation table big enough for even a hybrid his size. Carefully and gently he set down the small Donkey, and looking up said "Please Doc, he's hurt bad!" And he kept standing nearby snorting in concern as the Doc examined me, the tough soldier gone and a concerned horse in his place. He made soft squeals and chuffs of distress as I was gently examined, and kept trying to lick or nuzzle me. Finally the Doc said,
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"ROTH, get out of here you old warhorse! I know you're worried, but you're in the way!"
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With a final concerned look and soft moan, Roth turned and left the operating room. But he stayed just outside, and soon Tina joined him. And they both waited, the huge horse and small goat hybrids showing both animal and human worry and concern for the little Donkey they had adopted. And Tina comforted the huge horse as he grieved for the dead Donkeys and mules.
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The Doc carefully cleaned the blood off of my wound, and then gently shaved the area so he could see the damage better. He let out a soft whistle of concern. Damn, he thought, good thing equines have such thick skulls! He used a small portable Karn made medical scanner to examine the injury, and looked in dismay at the results. It had been captured from a Karn veterinary supply convoy, and all he had to do was set it to my hybrid species setting to get a complete report as to my physical condition. Damn, he thought again. I can relieve the pressure easily enough, but if his brain swells anymore he'll die and I can't do a damn thing about it! So he told his assistant which instruments to bring him, and grimly went to work on my injury. Two hours later, and totally exhausted, he finished. He looked down at the huge bandage on my head, and said to himself, "Who were you before? What was your name? Did you have a family?" Then he took my hand in his and held it for awhile, crying softly. Damn them, damn them! I've done all I can, little buddy, now it's up to you. And calling for an orderly he had me moved to the post-op recovery ward.
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I was unconscious for almost a week, they told me later. They said I would sometimes appear to be awake, but would ramble and babble incoherently, mostly just making equine sounds. But sometimes I would call for my friends, and not calm down again until Roth or another equine would come and sit with me for awhile, their scent and gentle nuzzling and chuffing helping me to relax and sleep again. The first two days were the worse, and Doc had to perform another operation to save me, but after that I began to improve. The last three days I slept a deep peaceful normal sleep, and I dreamed I was back at the factory and in my stall with Rob and Bob, and everything was fine. And for most of that time Roth would sit and hold me in his huge lap while I slept, his presence and sweet scent comforting and soothing.
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And finally I woke up, and it was horrible at first as I had to remember and relive everything that had happened over again. At first I was confused, then scared. I knew I was in a vet hospital, but not the one at the Factory. I could smell the scents of other equines, but also many other animals, including some I didn't recognize. I wanted to get up, but my head hurt and there was a IV drip in my arm.
And as my head cleared I suddenly remembered! ROB! BOB! I screamed, and let out a bray of anguish! Ohhh!, my friends, team mates! Where are you! And screamed again and again. There is nothing quite so horrible as an equine scream, it goes far beyond mere pain and loss, it comes from the soul. Everybody in the silo heard my screams and knew what it was, and shuddered. I heard whinnys, brays, and other sounds of sympathy and understanding from other equines, only they could truly understand my loss. And then Roth was there, and he held me while I cried and cried and wailed until there were no more tears and I was spent. He rocked me back forth, my pain making him cry too, his own sobs mingling with mine in sympathy. Both of us snorting and squealing. It helped, but nothing can ever fully heal my sense of loss and emptiness where two big goofy mules had been. Hybrids are much more empathic and emotional then pure humans, we get that from the donor animal parts of us. I once saw a hybrid sheep sit and cry for hours when it found a dead baby bird. And we hate to grieve alone, a often perfect stranger will share our grief with us. One equine seeing or hearing another grieve will instinctively go to their aid and try to comfort them.
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Over a period of a couple of days, after more bouts of grieving, and more true restful sleep, I was finally to the point I could start to think and relate on a more normal level. My first big surprise was when I met Doc on the first day I had woken up and was lucid. He was a human, a pure unhybridized human! I had reached out and touched his face in awe! And for the first time in many years what had happened to me, what had been done against my will, and most of all that which I had lost forever came back to me full force. And I cried again, but this time not only for myself, but also for all my brother and sister hybrids and what we had become. And Doc was so gentle and kind. He let me hold his hand as long as I wanted, pressing it to my muzzle, my tears soaking it. He asked me if I wanted to talk about it, about who I had been before. But I just shook my head "NO" as to do that would just make it worse. And it was Doc more than anyone else except maybe Col. Roth who held our strange little herd together through the years.
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He had seen my halter, and asked if Brad was my real name, or one the invaders had given me. I told him it was my real name, and he said "Good, then that's what we'll call you! If you had a slave name I'd recommend you change it back to your real name. You're lucky, many don't even remember their true names anymore."
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I asked him "How can you be, I mean, wasn't everybody transformed by the Masters?"
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He told me that as always there are always a few who are immune to viruses, for whatever reason, but in this case they were very rare and far between. Most had been able to avoid being infected. The crews of nuclear submarines were one source of many of the survivors, and those from airtight bunkers who had managed to seal themselves in time. One mistake the seed ship and colonists had made was not realizing the importance of the submarines as most planets they preferred to conquer were hotter and had very small, or no, seas at all. After the viruses had died out they had been able to emerge and try to understand what had happened. And they had provided an excellent base to start a resistance movement once they'd gotten organized. And to their surprise they found many hybrids who also wanted to fight back, but they were mostly small uncoordinated bands and herds. But slowly but surely we were putting together a very well organized guerilla army. In addition to himself Doc knew of only maybe fifteen other unchanged humans in this area, but had heard there were more. He hadn't been a veterinarian prior to the plague, but a regular MD. But things had quickly changed all those years ago. At first he'd tried to take care of as many of those who had changed, or were still changing, as he could. But soon it was hopeless, so he just kept a few of the less confused and more coherent ones with him, including the goat hybrid Tina who had been his nurse. Years later he had met up with Roth and his band of freedom fighters, and had set up his hospital in the old abandoned silo to help support their actions.
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Like I said, he was a kind gentle man, but his hatred for the Karn was a terrible thing to see. And he would get enraged whenever I referred to the Karn, or Tawn, or any of the other colonist races as "Masters", and it would take me a long time to break the habit it had become so engrained. "They are NOT your "Masters! he would rage, They destroyed our culture and civilization, our very history, and changed almost all of us into animals! Made a whole race into slaves! NO!, not even slaves, but subservient animals! Into stupid dumb animals, which is even worse! How can one sentient race do that to another! It's obscene!" And he would rant and rave until I was scared, and once Tina had to give him a sedative.
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She held him while he passed out, and told me, with anguish in her voice, "He had a wife and four little girls. They were on vacation back east with his wife's family when the plagues hit, and he never saw them again. It's tearing him apart!" And she cried because I know she loved him, as we all do. We both held him in our mutual grief. He reminded us of what we'd lost, of what had been done to us, and slowly but surely I could feel my own rage rising.
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End of Part 1, Part 2 has also been submitted.