FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Chapter 1

The Sun Panels projected warm light onto the cobbled walkways of Level 1. Residents and workers circled through the corridors of facades made to look like the old villas and storefronts or sat in the plaza by the central water feature built to looks like a pond. The overhead speakers, hidden in the walls, played a clocktower chime.

The PR rep from Dwell Here positioned his camera in the plaza, setting up a backdrop showing the groundbreaking of Dwell 1 on the left, and the interior of Dwell 27 on the right with FIFTY YEARS OF LIFE UNDERGROUND printed in bold letters across the top. It took the better part of an hour to convince the first resident to sit for an on-camera interview. The rep wasn’t excited to speak with the interviewee, but he needed something to show his time and effort, so he had the Construct sit on the stool.

“If you could state your name, please,” the rep said, making notes as he started recording.

The Construct’s image appeared on the monitor. A meter-tall creature with black eyes the size of billiard balls. It had the form of a cinnamon colored rat, with its saucer ears and thick tail. It’s Collar hummed a dull green, that the rep had to adjust for. It’s voice was that of a young woman as it spoke its name: “Rivet.”

“Thank you, Rivet.” The man kept his voice cheery. “So, if you could say a few words about what it’s like living in Dwell 17. And remember to look at me as you answer.”

Rivet nodded. “I like it here. Everyone is so nice, especially Warren. Warren Arkwright. He’s the Water Resource Engineer for this Dwell. He’s my owner. He brings me nice things, and I make him his meals and clean up and stuff.” She paused and thought. “And it smells nice here. The food places… What are they called?”

“Restaurants?” the rep suggested.

“Yes! The restaurants always have such delicious food. And everyone is so nice.” She looked up at the Sun Panels with their simulated sky. “It’s warm and pretty all the time here.” She narrowed her eyes and smiled carefully, just enough to show a little bit of her front teeth. A practiced gesture. “I really love living in the Dwell.”

A few others began to gather: a woman with a baby, a boy, a man carrying a delivery. The PR rep thanked Rivet and excused her, hoping to catch one of the onlookers. Rivet hopped from the stool and bowed her head, thanking the rep for his time before scurrying on her way.

There were Rules for Constructs. How to smile. How to walk. How to speak to humans. How to eat. The Rules were meant to make living among giant rats more palatable. Rivet tried to be conscious of the Rules at all times. She had to. Her Collar made sure of it.

She wove her way among people, watching each step. Careful of her tail. Dipping her head in light bows to the people she passed. Always showing how happy she was to have the privilege of living in the Dwell with Warren. Collar glowing green. Always green.

Rivet approached a bloc of apartments with Mediterranean facades. The smell of saltwater blew through the faux street as gull sounds played from hidden speakers in the corners of the buildings. The door marked ‘M13’ with ‘Arkwright’ stamped underneath unlocked as she approached. She slipped inside and pressed the pad on the wall to secure the door. She closed eyes and clinched her fists, taking deep, slow breaths. In. Out. “You’re OK,” she said to herself. Soft. Reassuring. She crossed her arms over her front, hugging herself. “You’re OK,” she repeated, opening her eyes. Still green. The daily walk was a requirement set by Warren—to the plaza and back. About a kilometer. She tried to persuade him to allow her to walk the circumference of the Level, but he refused to allow it. And he tracked her Collar.

Rivet trudged to the kitchen, the lights activating for her as she reached the counter. She looked at the window above the sink and asked for the weekly menu. Polite. Happy. The window changed from a seaside vista to a series of blocks. “Wednesday,” she said, the center block expanding across the window pane. “Vitros Chicken. Prep pack. For two,” she announced, the options highlighting as she spoke. She approved the transaction and thanked the ordering system. Practicing kindness was important. A jaunty tune played and the outdoor scene faded back into view.

Rivet looked around the apartment. She had swept and dusted before her walk. Straightened up just after Warren left for work. She looked down at herself. She thought she looked fine. Her fur was clean and well-groomed. She would still need a shower. Another of Warren’s requirements. Shower and dress. He would know if she didn’t take a shower. Between the cameras and his monitoring of water usage, he would know. She knew better than to test him again about it.

She collected the outfit he had set out for her. A silk kimono. Green with a floral print and a black sash across the middle. She could tell it was expensive by its weight and texture. Probably hand made. She hung it on the bedroom door and went to the shower. There were so many things she hated, but the shower was probably in the top three.

She had learned a rhythm to the shower to get it over with quickly. Rinse-shampoo-rinse-dry. The rinses were actually rather pleasant. The soothing sensation of warm water soaking to her skin accompanied by the hiss and patter of the spray. The shampoo was tolerable. It just had a strong smell. Washing away the harsher notes would have made the second rinse even better than the first, except for the lingering anticipation of the dryer. She’d tried alternatives. Towels. Air drying. While she found the results adequate, Warren did not, so she had to use the dryer.

She took a breath and plugged her ears before tapping a button with her nose. A ring descended from the top of the stall, blowing hot air from all sides. Down and up at least twice. Slowly. With the process taking a minute or more. It was agony. Rivet found herself screaming at times. When it was over, she was left fluffy and shaking. It took another hour to put her fur back into place with combs and brushes and oils. And then she had to cover all of her efforts with the kimono. All of her work left her head pounding from the noise and smells. She would ask for a Dorfinol when Warren got home.

She made her way back to the kitchen. Though it was a short trip, walking in the kimono was difficult. It restricted her stride and kept her tail tucked close to her feet, so she had to move by taking tiny, shuffling steps. At least the kimono wasn’t every day.

A chime signaled the arrival of the dinner order. She opened the hatch in the wall and placed the Vitros Chicken box on the counter. She could have ordered a prepared meal, but Warren insisted that she cook dinner herself. He said it was because he likes everything cut a certain way.

She unpacked the container. A small bottle of oil. Another of concentrated sauce. A bag of vegetables and one of Vitros Chicken. She poured the oil into the hot pan and opened the bags and began cutting. She remembered her cooking lessons back at the Facility with great fondness. An older woman with a strong accent demonstrated techniques and explained principles and then circulated among the Constructs. She would gently guide Rivet’s hands, explaining how to curl fingers and how to hold the knife correctly. That was before she was called Rivet, of course. Back then, she was 2315-Alpha. They called her Fifteen for short. She slept in the dormitory with all of her sisters.

Rivet scraped the vegetables and Vitros Chicken in to the pan. The ingredients sizzled, steam carrying the rich scents of peppers and meat. Going against directions, she would add the condensed sauce after cooking and would leave out the water—that was how Warren liked it. She glanced at the clock. Three minutes. She stirred in the sauce and allowed it to heat before pouring the full contents of the pan into a broad bowl.

The apartment door opened. A minute early. Rivet scrambled to dispose of the packaging and dropped the knife, pan, and cutting board into their drawers to be washed and sterilized. She took the bowl up in her hands. It was still too hot and burned her palms, but she didn’t dare release it. She closed her eyes to reorient herself and put on a smile as she opened them again “Good evening, dear. How was work?”

Warren slipped off his shoes and bent down, pressing his lips to Rivet’s maw. “It was fine. You made chicken?” He walked over to the chair in the middle of the main room and sat down. He was wholly unremarkable. On the younger side of middle age without distinguishing features. The kind of guy who was easy to miss in a crowd. He patted the arm of the chair. “That smells so good. Let’s eat.”

Rivet knew how to act. How to keep the mask of happiness from slipping. She knelt down on the floor and held the bowl up for him, her hands numb from burning. He ate with chopsticks, carrying small bites to his mouth. Chewing. Making pleasured sounds. After a he had a few bites, he held out one for her which she took graciously. It should have been delicious with its spicy sesame ginger flavor. But the sauce was too thick, and adding it at the end of cooking meant that the flavors hadn’t blended and all subtlety was lost.“Dear,” she said. “I have an awful headache. May I take something after dinner?”

He huffed and glared at her. She had broken the fantasy. His perfect home should be free of complaint. His face turned red. “The fuck didn’t you take something already?” he demanded.

“We didn’t have any in the cabinet, so I need to buy some,” she explained, lowering her eyes. “I don’t have enough in my account.”

Warren strained and groaned to stand, his hands balled into fists. “What are you spending money on? I give you an allowance every week.”

Rivet kept her eyes down, lowered her head. Shrinking into herself. “I bought our dinner.”

Warren seemed to consider for a moment then slapped the bowl from her hands, sending the contents over the rug and across the room. He scoffed and pointed. “Clean up this mess,” he ordered.

“Of course, dear. I’m sorry,” Rivet whimpered, standing.

“Hold on.” Warren grabbed her arm and lifted it above her head. He poked at a spot on her kimono. “That’s going to stain. Do you know how expensive this was?”

“I’m sorry, dear. It spilled when you hit the bowl.”

Warren’s nostrils flared. He began to sweat. “Are you blaming me for this, you clumsy piece of shit?”

“No, dear. Of course not. I would never say that. It just happened when the bowl spilled.” Rivet’s words were muddled, rushed. Her head ached. Fear overwhelmed her senses. Then Warren slapped her hard on the side of her head with his free hand. She felt the sting of the contact. The concussive force nearly knocked her down, and would have if he hand’t been holding her arm. Then it came again. And again. The open hand becoming a fist. Again. Again. “Stop!” she pleaded, struggling to wrench herself from his grasp. Another blow to her face. Another. “Stop!” she snarled. Another. She threw herself against him. Her vision red and black.