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CHAPTER 6

Eldora Resort, West of Denver, Colorado

2357 Hours, August 18** th ***, 2052*

The night marched ever onwards with tales of times past and the hopes and fears of a time yet to come echoing through the warm cabin. Painful memories and joyous events were dragged out from the minds of those assembled in equal force as those gathered shared thoughts and poured their souls out onto the wooden surface that was laid out before them. It was not long before all of the alcohol was consumed and the revelries began to wane, the silence becoming almost deafening.

Lily had passed out and was now sprawled out on the table, her muzzle wet from a small puddle of beer that had gathered over the past few hours. Small waves spread out from her nostrils every time she expelled a lungful of air and her eyes were lightly closed. Her hair fell around her in a ruffled mess, free from its usual ponytail. Small snores could be heard coming from her, but the others didn't mind.

John was slumped in his chair unmoving, his eyes locked on a single fly that had landed on the cusp of his now-empty beer bottle. He made to swat it, but stopped as it took flight, buzzing incessantly about the table in search of its next meal. His arm drifted back down to where it had originated somewhat clumsily. He swallowed slowly, as good as spent for the night. He stood up to go to bed, but fell heavily on his chest and lay there. The steady rising of his back told the others he was still alive and more or less well.

Sasha was fiddling with Owen's knife, Nevermore, twirling it in her hands, its black features almost absorbing the light that fell from the small chandelier. The captured light seemed to be directed back out of the knife by the thin line of silver that followed the blade's cutting edges and it gleamed brightly. Her fur was slightly marred from where she had spilled her drink on herself, the better part of her left arm fur damp and spiked upwards. Her violet eyes were concentrating on something, the green flecks shimmering in the light. She laughed as she got what she wanted: the reflected light from the blade now burning into Owen's eyes.

Owen blinked, his eyelids puffy and slow. His clothing was still fairly clean, having avoided the drunken clambering of all those gathered. His knife sheath was on the table and he was uncertain if he should have given it to the possibly drunk vixen. He was partially leaning on the table, the final vestiges of alcoholic influence long having gone away. He barely drank, and when he did it was sparingly, so there was only two empties on the table before him. He blinked his grey eyes again as the beam of light crossed his face for a second time. "Hey," he groaned, "cut that out."

Sasha grinned mischievously, baring her teeth a bit. The thump thump thump of her tail banging on the chair could be heard from under the table. She didn't say anything, instead flicking the knife again to partially blind Owen. He shielded himself with a forearm. "Oh, come on. Really?"

She barked a laugh. "Cum on what? Sorry, just had to say it." She hadn't slurred, so Owen felt it safe to assume that she was likewise no longer drunk. Or, she was at least in control of herself.

Owen smiled despite himself. "That was in poor taste, mon amoureuse. But seriously, quit it."

She looked hurt, her eyes downcast and piercings now taking their turn in the light as she folded back her ears. The thumping from under the table stopped. "Fine." Quiet filled the air for a long moment as they both just relaxed. Owen was almost nodding off to sleep in his chair when she spoke again. "Owen? Are you awake?"

He started a bit before noticing that she was the one who had talked. "Hmm? Yeah, I'm up."

"Owen, did you ever think that," she pointed at first herself and then to him, "that we would, or could, ever happen?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, his mind too tired to catch what she had said completely.

"Did you ever think that we, you know, would ever be be a..thing? In a relationship?"

Now he was awake. "If you would have asked me that two years ago, I would have said no, or at least been uncertain about it."

"But?" she asked inquisitively, her ears perking up ever so slightly.

"Now it is probably the most certain thing in my life." He smiled lightly, catching her gaze with his.

She smiled herself, a faint redness filling the insides of her now alert ears. "I never really thanked you. For saving me, I mean."

Owen's smile didn't vanish as he replied. "You don't ever need to. If you were planning to do it now, don't. It is me who should be thanking you." She cocked her head to one side as he explained. "Before I met you, I was, well... I was just going through the motions. Fly here. Fight there. Plot the demise of another person. Hunt. I.. I was dead inside. Sure, I believed in what I fought for, but it never really meant anything, or at least not as much as it should have. I felt that if I died, right then, that I would die not caring. But then, well, you kind of fell into my arms, but you still came into my life regardless. I felt alive for the first time in years. And when you kissed me, back at the station, I.. I don't know what I felt, honestly. The closest I can come to explaining it is that it was like emerging from a lake after being deprived of oxygen. I felt relieved, I guess. Suddenly I knew what I was doing. WHY I was doing it."

His spirit was dampened as he saw that she had stopped smiling. His heart sank. Then she laughed and it was restored by her words, the thumping of her tail resuming its steady beat. "I should have done it earlier then. And here I was-" She stopped as Lily snorted, partially rolling over in her arms that were resting on the table. She continued when she was sure her sister was still sleeping. "And here I was worried about what would happen if I kissed you and you didn't feel the same way for me."

Owen thought back to that day. He recalled that he had been unsure of what to think about her as they stood at the access ramp to the helicopter, lips locked and tongues only the slightest bit coiled. But he also remembered how he had felt afterwards. "You shouldn't have been."

"That's good to know." she smiled as she stood up, languidly stretching to free her joints from the stiffness of sitting too long. She grabbed Nevermore's sheath and tucked the knife away deftly. Owen admired her slightly-tarnished look as she yawned mightily and shook out her legs, her tail still swaying behind her. She smiled down at him, one eye hidden beneath her bangs. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Yes, I am." he admitted with a shrug, "Sasha, you are the single most important thing to me in the world. Don't ever change. I lov-" He was cut off as John groaned in pain. Then he hurled all over the wooden floor.

"Oh, John!" hissed Sasha, stepping away from him.

Owen frowned. "I'll take care of these two, you head to bed. We need our rest."

She sighed. "No watch tonight?"

"No. We're all far too tired. I doubt we'll need one anyways: who's going to find us way the hell up here?" She looked like she was about to offer to help get the others to bed before he cut her off. "I've got this, don't worry." He smiled again.

"Alright," she relented, "be gentle though."

"Don't worry. I doubt these two would feel anything anyways..."

Owen half dragged John to the bathroom and left him on the tile floor near the toilet as he went to get Lily. She was far easier, weighing only about two thirds John's weight, and he got her into a bunk bed in what must have been the kids' bedroom with little hassle. He almost tripped over the rug on the way out, but he recovered quickly. When he returned to the bathroom, John was busy emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl. He grimaced at the smell. "Aw, that's disgusting John.

"Schhut up, EH?" retorted John in between vile spurts of partially digested poutine and beer. The emphasized 'eh' didn't go unnoticed by Owen. "Thisch schhit doesn't taschte scho good coming back up..."

"I know, EH?" chuckled Owen. "You almost done?"

"Almoscht," said John, his latest heave complete. He fell onto the ground and landed heavily on his backside. "You can leave now, I think I'll be alright here by myschelf."

"You sure?" asked Owen as he leaned against the door frame.

"Yesch." smiled John feebly. "I think I am."

"Good. If you need help, just hollar." That said, he turned to head towards his waiting bed.

"Wait!" called John just as he turned away. "I heard a little about what you schaid. You know, to Shascha." Owen paused and turned back to him. John continued. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. I'm probably far too drunk to remember anywaysch. But, you meant what you schaid? About the going through the motionsch kinda thing?"

Owen nodded his head, sighing as he replied. "Yes. I meant every word." No point denying it.

John took a while to digest this, nodding slowly with his back against the wall. "I thought scho. You really love her, don't you?"

"Yes." said Owen, not a hint of even the slightest pause in his voice.

"Good. You're a lucky man, Schmith," said John, "I don't know about the fuzzy bit, not my preferensche; I don't like dog hair in my bed... But I DO know that schhe lovesch you back."

"Thanks." said Owen, one side of his mouth going up in a half-smile. "You get some rest now, alright? I'm going to go to bed."

"Okey dokey," replied John. Owen once again turned to leave but John called out again. Owen bit back his annoyance. "Schmith, I want you to know that before any of thisch happened to me, I wash an angry man. I had nothing to fight for. I did sho because it wash either that or schcrounge a livin' on da schtreetsh in a wrecked schity. But thatsch not what I'm schaying. What I mean to schay isch that now I have schomething to believe in. But my pascht... It followsch me, Owen. What with my previosch choish of schides an'all... I hope you truscht me..."

Owen searched himself for any doubt. John's inception had not been accepted as easily as that of any of the others due to his past occupation as a Humanist foot soldier. Owen had made the decision primarily to keep an eye on him to ensure he didn't escape. After all that had happened in the past few days, Owen knew that he could indeed trust John. "Don't worry. I trust you."

"Thanksch.. That meansch a lot."

"It's nothing. Now let me sleep, eh?" said Owen jokingly.

"Okay... g'night."

"Goodnight." Owen left the bathroom half expecting to be stopped again. He wasn't. He made his way down the small hallway to where he had slept the previous night. Owen didn't bother undressing, instead flopping down onto the bed. He almost flattened Sasha. "Hey!" she called out before Owen practically threw himself from the bed in surprise.

"Sasha!? What are you doing in here?" asked Owen, who was now standing beside the bed. Sasha was curled up under the thick blankets of his oversized king bed and now poked her nose out from underneath a luxuriously warm quilt. "Well, I figured you'd want to keep your most prized possession close to your heart. So here I am! Ta-dah!"

Owen shook his head and clicked his tongue. "You don't belong to me, you know that."

Sasha pulled the covers off of her face and looked up at him. "I know. But your bed is comfy." How she had managed to say it without a smile, even she probably wasn't quite sure of.

"Fine. You can stay." said Owen in a mocking tone. She let out a yelp of exultation and burrowed back underneath the covers, the bed shaking from her movements. Owen went around to the other side of the bed and laid down after shucking off his clothes and slipping into comfy pair of jogging pants that he had found the night before in the room's dresser. He didn't want her trying anything right now; he was far too tired for anything of the sexual nature. He pulled the edge of the blankets up over his body and closed his eyes. It was only a moment before he felt a furry arm that smelled of spilt beer wrap around his chest. After a while, he managed to drift off to sleep, the disgusting sounds of John spilling his guts interrupting the night once again before they too fell silent.

**

Keslow, Colorado

0825 Hours, August 19** th ***, 2052*

Warren woke early and quickly dressed himself in the morning gloom. He slipped into his boots and left the motel room, being careful not to wake the others. The squad had been given housing in the town's motel after meeting up with the friendly feline morph again and had made themselves at home under the watchful gaze of an armed guard. They were paired two to a room, Warren bunking with Paul while Marcus shared a second room with Sam.

The previous day had been spent getting a tour of the small town with a small escort. Despite what had happened around the rest of the world, the people of this community had managed to band together and manage to live near normal lives. Power had been established through a wind farm that took up a large portion of the area directly west of the city, the supply being renewable and more than sufficient for the town's needs. As a result, water was fresh and in a ready supply. Warren imagined that food may be a problem, but had not asked about it directly. From what he had gathered, a few people had been into agriculture and had quickly seen to raising plants for food immediately after the war started. Otherwise, he was unsure how they obtained their meat or dairy.

The town's published population was little over four hundred, though it seemed that little over half of the houses were occupied. Jen had said that they had just moved off, sometimes in groups, sometimes alone, and went elsewhere. She had also said that they had left because they sought greener pastures elsewhere. What Warren had heard is 'they left because they found that they needed us morphs'.

He emerged out into the sun and took in a deep breath of fresh air. The previous day had been spent in attendance with Newbolt and a gathering of community leaders, trying to draw an idea of what had transpired over the last two years back in the city. He and the other Expeditors had left slightly flustered, but they had known that it would be difficult to grasp. The fact that the KSS had been employed two years ago alone had baffled them. He imagined that they had been more surprised that they had survived at all. Though he was slightly annoyed by their apparent obliviousness, he had just thrown out the facts. It was up to them to believe him or not.

They hadn't told them that they had been Expeditors. He hadn't broached that topic, mainly because he didn't take them for the sort to know who the Expeditors were. There had been many high ranking military personnel who had not even known of the program's shadowy existence. For the moment, the townspeople were content in thinking that the Phoenocians were just some soldiers that had run across some high-grade military hardware somewhere in Denver or Aurora. That was fine by Warren. The thought had even managed to make Newbolt deem the guard unnecessary; something that was practically a godsend for Warren. He hated it when people were breathing down his neck.

He leaned up against the tan wall outside of his hotel's porch and watched the town go about its business from the shade. The motel was on the main route through Keslow, sharing its street address with the bank, government building, grocers, and a small boutique that had once sold common items but was now more of a trading post of sorts. As the sun rose in the sky, he saw people enter and exit the buildings and go about their lives. He frowned as he noted a tiger morph heading directly for a smaller man, oblivious of the man's existence just in front of the hotel. The box the morph was carrying obscured its view of the area directly in front of him and quickly resulted in the two people colliding and the smaller human ending up sprawled out on his ass.

The man, a black-haired, middle-aged Hispanic, pushed the morph heavily as he got back up, making the larger fur stagger back a step and drop its box. The way that the fur didn't react showed that it was used to torment and ridicule. The man said something to it, but it didn't register, so he shouted it. A torrent of hot air came out of the man's throat as he sought to drive home some sort of dominance over the fur.

The tiger merely blinked slowly and stooped to pick up the cardboard box it had dropped. The man looked mad and was drawing back to strike at him when Warren spoke up. "HEY! YOU HAVE A PROBLEM? I'M SURE IT WAS AN ACCIDENT." He started descending the white wooden steps towards them, closing the twenty meter gap that separated him from the other two.

The man looked up as he saw who had yelled at him. "Yeah, as a matter of fact I do. This retard just hit me!"

"I know, I saw what happened. That is still no reason to yell at him." growled Warren. It seemed not everyone was fine with morphs taking on a more active role in Keslow.

The tiger stood immobile, cringing a bit as the man jabbed a finger in his direction. "Well, I can't let him get away with it. And who are you to talk anyways? I thought Timmy getting stuck in the well was more of your speciality" he sneered.

"Oh, trust me, you do not want to go there. Just apologize to the man and I'll let you walk away unharmed." hissed Warren between clenched teeth.

"Oh, is that so." he pushed the striped orange and black morph aside as he rose to Warren's challenge, his chest puffed out and arms slightly raised. "I didn't take orders from a fur before the war, and I sure as hell won't now. Especially not from some puffed-up, self-righteous dog! Why don't you just go back to your owner, Lassie. Let a human handle it."

Warren felt his hands clench into fists as he man practically spat the words in his face. His scar itched and his breathing had started to grow slow and deliberate. To his credit, the man didn't cry out as Warren broke his nose with a ferocious right hook. "I'm not sure if you know who you are talking to, " hissed Warren, looking with contempt down at the man who was once again on his ass, blood streaming from his nostrils, "but I'll have you know that have killed men for less than that. Now get out of here before I scratch another kill tally on my armour."

The man slowly managed to get back on his feet and took off, grumbling into a hand as he held his nose in the air. Warren looked back at the tiger, while was staring at him blankly. "Next time, just hit him; he'll learn fast." The tiger merely clutched its package closer. Warren sighed. He wasn't talking to another A-class morph. This guy was at least a B if he was being generous. Menial class. The tiger went to leave, and Warren turned away, his mood now dark and brooding.

The tiger said something, but Warren didn't quite catch it. "Huh?" he asked. The tiger stopped and turned, looking him in the face as he repeated himself. "Thank you."

Warren smiled. "You're welcome."

"Warren?" came a voice from behind him. He turned to be greeted by Jennifer walking towards him. She dodged lithely around the man as he pushed past her in the direction of the bank. "What happened? Why is Mr. Johnson bleeding?"

"Mr. Johnson? Is that his name? Well, I broke his nose." he said casually as he crossed his arms, "He was out of line."

"Out of line!?! Warren," she cried, "you should not have done that. No, you most certainly should not have done that..."

She looked worried, her tail flicking lightly and whiskers drooping, but Warren was nonplussed. "Why not?"

She looked almost aghast, her eyes widening. "Why not!? Warren, you hit a human! Oh, this is not good! Do you even know who that man was?"

He looked at her with a stern expression. "Mr. Johnson, apparently."

Her mouth moved to talk, but it merely flapped without making a sound. Clearing her throat and trying to regain her composure, she tried again. "That man is the main opposition to our freedom here in Keslow. Back when the war was in its early stages, the community held a town commune to decide on the next course of action. Mr. Johnson was one of the people who opposed the idea, saying instead that the town hand all the gene projects, all of us, to the Humanists. The humans decided to hold a vote and Mr. Newbolt won after the vote was tallied, thankfully. It was determined that we should be set free to better our chances of survival as a community."

"So he hates us." sighed Warren.

"In short, yes. And you can be sure that he'll raise some kind of fuss over this. Warren... You could not have chosen a worse person to hit..."

That's when Marcus decided to show up, his prosthetic arm whirring as he descended the small set of stairs. He approached happily, his tail swaying slightly and a spring in his step. He must have been warm because he was panting. "Hello Jennifer. Warren. Nice day, eh? A bit too warm for me, but no there's no use in complaining: it beats waking up to gunshots and blood."

Jennifer cast him Warren a worried glance before excusing herself. "Uhh... Yeah. I guess so. Well, I have to run. I need to wash some laundry before noon. Maybe I'll see you two later."

She walked off and left the others to talk, Marcus giving Warren a confused look before shrugging. "What's up with her?"

Warren flinched. "What? Oh. We were just parting ways when you came along."

Marcus smiled. "Oh, are you sure there? It looked a bit more serious than that." He winked. Well, he tried to, but he ended up shutting his false eye's lens partially. "Bah! This damned eye..." He closed his other eye instead, the red glow from the other still fixed intently on Warren. He sighed as the sentiment was lost. "Well, whatever. You get the point."

Warren was only slightly amused at Marcus's inability to properly wink, but he didn't lose sight of what he had been trying to say. "Marcus, sometimes I believe you see too much. There was nothing going on between us."

"Sure." shrugged Marcus.

"Look, say what you want but I can assure you that we're just friends." placated Warren.

"Fine, if you insist. I won't push it. Besides, last time I checked, Angie had your number anyways."

"Thanks, tha- Hey, wait, what?" Warren sputtered, "What do you mean by that!?!?"

"What I mean is that I've seen the way she looks at you. Well, looks at you're ass. I guess she likes the whole 'badass warrior' routine, eh? Hahaha!" Marcus laughed at his own inferences.

Warren's ears went back flat to his skull. "Dude, that's just- well, I honestly don't know what that is." He sighed, his gaze wandering before settling on Marcus again. "She's good company, but sometimes it just feels... I dunno, odd, I guess. Sometimes she was just like Sasha or Lily, and other times, well, putting it frankly she was like one of the guys."

Marcus thought about that for a moment, frowning slightly. Suddenly, he smiled. "Well, I suppose she is kinda both, eh? Definitely has the err- tools for it." He thought he saw something cross the coyote's face, if only for the slightest moment, and was slightly shocked. It hadn't been joviality. "Warren, did you, do you... feel for her?" Something akin to embarrassment flickered across his friend's face before he quashed it beneath a visage of calmness and indifference.

"Marcus...," began Warren, "I- I don't know. It's not that cut and dry..."

"Well, if it weren't for the dick and all, would you screw her?" Warren looked shocked, his mouth dropping open slightly. He closed it. An almost pained expression stuck fast in his brown eyes.

"Marcus...," he sighed, "I don't know... Maybe..."

Marcus knew he had gone a bit too far. He sighed and flexed his synthetic arm, the grey metal clicking as it moved. The light in his left eye seemed to dim a bit. "Look, Warren, if what I said offended you..."

Warren seemed to slump a little where he stood. He scratched the scar on his neck and shook his head. "Don't worry about it. I'll live." To reinforce this, he flashed one of his notoriously rare smiles.

"Look, I never really meant anything. I was just fooling around. I guess I didn't think before I opened my maw." Warren looked at him and blinked slowly.

"I know. But could you do one thing for me?"

Marcus tilted his head to one side and his ears focused on Warren attentively. "Sure, I s'pose so. What is it?"

Warren glanced around. He really had no need to, nobody was around and even if anybody were, odds were that they didn't know them. "Whatever you do, just don't tell the others about this. Especially not Angie. Let me figure this out on my own, okay?"

Marcus smiled and his good eye glimmered with vitality. "Aw, you take all the fun out of it." He was about to make another joke but stopped when he noticed Warren was staring daggers at him. "Fine. You have my word. Nobody else will know." But hey..."

"What?" asked Warren, knowing he could trust the larger morph.

"She does have a nice ass." finished Marcus.

This won another embarrassed smile from Warren.

Ahem! Sorry about that, I'm a little parched is all. Why thank you, how kind. As long as it isn't poisoned... Aw, cheer up, I'm joking. Besides, even if it was, it has to be better than that toxic swill they call water in this city.

Ahh... Very refreshing. Thank you. What was your name again? Fria? Well, thank you very much, Fria, you are most kind. HEY! Please do not touch that, it is very old! The last thing I want is the cost of that gun coming out of my paycheck! It's bad enough with all the taxes...

Now, where was I. Oh yes. Meanwhile, in-

Hmm? Why was he being laughed at for liking Angie? Hmm... I imagine that it is hard to picture nowadays, but hermaphrodites were far more rare back then than they are now. Think of them as a new series of updates released for a PTV. At first, nobody will buy them because they are suspected of being inferior in some way; it takes time for people to adjust to them. Yes, that's right Fria, they were seen as abnormal at the time. Please don't take this the wrong way, but they weren't really accepted back then, even less so than us 'gene projects' were normally.

But, back to the story...