Behind Yellow Eyes: Chapter 10
Chapter 10.
Marcus looks around as he's forcefully walked out of the storage closet, desperate to recognize someone familiar. Mist's paw almost completely encircles his neck, and he has no doubt that he could break it if he wants to. Terror picks up another notch, making his legs feel like they're on stilts. Traces of helplessness rise as he realizes there is no one but his boss that really knows him at this station. He's probably back in his office, ordering supplies or filling out his timecard.
"Wait." Mist pulls him up short, they were about to cross a hallway junction. "Ok, forward now... this way is clear. There's no one around to help you, Marrrcus. I've been doing this sort of thing for a long time, and I know right now up in your head, you're searching desperately for hope that I'll get caught. I'm telling you right now, such thoughts will prolong your suffering, trust Mist on that fact."
Mist walks him forward a little too fast for his human legs to keep up with. Too fast for him to walk, too slow for him to run. Marcus's steps are much shorter than the large canine's. He keeps worrying about what will happen if he accidentally steps on his feet.
Where the hell is everyone? Marcus thinks. The place seems empty, yet it's the busy period. How is this even possible, when he can hear motion in every direction? Announcements steadily come over the PA, doors are opening and closing, all at the edges of every corner, there's definitely movement. But whenever he looks, it's gone. It feels like he's being propelled forward through a dream. Mist suddenly jerks him back into a cleaning bot's isle.
He snarls. "If you speak, those words will be the last your existing vocal cords will ever produce." Marcus doesn't doubt it for a second. Several Rhenthar walk by, oblivious of what's just a few meters beside them. He wants to call out to them, so badly... but wait. His wetware!
"Help!" Typing the word in his head seems to take an agonizing amount of time, he keeps selecting the wrong letters. Mist pushes him forward and he resumes his quick-walk towards section A. "Rhenthar has me, his name is Mist. Help! I'm scared!" It takes several tries to get the transmit icon to glow.
A few moments later, they stop in the middle of what is normally a very busy central walkway. The grip around his neck grows painfully tight, warm breath that smells like an unfamiliar spice whispers into his left ear. " Now you've pissed me off. The spaceport's sentient AI just alerted me to your family member's inquiry. Why is that, Marrrcus? Did you do something stupid , like call for help?"
"Uh, er..."
Mist shakes his head. "Just your attempt at deceit speaks so much truth itself. How Sinclair ever got past this, I wonder..."
"Sin...clair?" Marcus hasn't heard the name before, and feels lost. He catches a flash of green eyes and sharp white teeth in the corner of his vision, and his eyes water with new fear, waiting for him to rip his face off, or worse.
Mist kneels next to him and squeezes his mouth, keeping his other paw tight around his neck, forcing him to look into his terrible eyes. His neck throbs with his racing heart. "By now you remember your lessons on how to interact with Rhenthar safely. Yes?" Mist shakes him, "look at me!"
Marcus glances back into his angry eyes, feeling his body tense up harder, and harder, he wants so badly to look away again. His wetware shows inbound comms, from his grandfather.
"If you use your wetware again, I'll know. And I promise you, I swear on my life, I'll carve that computer out of your skull with my bare fingers. I know where it's at, and that isn't even the part of your brain that I need. So go ahead. Can you guess what I'm going to ask, five minutes from now? Think long and hard about what answer you'll be giving me."
The words cease registering in his head as he pictures Mist pulling chunks out of his skull, he thinks it's about to happen, like right now. Warmth runs down the inside of his left leg. As he realizes what it is, terror mixes with shame. Most prominent, though, is the knowledge, the certainty, of what Mist is saying.
He'll know! And he will hurt him.
Marcus barely nods his head. He puts his wetware into sleep mode, and watches the icons fade to nothingness. He has never felt so vulnerable, so alone. Mist lets go of his mouth and stands back up.
"Time for a new tactic. I can see where this is going," Mist says cryptically.
A shrill alarm erupts in the starport. The whole place fades in noise and activity. "Emergency. Emergency. Evacuate immediately, seek shelter. Do not run. This starport is under attack by hostile ships. Emergency. Emergency. Evacuate immediately..."
Both stare up at the announcements. "What is that?" Marcus asks.
Mist hesitates for a moment, staring down at him. He lets go of his neck and grabs his left hand. "Unfriendlies. Very big. Time to run."
As they streak down the hallway, the warmth down his left leg begins to chill and embarrassment flashes into the foreground of his mind. The end of the passageway is only a dozen meters away, and Marcus wonders why everyone is panicking. Unfriendlies? The starport has very powerful shields, that much he knows for a fact.
The door to the skylift tunnel is already open, and they quickly enter. Mist turns around and slams his palm on the access plate, the door slides shut. He wrinkles his muzzle and stares down at him, Marcus flinches and looks away.
"Scared, are you? I hope, for your sake, that it isn't because you're still using your wetware. You know what I'm going to ask. And that's going to set the pace for our future together, Marrrcus. I'd prefer there be other ways for you to learn that I'm a canine of my word. That when I say something will happen, it does."
Mist reaches down, grabs the zipper at the top of Marcus's coveralls, and yanks it down. He's wearing a t-shirt and briefs under it, and the crotch is wet and yellow, Marcus stares up at the ceiling and once again hopes his heart will stop beating.
"Strip. You're not coming onto my ship dripping piss like that. Is any more going to come out? I can put something in you that'll solve that problem, real quick. If that's what it takes. Hurry up!"
Marcus peels his t-shirt from his sweat-slicked back and tosses it onto the floor, falling onto his butt in order to quickly get his boots off, one at a time. He throws the rest of the jumpsuit off and pulls down his underwear. Urine coats his left sock, and he peels that off last, leaving just the right one on as his only clothing. For some reason, he wants to leave it on, as if it's his last and most important possession.
A coughing growl. "Really? You're just going to leave one of your man feet covered? Leave it. My floors are the best, you'll like them underfoot, I certainly do. Hurry up if you want to live."
Marcus glances at the door leading to the starport, wishing it were open. He sees the lock status lights flashing active. The door to Mist's ship stands open and he sees a dim red interior within. He knows in that direction, it's the wrong way to go. And he's naked!
"Up. You can do it, Marrrcus. Get up!" Mist reaches down and grabs him by the shoulder, helping his legs lift him up onto his feet. They almost won't support him, he's so terrified. He stumbles forward and tosses his last sock to the ground before stepping into Mist's ship. He's naked, so naked. He wonders who else might be in there, and if he sees anyone, he's going to melt into the floor, he's sure of it.
Mist follows him close behind, and as soon as they're both onboard, the inner airlock doors snap shut and lock. "Ship. Clear takeoff procedures and release docking clamps. Depart to nearest jump point."
A smooth contralto human female voice answers from the ceiling. "Liftoff permission granted, initiating power up now. ETA to jump point, twenty-seven minutes."
The floor under Marcus's feet vibrates, with an increasing pitch until it fades into nothing. He knows from his studies that artificial gravity can counter the effects of inertia, so even right now they may be leaping into the atmosphere and he won't feel a thing. There are no windows to show any motion, none that he can see. He wonders who the unfriendlies are, and what threat they pose to the city. He's worried he knows who they're here for.
Behind him, Mist takes a deep breath and lets it out. Marcus turns and sees him leaning against the wall. "I've been looking hard for someone like you, Marrrcus." He points at the hallway on his right. "That way. Need to see what I'm working with. For now, you might hate me for a little while. And that's fine, I can work with that. Do what I say, though, and you'll enjoy the results. Know that as a fact."
Marcus walks down the hallway, feeling his fear returning, wondering what's down it, what's coming next. He wants to go home! He'll go ask that girl out on a date, what's her name again? To hell with Rhenthar, and his own fantasies, they're stupid, he's just an idiot.
The dark red floor is warm under his feet, spongy memory foam, softer than the inside of his grandfather's house slippers. The ship's interior is the nicest he's ever seen, though he hasn't seen many. A few of his grandfather's friends have given him rides a couple of times, but not on anything as nice as this. The ceiling is half a meter above Mist's head, and the passageways are all wider than Marcus can touch with both arms. It's very spacious for a starship. The walls are dark brown, and equipment hums quietly within them, giving the impression of power. Storage lockers of various sizes are everywhere, all in shades of red. He can't figure out if it's actually colored that way, or if it's from the indirect light coming from slits in the ceiling. It's making his vision swim while his eyes adjust.
"Last door on your right. Just stand in the center of the room, Marrrcus."
He does as he's told, wanting to combat the feelings of fear with something else. If he obeys, Mist said he wouldn't hurt him. Maybe if he does what he's told, he'll be nice. He wants that, he needs that. He'll do anything to get it. Most people like Marcus, his boss likes him, the other guys at his college like him. He's that type, Mist will see...
The room he enters is intensely lit, with pure white from above. Though it isn't inherently bright itself, that the whole ceiling is glowing makes for many lumens. He thinks back to his materials sciences class, when they discussed lighting from fluorescing surfaces. Then he looks down and feels embarrassed again.
Mist walks up behind him and grips his shoulders, turning him to face a machine to which he has no idea of the function, but since he doesn't see anything that can poke or cut him, he hopes it can't do either. It's bolted to the wall and looks to be about as big as he is, it's vaguely humanoid in fact. It has bulbous arms and legs, like a robot trapped in the wall. A holo screen fizzes into life right next to it, and he sees himself standing there. He holds his hands over his dick and tries to hide.
"Let's see what we've got." Mist has a small device in his paw, it looks kind of like a gun. He pushes it against Marcus's shoulder and it stings. Mist holds him against the device with his paw on his other shoulder, and the pain increases, turning into a burning ache above his biceps.
He pulls it away and Marcus gasps, slapping his hand against where it was. "Ow... ah, burns!" He can feel something hard under his skin now, about the size of a marble. A cold sensation spreads up his arm. "What was that for! I didn't use my wetware, I swear!"
Mist gives one of his coughing growls. "The first of many things that are going to hurt, Marrrcus. Nothing good in life ever comes without some level of pain. You were born into this universe through pain in your mother. I just implanted a device that's interacting with your DNA." He points at the robot, "watch."
Marcus grows quiet. The pain is like a reality check, to him. This is all bad, this is terrible. He stares up at the huge canine, and glances at the holoscreen. A large twisting DNA helix runs the whole length from the floor to the ceiling.
"Ugh. This scent of fear needs to end, Marrrcus. It needs to end right now." Mist plucks a hypospray from its charging cradle built into the wall, and deftly hits a few buttons on a unit mounted next to it. Marcus hears the tinkle of glass as it ejects something into a tray. He takes it and loads it into the hypospray. Technology that his grandfather can't afford, but he knows what it is, and what's coming next. Marcus gulps. There's nowhere to run...
"I'd tell you to relax, but since you're not very good at following orders, yet," Mist says, as he walks up to him. Marcus is about to turn around and beg him not to inject him with anything, but the big canine covers the distance faster than he expected. He feels a sharp sting in his neck and a hiss. He jumps, but Mist is ready for that, holding his neck steady with his other paw.
He's sure he's going to piss again, and worries about what he said earlier, about putting something on him that would stop that. He wonders what he means, and then wonders why he's so afraid.
Fear... leaves him.
First just a little bit, then all of it at once. Confidence builds up quickly as he assesses his situation. He feels fuzzy at the edges, in fact, very fuzzy. The room spins around him for a moment and then stops. He lets out a huge sigh, the kind he only expects to happen the next time he sees his grandfather.
This is artificial, he knows at a deep level in his mind. But it certainly feels real enough for him. He turns and looks at Mist, and gulps, looking away quickly. Because fear is entirely absent, he might say something, or stare at things that'll get him in trouble. Yet he's unafraid, so he does stare.
"Ah. There it is," Mist says. "I see that, Marrrcus." He sniffs up high in the air, and then down close to him, his nostrils quivering just centimeters from his neck. Mist kneels down quietly, surprising Marcus with how quick and smooth he can move for being so big. Warm breath rushes from the cold wet nose, right next to his crotch, and nothing is there in his head to prevent him from getting hard. Only a small voice, in the back of his mind. The one that says no.
Don't. Think of something else, don't!
He does.
Mist inspects his penis with a rough paw. The fact that it feels good conflicts with the muted, inner voice. The two fight and react together with a surreal sensation, and he grows certain that this is nothing but a dream. So certain, in fact, that he doesn't mind, and the inner voice dwindles to silence.
"Uncircumcised. How interesting. That certainly solves a number of problems, not that they were ever serious. But it's easier for me to work with, building up your sheath. Kind of small, though. I'm going to make you a big boy... with plenty of room behind your knot." He shifts Marcus's erect member up and down, seeing how it lays against his stomach, seemingly caught up in concentration. He lets go and those giant paws trace the arc of his spine, Marcus glances down and realizes Mist isn't in front of him anymore. Something is messing with his sense of time.
Mist walks his fingers down his spine, counting vertebrae. He ends at Marcus's tailbone, and pushes his fingers between his cheeks, prying his paw pads against it. At some point, he retrieved a handheld device, a scanner like what doctors use. Marcus didn't see where he got it from, but he's holding it close to his butt. Where there should be worry, there is only mild lust as he imagines what else it might do between his cheeks.
"What breed of Rhenthar do you want to be, Marrrcus?" Mist is measuring his legs with the scanner, absentmindedly speaking to him. His words feel like honey on the tongue, he likes them, and that conflicts with his recent experiences to a great extent. He glances down at his naked body, and wonders why he ever minded being naked. Everyone is naked under their clothes, so why do people even care? His mind mulls that over until he realizes big green eyes are looking straight into his. Marcus stares at them, wondering why he might look away, normally. The pupils slowly grow larger, the bright green band of iris getting thinner all on its own.
Breed. Breed? Rhenthar... he wants to know what kind of Rhenthar I want to be, Marcus thinks. Is he serious? Of course, this isn't real, it's just a dream. So tell him the truth...
"I like the arctic breeds, I like you. The curly tail..." Marcus points and Mist's immediately falls limp. "The thick coats, you guys pant more than the others, I've always loved your tongues... but I like blue eyes, not green, and not brown either. Not like the Malamute types have... but you're too big to be a Husky. Husky's are supposed to be little." Marcus ignores the soft growl that's building up in Mist's throat.
"I see," says Mist. "Husky's come in all sizes, I assure you. Not all are small. I'll tolerate your insolent tongue instead of ripping it out, because of what I gave you. But later, when you reflect on this conversation, do recognize the peril that would normally be present."
"Can I... pet you?" Marcus reaches his hand out to run his fingers through his thick white fur... wondering what else he can do in this dream.
Mist catches his hand and puts it back at his side. He points at the holoscreen. "Look."
Marcus glances up and sees another Rhenthar, a Husky. White with black markings, but different than Mist's. He leans forward and the Husky does the same. He sees a white star running up his forehead, and black markings wrap around from his back to cover his stomach in a "V" shape. He starts to turn and look at Mist, but catches the Husky turning his head, too. He looks back, and the Husky does as well.
Marcus waves his hand, and the Husky does the same.
"Is that...?" Marcus glances up at Mist.
"It can be. But I don't really see you as a Husky, Marrrcus." He shakes his head, "no, not at all. This is who you'll become..."
Marcus watches as the slender Rhenthar grows, the bones become thicker, along with bigger paws and hands. Not overly so, if he wasn't watching, it would have been hard to spot. But the coat ripples and gains an extra dimension, the stripes fade and outer guard hairs extend.
Bright yellow eyes stare back at him. He's looking at a gray wolf, like straight out of a nature video. It's funny, he thinks, there's more white than gray, so why do they call them gray wolves? His chest is all white, with gray tracing over his shoulders, meeting together below his neck to form a "V". A thin line of the same color travels down to surround his white stomach and sheath. A small amount of brown is mixed in with the gray, between his eyes and around his ears, which are thickly tufted with white inside, by what has to be the softest fur in the world. As he sits there, blinking, watching the wolf watch him, he remembers a phrase from a book he once read.
When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares into you...
He's the most beautiful Rhenthar he's ever seen in all of his life. He turns sideways and sees the same shade of grayish brown going down his spine, splitting above his tail to wrap down the sides of his thighs, ending just above his knees. Something about what he's looking at makes his eyes water, and he looks up at Mist with an expression of shock and awe.
"A wolf... he's... um."
"Very good looking, yes. For you, there will be nothing but the best."
For some reason, Mist looks different to him now. Where there used to be a monster, cruel and violent, there is someone else, someone who cares. Marcus shakes his head, wondering where he went wrong, why he's fighting anything.
Mist catches the look and nods. "Yes, indeed. That's you. But." He crosses his arms and flattens his ears. "Listen very carefully, Marrrcus. Everything comes with a price..."
"A price? I don't have much money."
Mist shakes his head. "I'm not after your money. You want to be that?" He points. "Fine. I'll make it happen. In return, you're mine afterwards. Mine forever."
Marcus swallows, trying to comprehend what that can mean. "You mean, yours... like, your mate?"
A coughing growl. "You're getting ahead of yourself," he says. "No, mine to do with as I please, without having to say please. It would be easy to force that on you and take you as I might, right now. I've done it before. But I didn't like the results," he says, frowning. "So, what will it be?"
Marcus is shaking his head already. "My grandfather... my friends. My college, my future at helping my species... I'm not supposed to give that up."
"Not supposed to? What do you want?" He asks.
Marcus hesitates, brooding in silence. He tries to think of what his grandfather might say. "No, I can't do this," he says. It's a decision he's sure he'll regret, but he's unafraid to make it. "I just want to go home."
"I see," Mist says. "That's very disappointing. I think you're going to regret this day for a long time. Mark my words and remember them well." He looks away for a moment, eyes coming unfocused. "I do hate to be the bearer of bad news, but, look." He points at the holoscreen. "Remember those unfriendlies? You don't have much of a home to return to."
Marcus stares as the biggest ship he's ever seen flies low over a big city. Beam weapons with spiraling green fire stab out, and where they hit, many tall buildings shatter like they're made of glass. It seems to be happening in slow motion, until he realizes the scale, the size of the destruction.
He recognizes the starport he works at. Several ships launch while multiple explosions tear through it, long gleaming rooftops falling in towards the ground before exploding outwards in hellish plasma. Of the five he watches tearing up towards the atmosphere, only one makes it, the others consumed and adding to the series of smaller aftershocks. Newscasters report the scenes, with destruction and casualty counts scrolling along at the bottom.
No single camera catches it all, and in fact, many go white from a vantage too close, with another from a different angle immediately taking its place. It all happens too quickly to follow, despite how slow and unstoppable it seems.
"Your home is probably gone," Mist says, one ear sideways. "I can take you back. But not right this minute, this ship isn't going anywhere near that city." He points at a bed in the corner. "Maybe get some sleep."
Marcus's mind is going a kilometer a minute, all he can think about is his grandfather. Wanting to get back home to see if he's ok. "Sleep?" he asks through a whisper, fighting back the tears and his terrible concern for this grandfather. "I can't possibly sleep right now!"
A sharp hiss, a sting in his neck, warm finger pads on the other side. "I can help with that..." a coughing growl.
Fuzzy white light, fading to black.