Tails from GBWT (GBWT only)

[gbwt]

well, i'm doing alot of fluff and stuff from out of my nation. This should help flesh out my citizens and raelly give a feel for the people of my nation. Enjoy.

[gbwt]

This one covers the events in T3h Furry, and what happend in GBWT during and imediatly after. This was pushed for time, and was submited unfinished...

EDIT: Updated with the finished version

===========================================


The Great Immigration of 1493


The government closed down everything when it happened. Businesses, shops, schools, the highways, even the Mag Lev system was closed, though it didn’t extend as far north as our city. We first heard about it over the Public Broadcasting System, or PBS. “All citizens are to return to their homes immediately. A government price lock has been set on all goods and services as of 12PM today. Please return to your homes in a calm and orderly fashion…” and so it repeated for about two hours. The teachers held a quick and whispered meeting in the halls before returning to class and announcing that all students would be going home. They called the bus garage and soon we were all on our way home.

Everyone was scared. You could see it in their eyes and the way they pulled their tails in close to their bodies. As the busses drove through town, we watched as all the businesses closed their doors and locked up. The bus was still half full when I got off. We knew something was very wrong when they dropped us off right at our homes.

I hurried inside, and my mom greeted me with a hug and a lick on my wolfish muzzle. She was scared too. We went into the living room where the TV was turned to the news channel.

“The government has mandated that all citizens except emergency personnel and law enforcement return to their homes. The use of a nuclear device on the nation of T3h Furry’s capital has been confirmed. As all businesses across the nation close the price of goods were loc- Excuse me. We have just received a satellite video of the attack.” The human anchor, Jerry Peter, disappears as the screen is replaced with the view from a satellite aimed at T3h Furry.

Clouds cover parts of the nation, and the Ciatan Mountains can be seen. Then, a flash visible from space. A few long seconds later, the mushroom cloud could be seen forming. At ground level, bright spots spring to life as the heat wave from the blast races along the landscape, setting fire to everything it touches. The clouds around the nation dissipate and are pushed back by the force of the blast wave.

All across our nation, millions of anthros watched, their mouths agape, silently screaming in horror from witnessing the unfolding events. The silence was deafening.

As the mushroom cloud’s accent slows, a cry rose up from outside. It was Mrs. Haremen, one of our neighbors. Her husband was in T3h Furry on business. The anchor began talking again after a few false starts. “Oh. Oh my. My, my fellow citizens, you have just been witness to the destruction of the capital of T3h Furry. It is, was, a city of over 1 million, and I’m told that its House was in session. I don’t want to be the first to say it, but this may have been an act of war.” The scene continues to unfold on the screen as he continues. “Ladies and gentlemen, anthros and humans, we must refuse emotion in these first few critical hours and days. Take directions from all officials while...” He continues to trail on as my mother holds me close and we watch.

* * *

That was just over a week ago. Today, we were going to the high school to pick up our refugee family. The day after the attack, the government announced the Federations largest relief effort. Crews and teams were at the blast site, or more specifically around its perimeter, as no one had survived within the city. Anthros were being shuttled out, away from the radiation and the destruction. We signed up as a host family for a displaced family of 3, to house and care for them until the ‘Secondary Cities’ could be built.

When we arrived at the high school, we had trouble finding a parking place. Once inside, it was just as crowded as the parking lots, if not more so. The gymnasium was a kind of controlled chaos. The refugees had grabbed what they could before leaving, mostly some extra clothes and photo albums. We checked in with the registration table, and were assigned a family of 3 opossums, the Drushawls. A father, mother, and six year old cub, none of whom spoke Paeninsulan.

Being 16 I had already completed two of my foreign language classes, one of which was Old Tiniasian , so I was instantly became the house hold translator. We found our family and were introduced, then taken to another table to sign some paperwork before leaving. They, the Drushawls, were quiet and jumpy the entire way home. They all watched out the windows as we drove though town, looking in fear and aw. I decided we wouldn’t tell them too much about the bigger cities in the south until later. They had been displaced for a week, and in that time had only been allotted one shower, so their fur was matted and mangy. As we pulled up to our house, they began to speak amongst themselves in Old Tiniasian.
“What a big house,” said the mother.

“They must be rich,” piped in the six year old she cub.

“We’re not rich,” I said in old Tiniasian, smiling a wolfish smile. “We’re just a little well off.”

The father is frightened by my smile, and apologizes. I had forgotten just how different our cultures were. “Don’t be sorry, we’re glad we can help you out in any way we can. It’s an honor to help with our neighbors in their times of need.” In T3h Furry, classes were segregated by species still, and opossums were well below the class of the wolves like us, so to them, this was a great breech in social customs. I relay this to my mom in our own language of New Paeninsulan, and she gets out, telling me to keep that in mind so as not to offend them to much.

We get out in the drive way, as our garage is full of bits and junk, and take the Drushawls into our home. As we show them around the house, I translate for my mom both their questions and her responses.

“This is our living room; you’re welcome to watch TV or DVDs or whatever you like. I’m afraid that we don’t have many channels in Old Tiniasian, but Arnold will set the caption settings so you can read it. This is our dining room, though we usually eat in the kitchen. And here is our kitchen. You’re welcome to anything in the fridge.” And so mother went on while we lead them around the house and I translated things for them.

They are awed by the size of our modest home, a two story, three bed room home. As my foreign affairs teachers taught us in school, many of our neighboring countries are much more under developed then we are, those from T3h Furry being no exception. After we show them their bed room, and invite them to bathe, my mom and I move back into the living room to talk and wait for them to settle in.

“Thank you Arnold, for helping so much with our refugee family. You know how bad they’ve got it back home.”

“I know mom,” I reply, “We studied about them in school.”

A silence prevails as we hear the shower start. I pick up the remote and turn on the TV, flipping to the news. They’re covering the immigration of so many refugees and how the government will deal with such an influx. Apparently, they intend to claim a great deal of land farther north of us to build on, seeing as how this is where most of the refugees have ended up. They show pictures of those displaced that were not lucky enough to receive a host family, staying in large camps along the border in tents. A reporter on the scene interviews several Paeninsulan speaking refugees, and finds that while they are terribly upset about what happened, they are glad to have found those who would so willingly take them in. Then the anchors change the subject with a new story, dealing with any military retaliation. Just recently the completion of a space based defensive and offensive satellite grid was announced, and explained a great deal of government spending. Many were calling for the use of this to stop the terrorists before they have a chance to strike again. The military has said nothing on the matter yet.

The shower had stopped for sometime, and mother looks up, wondering what has happened to our guests. She sends me up and to tell them that she’ll be making supper soon, and can come down and wait in the living room. I climb the stairs, and knock on their room door, and ask if I might be let in. The father, Otto, acknowledges and I open the door. I step into the room to find the father sitting on one bed, and the mother and daughter sitting on another, sitting stock still, the fear from earlier having returned to their eyes, and their tails wrapped around their legs.

I wonder for a moment what could have them so scared, and then remember what we had learned about their society in school. As the opossum was a lower social class, the upper classes such as the wolves never paid them much mind, except for when they came to collect dues, or punish them for disrespect. I sigh, and say, “It’s all right; I just came up to invite you to dinner with my mother and myself. Would you please come downstairs and join us in the room of living?” I knew I had made a few errors in word usage and grammar, but the intent was clear enough. They nodded, and all got up to follow me down the stairs. I put on my most friendly smile and tell them, “Relax. We are all were being friends here.” I flinch at my own butchering of the sentence and the little girl giggles, and the parents relax, their tails loosing their grip on their legs. With the mood lightened, we move into the living room and I put on some cartoons for the little girl, with captions running under for her to understand.

I make small talk with the father for now, as it’s unacceptable to speak directly to the wife. “Yea, like I was saying, you are around friends. You don’t have to be so afraid in our home.”

“One of the anthros at the other place told us that, but it is a hard thing to do for us,” he says.

“I understand. I’m just saying that things are much different here.” I notice his wife keeps looking to the kitchen, and I decide to throw social codes to the wind. “Is something wrong?”

"No, what do you mean?” says the father.

“I meant your wife, Sophie; she keeps looking to the kitchen.”

Sophie blinks, and looks at me, at a loss at having been addressed so. It’s quiet in the living room, and we can hear my mother humming in the kitchen as she makes mashed potatoes. “I, I wondered if I should be helping you mother with the meal.”

I stand up, and tell them I will go see if she wants some help. As I leave, I hear a quick, whispered conversation start up between the two opossums while the child stares with glee at the television screen.

“Hey, mom, Sophie wants to know if you want help with dinner.”

“Oh, no, they are our guests, and we should make them feel at home,” she responds, while adding some milk to the potatoes.

“That’s the thing,” I say, “She’s used to making the meals, and being waited on makes them uncomfortable. Perhaps you should ask you to help her?”

“Oh, um, well, I guess so. I keep forgetting what it’s like where they come from.”

I go back into the living room, and the two have stopped talking, and watch the TV and their daughter. “Sophie, you can come in and help out with dinner if you want.”
She gets off the couch, and moves past me into the kitchen. I decide to let them talk with the universal language, food, and go in and sit in the chair next to the couch while we wait for dinner.

As the sounds and smells of cooking fill the air, I let my mind wander. Things shall be very interesting in the next few months. With some of the upper class anthros from The Furry, like felines, canines, and foxes mixing into our society, a clash of cultures will surely result. Slavery was rumored to still be used in T3h Furry, and many of the under class citizens, such as our opossum guests, may very well have been slaves, and this would be their first taste of freedom. Undoubtedly, many immigrants will apply for full citizenship, and remain here. I also thought of how regressed T3h Furry was in comparison to our nation. The cities farther south, the next city in fact, were all linked via the Meg Lev system. The Meg Levs are magnetic levitation trains that move at velocities of over 200 miles per hour, making travel between cities rapid and efficient. Green belt laws that were passed have forced cities to stop expanding out, and start building up. The result was mega towers capable of classifying as entire cities in and of themselves. I’ve only gone a few times, so I was thinking about asking mo if I could take our guests down and show them around.

Mother calls from the kitchen, and tells me to clean off the dining room table so we could eat there. I get up, and leave the father and daughter to themselves while I make quick work of the papers and debris on the table. Soon, I’ve set out plates and silverware, and mom and Sophie bring the hot pots of food out. Mother and I sit down at the table, and we are surprised when the Drushawls all walk into the kitchen while trying not to be seen.

I smack myself on the head, and get up. “I forgot. The wolves are an upper class, and they’re not permitted to eat with them.” I call them back in, and they shuffle back in with bewildered and worried looks on their faces. I draw back a chair, and indicate for them to sit down. I must do so twice before they catch on, and shake their heads.

“We are not allowed. It is forbidden,” says the father.

“Maybe where you are from, but this is not that place,” I respond.

They look at each other, and slowly take the seats we had set for them. I pass the potatoes to my left after taking my own, and soon, we are all eating, though an uneasy silence fills the room, broken by the sounds of forks on plates. The meal is soon finished, and mother and I insist on taking their plates, and clean them before putting them in to wash. We can hear them talking in the living room, and my mother asks what they are saying.

“They’re arguing about the day. This is so different from what they’re used to, it’s been a little much.” I listen a moment more, and continue. “The father, Otto, thinks that they should stick to their old ways, while Sophie likes it here, and wants to stay? I think they were talking about going back to T3h Furry.”

“Well, we’ll just have to convince Otto how much better it is here. What’s the little girl think?”

“She’s never seen TV before, and thinks it’s the best thing in the world,” is say with a grin.

We finish cleaning up from supper, and move into the living room, where the conversation stops. Mother says, “We heard you talking, and hope that you’ll stay here with us for a while. I’m sure that you’ll find this a wonderful place to live and raise your daughter.”

They look to me, and I translate for them. Sophie nods, and the little girls looks to her father with great, pleading eyes. Otto looks at the two, and shrugs. We all take this as a good sign, and watch TV for the rest of the evening, before we all retire to our beds. Mother makes sure that they are all settled in, and is the last to return to bed. After the lights go out, I can hear the three whispering for a few moments before they too go to sleep. I roll over in my bed, and close my eyes and try to sleep as well. This will be a very interesting next few months…

[gbwt]

Another, shorter text following an aspiering officer on the GBWTS Sunrise.

Moving Up

Shazu, or First Peaty Officer Shazu, stands at attention in Loading Bay C. She had set up the red velvet that draped the walls with the help of another officer to impress the representatives when they arrived. It had been her idea, as was the hanging of other nation’s flags, to show that they wished to work together. She had volunteered to assist the representatives during the tour of the station but that honor had been given to the Captain.

Shazu was an anthrop meerrcat, from the central savanna of Peaninsula, and had been serving on the Sunrise for six months now. She had transferred to the station in hopes of a quick and easy promotion, but apparently she, “doesn’t have enough experience” as her superiors put it.
The docking procedures now complete, the outer doors open, ad the Admiral is the first to step through. Everyone present snaps to attention and salutes as he enters, ears perked and forward. Admiral Borshwin, a tall, blue anthrop dragon, returns the salute and allows the representatives from other allied nations to enter the space station.

“Did he look see me? Did he see that I was the definition of perfect military form? I was perfect, wasn’t I?” Shazu’s mind races as the Admiral leaves to be briefed and the Captain takes his place. As the Captain finishes formalities, and is almost embarrassed when her nationality is questioned, Shazu and the rest of the officers stand at attention.

Soon, the representatives are led off to the mess hall, where a makeshift media room has been set up, and the officers are dismissed to their quarters or their duties. Shazu returns to the bridge and retakes her position at her control station from her subordinate.

As the final checks for the firing are made, the Admiral walks around the station, and pats Shazu on the shoulder in a friendly manner, giving her a wink. Elevated in mood, the meerrcat checks her station and sends in the green light, all go. Shazu can’t wait the next Honor Court, where she’ll receive the rank of full Officer First Class.

[gbwt]

A voice journal following the TRI Test Cheating case.

The Test


9/24/1492 :start voice journal: I had to go and get my fur groomed today. Mom gave me the credits and I took the green line Meg Lev to the Chancy Center. I met up with Jacky, a raccoon, Alex, a wolf, and Frank, a ferret all anthropomorphic. They talked me into getting something to going to lunch, and I went with them to McFarmers. Jacky had a fruit salad, Frank had chicken sandwich, Alex had an antelope burger, and I had fried mice. We sat outside the fast food joint and exchanged gossip, my feline ears tuned sole into their words. As it turns out, Marry, the freshman lamb I have in alchemy, is dating Marcus, that lion playing second quarterback on the football team.

Anyway, after the pride left I went and got my grooming over with. I had some extra credits with me, so I got some highlights done. I had the tips of my ears bleached, and 3 stripes added from my whiskers, along my cheek fur, and to the back of my head.

When I got home, I started on the homework I had from Mr. Jason, the Peaninsulan teacher. He let me use his computer when my digital tablet broke the other day. But I guess he’s also on the team making the TRI test, because when I saved my project to my data stick for the day, I guess I saved another folder. It’s the TRI test, all the questions and answers. I don’t know what to do, should I open it and cheat, or just delete it? :end voice journal:


9/26/1492 :start voice journal: Well today went great. The girls and I went over to Trajam Park, the one with the big lake that used to be a holding reservoir for the old city. We got on one of the boats, and went out to the island in the middle and joined the rest of the anthrops at the weekly Bardic Competitions. This week, there had been a red fox with an old style lyre singing an original piece, and an owl who had recited some poetry. We got there just after that. We stayed for an hour, while several more anthrops preformed.

All the while, I had wondered if I should tell my friends of the test files. Mr. Jason hasn’t said anything about the test; I don’t think he knows I have it. I expected him to say something all through class today, or keep me after school. But he didn’t I guess I’m safe for now.
After the performances, the girls and I stopped for some dinner, and then went our separate ways to do homework. I didn’t. I went home and locked myself in my room, before opening the file I had hidden within my computer. All the answers were there, all the questions. Multiple choice, short answer, essay, right there, the completed test was staring me in the face. Explanations were added in a column on the side as well. My feline ears twitched at the slightest sounds, because I knew I was cheating, and I would be so boned if I was caught. But his test is going to play a big part in what college I go to. The test was 2 months away, and I had to study. :end voice journal:


10/5/1492 :start voice journal: No one knows about the answers I’ve got. Just a few more weeks of memorizing, and I should be able to pick the school I want. But this is a terrible secret to bare. They say that the greater, and the bigger the secret, the sooner it will destroy you. I think I’m going to share the answers with Chelsee. She’s that lemur that I have math with, and she could use the help. I just have to make sure that won’t get caught with the answers. I’m in a hurry and need to get dinner started. :end voice journal:


10/15/1492 :start voice journal: Argh! I knew it was a a bad idea to entrust Chelsee with the answers. She was reviewing the answers in the schools library, and Jeff, that mole from history came in and invited her to lunch. The scatterbrains apparently grabbed her pack, and left the answers in the book she was reading! The library aids found it later that day and reported it to the teaching staff. Mr. Jason was furious! His hackles were raised all day today, mostly because he couldn’t figure out who had gotten the answers or how, but mostly because he and the rest of the teaching staff had to remake the entire test. He was so mad he even yelled at poor little Jo-jo, the field mouse from Airdnaxela. It looks like I’ll have to start hitting the books double hard to make up for lost time over the next few weeks. :end voice journal:


3/4/1493 :start voice journal: It’s me again. It’s been a while since I made my last entry, mostly because I’ve had to study so much for the test. The school never did find out who had gotten the answers or where I got them, so Chelsee and I are off the hook. The test was over two weeks late because the teachers hadn’t finished rewriting it. In the mean time, a rebellion in Ciata , involving another nuclear attack, was stopped and W.I.N, Wolfs In the Night, is putting on a benefit concert with the Pack, Hogs, and a few others. The test grades are supposed to come in the day after that, the 24th. I hope I did well, or else that might be the last concert I go to for a long, long time.

[gbwt]

Another short fleshing out story, where we had to use senses other then sight to tel the story.

Without Light


“Auror! Jack!”

My cries echoed off the slick stone walls and were thrown back at m, distored and despairing. I crawled a few feet forward, but stopped, afraid that I might unwittingly find the edge of a bottomless pit. Occasionally, the sound of water dripping onto rock, or into a pool of stagnant cave water would reach my sensitive cat ears.

The air suddenly became very close. I know I’m in a larger cavern, but I can’t see the walls. I’m lost, I think. Will I ever find my way out? Or will I…

No, I will found a way out and not surrender to anything, just like my ancestors. I close my eyes, so that they can’t play tricks on me in the dark. I know that there is a wall off to my left, so I move in that direction. My breathing seems loud to my ears, and my hand pads sound like the entire school marching band every time I put them down. I find the wall, and turn around so that my back is against the cool rock surface. I feel like I have crawled kilometers rather then meters.

Despite my resolve, my heart still pounds on the inside of my ribcage, and my tail beats out a staccato on the ground. I open my eyes. I thought I had heard something, different from the drip-drip of the water.

“Hello?” I call out. I wait a moment and there it is again.

“Neil?”

The voice is distorted by the reverberations off the walls, but it was a voice, calling my name! I stand up, putting my hands behind my back to brack myself on the wall. Soon, I can hear foots steps echo down a side cavern. I call out, “I’m here, I’m here!” A faint light appears in my vision. My eyes, so accustom now to the dark, use the light to illuminate the entire cavern for me. Soon, I’m blinded as my fox friend and her rat companion, Jack, enter the cavern and shine the flashlight on me.

“Neil! Thank the gods that we found you,” says Auror, the she-fox. She runs across the cavern, Jack close behind, splashing through the shallow cavern pools. I’m caught off balance when she embraces me, and almost topple to the ground.

“I’m alright Auror. I would have found my way out eventually,” I say, faking bravery. She says nothing, and just holds onto my arm while Jack holds the flashlight.
“Let’s go,” he says. “I want to be back in the sun.”
We agree, and in a few moments, we step from the cave and into fresh air and a sunny mid day sun. All the while, Auror and I have been hand in hand.

[gbwt]

Epoch Down

It was supposed to be a regular recon mission. But it wasn’t, as you’ve already guessed. I was running a solo boarder patrol mission in an Epoch-1470 Chopper, only a few years old. Mine is, was, a one seater, outfitted with scanning equipment for watching the northern boarder for illegal immigrants.

Looking back, there were a lot of things I could have done differently. I should have checked the hoses on rotor blades before takeoff. I should have run the full systems diagnostic before I pulled my chopper out of the hanger, as per regulations. But I didn’t, because a systems failure was something that happened to someone else, like the rookies. But this time, it was the one making rookie mistakes.

I was about two and a half hours into my mission when the first problems started. Really, it happened in only a matter of minutes, though it seemed like more. It started with some random bursts of radio static, before the radio cut out completely. All communication was just gone, out, the equipment just wouldn’t respond. So, I made to turn my Epoch around and head back to base, and that’s when the rest of the chopper shut down. The navigation computer blinked out, the flight controls went slack, and even the weapons systems blanked out. It took me only seconds to realize I could hear the router blades slowing down, and see the dense forest below me start to rush up. As the blades came to a complete stop and locked in position, my heart stopped with them. My craft began to plummet to the ground are a dizzying speed.

I wrestled with the controls, trying to will my chopper to stay in the air, but to no avail. Time seemed to slow down as the craft dropped from the sky, and I smashed the ejection button on my control panel. I clenched my paw and hit it again, and again, and again. I was still pounding on the damned red button when my chopper crashed through the dense forest canopy and I blacked out.
I awoke. I didn’t know how long I had been out, but it was dark. There was dust and dirt on the fur on my face and paws, as well as shattered safety glass, twigs, a tree branch as round as my arm only inches from my head. I tried to move, and there was then pain. My ribs, head, and right arm sent signals racing to my brain that I was hurt, and hurt bad. With my left paw, I unlatched my five point harness. I flew up to one corner of the ceiling, and it took me a moment to realize that my chopper was upside down. After I was able to right myself, I checked my legs and tail for injury, and thankfully found none. I feel around the canopy at my feet, and find dirt replacing the windows, and begin to dig slowly at it with my left arm, keeping my right arm drawn in close to my injured ribs. I dug for an uncertain amount of time, the dirt turning to mud under my relentless onslaught in my attempt to free myself from my encapsulating craft.

Once I had created a space large enough to pull myself out of, I could see daylight still outside on the forest floor. I slowly wiggle my way out of the miniscule opening head first, and rest on the ground outside once my legs are free. I take a deep breath, and feel the pain in my chest intensify. I learned later that I had broken three ribs and was lucky that they hadn’t punctured a lung. While I collect myself on the ground, I try to recall the events that put me in such a predicament. I was flying, and my radio and other equipment had failed, and then I was upside down. Oh, I had crashed. Deciding to see just how bad my crash was, I slowly pulled myself to my feet, and surveyed the swath of destruction cut by my downed Epoch.

The Epoch-1470 was well built, using carbon fiber compounds as armor plating, those armor plates reinforced by steel support rods. Solid and durably built, the Epoch series had a reputation for taking heavy fire and still being able to make it back to base intact. Indeed, looking back along the way I had crashed, tree limbs were broken off, and a rather large cypress had been splintered where I had hit it. Inspecting the chopper, I found the forward armor plating had quite literally been shredded, and what remained had several sizable branches sticking out of it. I could only see the bottom of the Epoch, as it was upside down, but I could also see the shaft of wood sticking out in the front that had just missed my head.
I begin to walk around the downed craft, and suddenly feel faint, and fall to my knees. I blink as I see red dripping from my person, and look down at my chest. The sleeve on my right arm was shredded and I could see a great deal of fur missing, exposing raw skin and sever lacerations that were bleeding quite freely. Looking back to the way I had come, I could see the small trail of blood, and the dirt around the window I had escaped from was tainted red, explaining the mud as it was my own blood that had made it so. For the first time becoming frightened, I tore the sleeve from the left arm with a swift motion of my head, my teeth ripping the fabric off. With a few fevered, quick motions from my left hand, I tie the sleeve around my right arm and draw it tight to stem the blood flow. Still feeling too weak to stand, I crawl to my craft and lean on the side, resting until help arrives. As I close my eyes to rest, I could only hope that they realize I’m missing in time to save me. . .

I awoke as I was being loaded into the rescue ship. Groggy and unfocused, I try to sit up, but a strong hand on my chest keeps me in place.

“Hey there,” a calm voice from above me says, “Just take it easy. You’re pretty messed up right now.”

I open my eyes to see a blurry image of some indistinct anthro in a white and orange helmet and bright orange jumpsuit holding my in place as I feel the ground drop out from under me. My eyes spin and I close my eyes so I don’t get dizzy. “What happened?” I manage to mutter.
“Your air craft crashed in the northern forest. You managed to crawl out of the craft before you passed out. You’ve lost a lot of blood, and need to rest while we get you back home.”

I try to nod; only to find that my head has already been strapped into a brace and part of the reason that it is so hard to move my body is it has been immobilized so that I don’t hurt myself. The rescuer is there at my side all the way back to base, and I thank him several times, each as sincere as the last. I really was lucky to have made it out of the accident alive, and while some have told me it was piloting skill, I still know that it was luck. The one thing that bothered me about the entire ordeal is that no one was able to convincingly explain to me why everything in my Epoch went as wrong as it did. But that’s a mystery I’m not in any hurry to encounter again any time soon.

[gbwt]

Fall Back

“Commander! They’ve encircled us!” shouted one of the young anthro wolf techs watching the All Spectrum Scanner.

“Circumdertur nos iterum, pauper nuthie...” muttered the commanding officer, a buff green iguana. Several rounds fly overhead, fired from somewhere in the surrounding jungle. The platoon had been assigned the task of defending their outpost from rebel attacks, and had thus far succeeded. When the fighting began three days ago, the anthros of the 512th infantry division didn’t know if they would be able to hold the raised dirt platoon and sandbag fort for long. But after the first day, re-supply drops began, and in the first re-supply drop, five Space Boys were deployed. Every six hours a ship would fly over and drop more ammo into the fortifications, and the platoon would prepare to hold out for another six hours.
Ancient instincts caused the iguana’s heart to race, and he could see the wolfs he had on the outermost fortification tense, gripping their weapons in a vice like hold that even death could not break. A whistle sounded in the woods, and shouts rose up from the dense jungle foliage.

“Here they come again,” confirmed the wolf tech at the ASS. Even as he said it, a fresh wave of anthro fox rebels poured from the jungle on all sides, charging into the kill zone set up by the defending platoon. The kill zone was devoid of cover, save the barbed wire and the bodies of the already slain rebels.

“Wait, wait,” says the commander. “Let them all get into the open. And... Now!”

The wolfs on the outer wall pop up into a kneeling position, and open fire with their fully automatic riffles. The wave of attackers falters, and then the Space Boys open fire.

The heavily armed and armored Space Boy powered armor suits are outfitted specifically for anti infantry combat. On the right are of all five, a mini gun is mounted, an ammo feed running to the large pack they all wear, filled with ammunition. Under slung on the left arm of each is a grenade launcher. Their mini guns open fire on the attackers, and their ranks are cut down as they flee once more to the cover of the forest.

As the attackers disappear into the woods, it is discovered that another soldier in the platoon has been injured. This time, it was Fly-high Frankie, as he was known by the members of the platoon. He had wanted to join the Air Force, or even the Space Force, but neither dream was to come true now, a clean shot having put a hole though his head. His fire team buddy screamed for a medic, but it was obvious to those present that there was nothing that could be done. Medics pulled the body still leaking blood off to a corner of the sandbag fort as another wolf took his place, and a radio message came in on an encrypted frequency.

They were to abandon the outpost and fall back two clicks east to a clearing where a drop ship could extract the entire team. Quickly establishing a fall back formation within the fort, the reptilian commander placed three of the Space Boys in the front of the formation, to be used as a wedge, and two in the back, to provide cover fire.
The platoon makes a break for the tree line seconds before another rebel wave attack begins. The fire teams fire from the hip as they dash towards the woods and the Space Boys lay down heavy suppressing fire, moving down trees, plants, and rebels alike as they charge into the woods. Two more soldiers go down in the dash to the woods, and once the entire platoon is in the cover provided by the woods, the commanding iguana orders everyone into a crouch. Seconds later, the rebels storm the outpost, and the Commander gives a nod to the tech wolf, who presses a button on a remote. A series of explosions rock the jungle and the outpost if destroyed in a giant fire ball. Before leaving, the soldiers have placed explosives around the outpost and booby trapped their remaining ammunition that was left behind.

With the vulpine rebels left in confusion, the platoon moves at a rapid trot to the designated clearing to the east. The drop ship could be seen circling, and is singled once the group reaches the tree line. All of the Space Boy armored suits are moved to the rear, to again provide covering fire while the rest of the platoon boards the drop ship. The ship lands, and the back ramp drops down, flight aids urging the soldiers across the clearing and into the safety of the ship. As the last anthro soldiers board, and the Space Boys fall back from the jungle edge to the ship, shots ring out and hit one of the flight attendants in the leg. The Space Boys open fire with their mini guns, and cut a swath of annihilation into the dense vegetation. The Space Boys board and the ship takes to the air, out of range of enemy guns. When a roll call is taken, and the wounded seen to, a total of 23 anthros are counted as dead. The commander sighs and slumps into one of the seats bolted to the side of the ship. That’s 23 soldiers that he lost, and 23 letters of condolences to write, but out of the entire platoon, he counts the rest as lucky, and the mission to be an over all success.

[gbwt]

The Manila Folder

It should have been a dark and stormy night. It would have made sneaking around a lot easier. But the night was pleasantly warm; a summer evening in the southern part of the country, and Joshua was searching his uncle’s office for his birthday gift.

“It’s gota be around here somewhere,” Joshua mutters under his breath as he opens desk drawers. Josh is a typical fifteen year old antrho raccoon. He hates school, is self centered, likes sports, and is clueless to the world around him. He goes through the large oak desk and tall gray filing cabinet, yet finds no sign of a birthday gift.
His grey ringed tail twitches with irritation while his pointed ears stay alert for any sounds that would warn him of someone approaching outside the tall wooden doors to the study. He sits down in the large leather chair behind the desk and thinks.

His uncle is a tiger who married into the family, having fallen for his mother’s sister. He owns an expansive mining company, specializing in producing the most profit for the company while doing the least environmental harm to the area they are mining. Joshua is staying with his uncle for the weekend while his parents arrange a surprise party back at home.

Joshua spins the large chair, becoming bored. He looks to the folders on the desk and opens one. Meaningless charts, numbers, and figures fill the pages within, and he closes it to move on to the next. Several photographs are clipped to the inside. They appear to be of a Feral raccoon settlement, one of the primitive communities away from the modern world. But halfway though the photographs, Josh stops cold.

The photo he holds in his paw shows the bloody corpse of on of the Feral raccoons. The next photo shows a mother lying over her child as through protecting it, their lower halves lying several feet away from the rest of their bodies. The remaining photos continue in much the same manner. Horrified, Joshua’s head pounds in his ears, it suddenly sounds as if a typhoon is raging, not outside, but right in the room next to him.

While the tempest rages in Joshua’s mind, his paws replace the photos and start to pick up the accompanying reports. The reports refer several times to the Feral, and a few references are made to their unwillingness to move to allow the company to mine. One order, at the end of a page, stands out.

“Terminate with extreme prejudice.”

It was an order given to the on-site workers, by non other then his uncle, not two weeks ago. With a shaking paw, he replaces the papers and closes the file. His trembling appendage bumps a pencil and it falls to the hard wood floor. While it hardly made a sound, to Joshua, he might as well have knocked over one of the giant filing cabinets.
He turns out the desk lamp, and replaces the pencil in the dark. Slipping out of the leather chair, he creeps along the edge of the wall towards the door, pausing with every tiny squeak of the floor boards. In only a matter of minutes, he manages to slip out of the study, move down the hall, and up a flight a stairs to his room, his heart pounding so hard he thought he might wake the entire house.

The following morning, Joshua’s uncle sees him to the door of the summer home, and wave’s good bye as the driver takes Joshua home. He hadn’t said anything about someone getting into his office, but did as the young raccoon why he was so quiet. Josh had simply said he hadn’t slept well the previous night. In truth, the images of the massacred raccoons had haunted his thoughts throughout the night.

In the following weeks and months, Joshua’s parents noticed an increased interest from Josh in the news and law. He watched the news for any little stories about Feral rights groups, and what the government has done to protect the Feral communities. He learned that the Feral population of the country was not counted in census counts, nor were they allowed to vote. They lived as far from the cities and civilization as they could, and legally were not citizens, but wildlife. They’re ancestors had chosen to live secluded lives from the growing and evolving technologies of the worlds, and had thus cut themselves off from all outside contact. They were occasionally encountered by wilderness hikers, or foresting and mining companies, but few laws were in place to assist them if they were required to move.

Josh immersed himself in books of law and after a year, declared that he would become a lawyer. He turned over a new leaf, becoming involved in elections as soon as he was able to, after his sixteenth birthday. Once he completed high school, he was accepted to Rambreath Law School. He took classes on law, the history of law, government economics, and civil rights. He attended every lecture he could on corporate fraud and illegal activities. By the time he had finished law school, he had learned everything the teachers had to teach him.
Joshua was hired as an attorney and lawyer right out of school. He was started on small cases, but over the course of three short years, a case was put on his desk. As he opened the case profile, and began reading, he was reminded why he had started studying law in the first place. The case was brought up by a Feral Rights group, who had uncovered evidence of illegal corporate activities involving the removal of Feral from protected lands. Taking the case immediately, he began what was to become a long and arduous battle with the company, but one he intended to win.

The court battle raged for over a year, before the company finally decided to change its practices. The Feral were moved back to their land, and the company was forced to move to another site for their projects. This was just one of many cases that Joshua would have a hand in over the length of his long and successful career in law.

[gbwt]

Traps and Treachery

“What you lads must really understand,” said Leonardo, turning to face his lightly armed captives, “is that most booby traps don’t last more then a century or two.” Leonardo stood in the dark, foreboding corridor covered in dust and cobwebs from centuries of neglect. On the other end of the passageway, lay the tomb to some forgotten king, no doubt full of riches and gold.

“I mean,” Leo takes a step back, depressing a panel in the floor that should have caused an arrow to embed itself in his ribs, but failed to even slide from its concealed hole hidden in the wall. “Crossbows pulled tight for centuries don’t work because the wood’s become permanently bent.”

His captors glowered, having grown quite irritated and impatient with Leo’s incessant babblings over the course of the trip. They had abducted the infamous tomb raider for his expertise in disarming ancient booby traps, but were now wondering if they should have just tried on their own.

“Now these,” Leo indicates gaps in the walls and ceiling, “are quite deadly. Or, they would be, if the ropes hadn’t been chewed by rats over the years.” He bangs a wooden support in the wall with a clenched paw; a whooshing and thunk indicate that a guillotine-like trap has imbedded itself in the floor from above. Leo steps over the aged piece of steel, and triggers another pressure plat in the floor.

A whoosh of air and tinkle of metal; and a number of darts slide lazily out of holes in the wall and fall harmlessly to the floor.

“Dart traps are often never very effective after only a few years. I’m surprised this one went off at all, really.” Leonardo comments nonchalantly, tossing the darts a casual glance.

The feline robbers follow the lupine spelunker down the aged corridor apprehensively, and draw back when he crouches down.

“Knife please,” Leonardo says in a light tone.

He is given a knife by one of the smaller felines, who keep Leo and whatever trap he is examining at an arms length before retreating back to his companions, who have raised their guns to point at Leo. Leo makes a swift, simple slicing motion near the floor, and stands up handing the knife back to the smaller captor. Brushing aside the severed trip wire with a foot, he laughs.

“The thing about trip wires is that they must be pulled tight in order to work.”

His captors continue onward in Leonardo’s wake as he proceeds to stroll down the last ten feet of the corridor. “Actually, the only thing you blokes need to worry about are-“
Click. Whoosh. Chlink. “Arrgg!”

Leonardo smiles and turns around, walking back to spike pit he neglected to disarm. Looking down at the punctured bodies of his former captives, he sighs in liberation. “The only thing you blokes needed to worry about were trap doors.”

[gbwt]

The Shower

I went to turn off the shower but pause. If someone is just outside the bathroom door, they would be able to hear me better if the noise from the shower ceased. I leave the shower running and step onto the cool tile floor. Wrapping a towel around my dripping form, I silently move to the bathroom door, and open it just a crack. The hallway looks empty, but it’s also poorly lit, allowing for many dark shadows in which an assailant could hide. I arm myself with a pair of scissors from the first aid kit, and poke my head out of the door way, using my sensitive nose to try and pick up the scent of an intruder. I realize, however, that I could not smell a thing, the smell of the shampoo overpowering any traces of an intruder’s scent.

From the time I first heard the sounds of an unwanted guest, my mind had already begun formulating a plan. There was a sword in my room, as well as a medieval style ax, hanging on the wall. My room was two doors down from the bathroom, and had a lock on the door. I could arm myself, and wait until morning to come out, or I could make a sweep of the house, and hunt out the intruder. As water drips from my fur, I prepare to make a dash for my room, halfway down the hall.

Several months ago, a string of murders and hate crimes had occurred in the neighboring city of Valdashmir, acts on part of a specist supremacy group of humans. I wondered if some of their members had chosen my house to attack as I tensed my legs and leaped from the bathroom, taking three ling strides to my room, wrenching my door open, jumping inside, and slamming it closed, locking the deadbolt in place. A quick visual scan of my room, and I sigh in relief. The room was empty of any intruders, and I make two strides to the wall where my medieval replicas are hanging.

Now with sword in my right hand, and an ax in my left, I pull a pair of pants from my drawer and start putting them on when I hear one of the stairs creek. I freeze, and listen intently for another sound, before finishing pulling my pants on, and pick my weapons back up. The icy steel’s weight a reassuring presence; I crouch against the wall next to my bedroom door, my heart a rolling thunder in my chest. It was then that I realized that I wasn’t so much scared, as I was excited. The thrill of the hunt, facing an unknown fate, it’s the thing that stories are made of. But his is no story, and in only seconds, I may be fighting for my life.

The very thought of battle causes adrenalin to course though my veins, and I tense again, setting my ax down so as to open the door. Taking a deep breath, I wrench the door open and leap into the hall. I don’t let out a scream or war yell like in the movies, I’m noiseless, ambushing the invaders. My mind processes the scene before me like no super computer could. There is not one assailant, but two, dressed in dark grey robes, each holding a baseball bat. Ski masks cover their faces, hiding their identity, but I can see their eyes, wide with surprise. I act on instinct and reflex, charging down the hall and swinging my sword as I barrel into the two. They have just enough time to parry my sword blows, but can not stop me from crashing into them.

They had just reached the top of the steps, and the momentum from my attack caries us back into the stair well. All three of us tumble down the stairs; one of the attackers manages to stop his decent by grabbing the banister. The second assailant and I reach the bottom of the stairs, and I roll away from the steps, my sword still clutched tightly in my clenched paw. My opponent does not raise, and instead lets out a sob and clutches his gut, and blood drips from his hands to the oak floor. I step around him, kicking the bat that had fallen with us across the living room, where it accidentally smashes a vase of flowers. Looking up the stairs, the second attacker still holds his aluminum baseball bat and shouts at me in a rage.

“You fragging wolf! You killed Timothy! I’ll kill you!”
I say nothing and hold my sword at the ready in both paws. As my new opponent leaps down the last few steps, I notice a bead of blood run down my sword blade from the tip, and I almost am unable to block the first blow from the bat. I manage to raise my sword just in time to deflect the assault, and sparks flew from our weapons. I step back and block assault after assault, knocking tables over as I retreat, trying to slow or trip the robed invader. I take a leap back and cause the attacker to over swing, and take advantage of this by swinging my sword and catching him in the right shoulder. He lets out a scream as my blade chips his shoulder blade and I bring my sword up again, and swing at his ribs, leaving a large and bloody gash.

He drops his bat, and I knock him to the ground by throwing him down with my shoulder, where he howls in agony. I step back, out of breath, and feeling weak. My sword clatters to the hard wood floor, and I drop to my knee, pain shooting through it. I look down, and see blood on my fur and a gash on my leg, no doubt from my very own sword from when I tumbled down the stairs.
I limp back, away from the bleeding humans. I know they are humans because the second attacker has pulled off his mask and is using it to try and slow the bleeding in his side, pain and anguish on his face. Someone, a neighbor, shouts from the open front door, the latch broken open when the two humans entered. I tell him to call the police and an ambulance, because I’ve been attacked, and the figure in the doorway disappears. I sit on the floor of my living room, clutching my leg to stem the flow of blood, as the two humans sob and cry out in pain as they clutch their own bloody wounds, and we wait for the police to arrive.

[gbwt]

Fill ‘er Up

“Hello.” said Jess nervously; tail tip twitching as she put the gasoline nozzle in her car.

“Hello there miss. Mighty fine car you have there.” states Alvin, scratching at one of his large rat ears. It looks as though it’s been chewed on.

And awkward silence fills the air as the gauge on the pump scrolls up and up. “They’re saying that that there type-o-fuel is gona be a goin’ the ways of them dino’s.” states Alvin conversationally.

Jess nods. “Yes, with any luck. It’s already gone in the southern cities. Clean, renewable fuels is what’s going to save this planet.”

“It’ll put anthro’s like me out of a job.” Alvin sighs, and sticks his paws in his pockets. Twitching his whiskers, he asks, “So, you look all nice and done up like. You a teacher or somethin’?”

“No, actually. I’m a molecular genetic specialist. I’m on my way to Anthro-Gen’s R&D lab in Blighton.”

Alvin frowns. “Weird things done come outa there. Anthro-Gen’s responsible for them ‘new breeds’, ain’t they?” He was referring of course, to some of the new retro-species and cross breeds that Anthro-Gen is famous for producing. “They say that ya’ll be responsible for the Shaking Death that came back a ways.”

Jess quickly finishes her fueling, stopping at 180SD$s even.

“Don’t be silly. Our company hadn’t even been dreamed of back then. Besides, we develop cures for diseases, not the diseases themselves.” She counts out the money owed, and hands it to the musilid attendant. “Do you know of any good places to eat nearby?” Her feline ears twitch, and she wants to leave, feeling uncomfortable.

“Yar, you’d not be wanting to go to Billy’s. They get all sorts there. Foreigners too. You’d probably want the McFarmmers in town. Cheapest place around, but the foods not that good.”

[gbwt]

A taste of ancient Paeninsulan

In Old Paeninsulan

The sundial in the town square read just past midday. A group of slaves worked on the aqueduct under the direction of 3 soldiers. A light breeze blew down the street, ruffling my robes and fur. I turned and walked down the cobblestone road, a road my father had helped build. When the Empire had expanded west, our nation was quick to fall to them. It wasn’t so much their army that had defeated us, but their negotiators, though they did use the army to help persuade us.

I scratched my gray fur as a walked past a vendor selling meat pies. I would have to visit the public bathes in the next few days, lest my fur coat become unkempt. My pointed ears twitched as I heard my name called from behind me.

“Siccio! Manere! Manere!”

I turned to see my lapin friend, Frenco the hare, bounding up the street in long strides, his own robes whipping around him, his long ears down against his head behind him. I raised my paw in greeting and wait for him to take a few breaths, my tail tip twitching with curiosity.

“Alestar confineimus pigmentus.” The hare grins from ear to ear. “Sum ipse bene.”

“Videa ego mox. In punctum temjoris, ego sum en route vide ferrum faber,” I replied.

Frenco patted my sholder and nodded. “praeter tu animus via, ita?”

“De ferculum, bene Frenco.” As we part, I say, “Bene dia.”

“Bena dia.”