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Island of Circe, part 2(Transgender Archives)
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Island of Circe -- Part 2
author unknown
*****
and sometimes physically. Then I would fight my way back to calmness. I
realised that I was hoping that my lady would chose to do this thing to
me. Once done I would not have to worry about it. If she decided against
it would always hang over me as a future possibility.
It seemed an enternity before they returned. The moment they turned the
lighting up I could see by my lady's face that the die was cast. She was
nervous and, I think, exhilerated. She studdied me, I think trying to fix
my present appearance in her memory. All she said was "I'm going now. You
are to do everything the Doctor or his people tell you. I mean to visit
you each day until you are ready to leave. Be good." I put my fingertips
through the mesh of the cage feeling the need to hold onto something and
thinking that I would not be able to do this much longer and she briefly
touched a finger with one of her own. Then she left quickly and without
turning back. Not much more happened that evening except that the doctor
gave me an injection. I hope my lady slept better than I did. Hunger was
starting to take precedence over fear.
When the doctor and two assistants came to fetch me in the morning I was
found I was as strengthless as a dishrag so that they had to drag me from
my cage. I also saw that during the night all my hair had fallen out. Not
just my newly acquired fur coat but every hair on my body. That really
upset me and I felt suddenly and ridiculously tearful. It was my lady's
gift and it had brought us both pleasure. The doctor saw my look. "I'm
sorry about your handsome fur coat." He said kindly. "But it's only for a
few days and we have to be able to get laser light through your flesh."
The loaded me onto a strecher of some kind of very transparent plastic
which streched to fit my form although, oddly enough, it did not get hot
and sticky.
I remember the next few days almost as a dream. Although I was perfectly
conscious most of the time complete helplessness gave the experience an
unreal quality. They washed me and the doctor did a trachectomy and
inserted a tube into my windpipe. He then gave me a powerful muscle
relexant. From that time on I was able to move only my eye and a machine
did my breathing for me. I remember spending a long time in some kind of
multi-mode body scanner. Then hours on a clear plastic table about which
lasers rotated on gymballs sending pulses of light into my flesh to
activate the drugs I was being given. I remember the Doctor operating on
my brain. First through the roof of my mouth and later through the left
side of my head. As he did this I had a series of powerful sensations. An
instant of pure joy. A moment horrible indescribable suffering. A
tremendous burst of sexual arrousal, of hunger. At one point I could hear
the doctor talking to his assitants and it didn't make sense to me at
all, not like hearing a foreign language but as alien as whalesong.
Throughout when they must move me they handled me with exagerated
care, as if I were as fragile as an eggshell. I think that may have been
the case. Perhaps my skeleton was largely decalcified. During those three
long days I really expected to die. The thought of death was positively
attractive. I clung to my memory of the girl-creature. She had survived
this, so could I.
I must have slept part of the time though there were no clear divisions
between sleep and waking. My mistress came and comforted me serveral
time and, though I could show her nothing of my gratitude, her visits
were the one thing I looked forward when I could no longer believe that
this operation would ever be finished.
The first sign that it was coming to an end was that they became more
casual about handling me. Then I thoughlessly moved a leg and it responded.
Shortly after that I started fighting the ventilator and they removed it,
sewing up the hole in my throat. At last they carried me out of the labs
into the open air at the back, depositing me unceremoniouly onto straw
bedding in a pen in one of the outbuildings. There, blessedly, they left
me in peace.
I lay there exactly where I had been dumped for a considerable period of
time, rejoicing in the fealing of strength seeping back into my body. Then
I
began to pay attention to the demands of my sadly empty stomach which
said firmly that while intravenous feeding might be all very well for me
stomachs required less rarified sustenance. So, with a certain ammount of
trial and error, I got my legs under me and explored my little world
finding a bite drinker and some pellets in a trough which I assumed were
food.
I was careful about eating with my rearranged mouth, fearful of biting m
y
tongue. It was a strange sensation. I could feel my long tongue emerge from
the side of my mouth and touch the short fur on my cheek. When I had got a
few mouthfuls down I decided to examine those parts of my body I could see.
which was not all that much of it. I had the beginings of a fur coat
again though it was no more than stubble as yet. My legs where narrower
that I had expected, much narrower than when the had been arms. To my
suprise turning as far as I could I caught a glimpse of a tail which
seemed to be moving independantly of my will. I wondered how they had
solved the nerve supply problem perhaps it really did have a will of its
own. I began to walk around the pen, gradually reaching an understanding
with my new legs. As I moved about, trying out various maneouvers I
wondered about speach. I was tempted to try in spite of being forbidden
to speak without being at least implicitly told to. But did it count if
there wasn't anyone to hear? This seemed too much like mere sophistry so I
didn't try. I wasn't sure if I wanted to know anyway.
When my lady and the doctor arrived I had just reached the point where I
was wishing the pen was larger so that I could try running. She jumped
over the railing and knelt, taking my head in her hand and scratching my
ears. "Oh, It so good to see you on your feet. You'll look teriffic when
your fur grows out again."
To my own surprise I found I was purring. It was quite involuntary and,
in fact, my intention to stop had no effect on it. Behind her the doctor sa
id
"There's no reason why you can't take him away with you if you like.
Here."
He held out a small black box to her, like an old fashioned T.V. remote
control. She took it and examined it closely. Then she made an adjustment
and turning back to me asked me how I felt.
"I feel..." I stopped in confusion. My voice sounded odd, the way it do
es
in a recording. Then I realised it was coming from the box, not from my
mouth. "I still feel a little weak but relieved that it's all over. Or I
think it's over."
To add to my confusion when I had thought I had finished speaking my
voice continued to come from the box. It started to repeat "I'm relieved
that it's all...". Then I realised what was happening "My God, it's my
head-voice, my stream of consiousness." I thought and, scarely the box
spoke the thought aloud. It rambled on like an echo of my internal
thoughts, incoherent, repetative. It made me aware just how nonsensical
most of what goes on in our heads at the sub-vocal level is.
She laughed and switched it off. "Well nobody can talk coherently with
a
snout like yours. So this box takes signals from Brocca's area of your brai
n
and simulates your old vocal apparatus... when it's switched on of
course. It seems to work not just on what you want to say but on anything
that reaches the sub-vocal level so from now on you'll have to learn to
keep your thoughts pure. Since it's got a range of several hundred yards
you won't always know when I'm listening. The box has other functions
too... the radio link is two way... but you'll find out what these little
buttons do as the occasion arises. Suffice it to say that this little box
plus the collar you are wearing and a little device in your head give me
more control over you than I've ever had."
And I'd thought I'd had my quota of shocks for the week. Actually I quit
e
liked the idea of the voice synthesiser in the box though the idea she coul
d
listen in on my thoughts was very frightening. But what were these "other
functions?" More surprises to come.
My lady put the box in her purse and took out my leash. "Come on then
pet, let's go back to the hotel." as she led me out of the pen she
suddenly kissed the doctor on the cheek. "Thank you doc, you're a true
artist."
I was, to be honest, nervous about appearing in public but of course my
reluctance had no effect on events. At first I had no attention to spare fo
r
onlookers anyway, getting the pace of walking to heel and learning to
manage steps and other obstacles. Once my ill placed forepaw slipped of
the edge of a step and as I stumbled the leash jerked tight. An instant
of that indescribable suffering I had experienced under the knife occured
and a yelp escaped me. Even immediately afterwards I could remember
nothing of the sensation, only the horror of it, only the knowledge that
I'd do almost anything rather than experience it again. I was more
careful of the leash from then on. I finally worked out that the collar
must have punished me for pulling too hard. If so that probably meant
that one of the buttons on that innocent looking box could produce the
same effect.
After a few moments I had recovered my equanimity and was sufficiently
confident to look arround a little. People were indeed looking at us. Their
expressions suggested a range from horrified fascination to aesthetic
pleasure or even amusement. I thought of what effect such stares might
have on my lady. I have no social status so it doesn't matter for myself
but for my lady it is quite another matter. I tried to walk with more
pride, keeping my eyes forward and more of a spring in my step.
When we reached the hotel the first thing my lady did was to give me my
first real look at myself in the mirror. My first impression was not too go
od.
The girl-creature had given an overall feline impression but my pink skin
showing through the stubble of my fur gave, at best, a porcine look. Those
hairless cats that some people dote on have always made me shudder. I told
myself firmly that that condition would soon pass and tried to look at my
shape rather than colouring.
I was confused at first by the apparant smallness of my head. Then I
realised the artistry with which the shape of my torso and the subtle strip
e
pattern emerging in my fur had been designed to fool the eye in this regard
.
The result was that my human cranium, which would have appeared grosteque
on a normal animal's body appeared only a little to large. My snout was
longer than that of the girl, perhaps five inches in all with nostril
slits about two thirds of the way to the tip. My canines were only
slightly pronounced and the sides of my mouth extended only perhaps an
inch and a half backward. I had short pointed ears. It was more the face
of a goat than that of any sort of carnivore and, in fact, where the girl
had given the overal impression of potential fierceness my own body
seemed that of an inoffensive grazing animal. On such a body hooves would
have seemed more natural than the small paws I actually possessed.
My tail was quite short an heavy, only just reaching the ground. What
was fascinating and disturbing is that I had no direct control over its
movements. It hardly seemed a part of me at all and yet it's movements
fitted in with those of the rest of my body. As I had walked I had felt
it moving to help my balance. When I sat down it moved out of the way. It
seemed, literally, to have a mind of its own. A mind that was aware of
the movements of the rest of my body.
My coat, such as it was, was mostly tawny but with white markings:
broad strokes for the most part but narrowed stripes near the neck and on
the hauches. There was a black diamond shape just above my eyes and over
the crown of my head. Arround my neck was a leather collar with a simple
buckle, an ordinary dog collar except for a shallow plastic box attached
under the chin. The identity disc from my old collar had been attatched
to the D ring. While human it had been proper for me to wear a metal
collar with a good quality lock in defference to my dexterity. Now an
ordinary buckle was more that adequate. Trying to be objective I felt
that, once my fur had reached a respectable length I would look quite a
hansome beast, unfamiliar perhaps but not unnatural.
Having given me sufficient time to take this all in my lady stroked my
head and said. "Well, pet, our relationship has certainly entered
another new level of intensity. At home there was some unreality about
your dependance on me. Coming here reduced that unreality but on what we
both knew was a temporary basis since we are only here for a couple of
weeks and I have my job to go back to. Now though your dependance is
completely real and permanent. You really are an animal now. You will
never be a person again. It feels right. I know we were both ready."
I nodded enthusiastically. I had been aprehensive but now the change was
done it did indeed feel right. My humanity was like a burden that I had
finally found a way to put down. Over the last few years the "pet" role,
starting as a game, had become who I really was. The "person" role I had
played at work had become a hollow pretense. I hoped and believed that I
would never have to play that role again. At the same time I had seen her
make the transition from the "girlfriend" role to the "owner" role,
gradually accepting the responsibilities and decisions that society said
should be mine. The change in me had been, perhaps, more profound because
I was now and wanted to be nothing more than her pet whereas she was, and
always would be, much more than my owner. She had a career; friends. She
might eventually marry. Yet I did not doubt, even in my darkest moments,
that my owner would always be a part of what she was.
She put me out in the kennel for a while giving me a chance to discover
that this was a far more comfortable body to lie about in than it had
been. No awkward feet; my legs tucked neatly away under me and my chin
lay along the ground without strain. It didn't seem to long before she
emerged. "Well that's that sorted. Now lets go walkies. I feel like a
little shopping and then the beach.
For the first time I felt a cringing inside as she fastened my leash,
thinking about that aweful punishment the collar had given me before.
Usually I find the snap of the S-hook a comforting sound and I resented
the way this little pleasure seemed to have been spoiled for me.
We went down to the main shopping street, she browsing the window,
me carefully watching to comply with sudden stops an starts. She spent
several moments outside what I realised was a pet shop and we went in.
She went over to a display of muzzles and tried several of them on me
until she found one that was a snug and secure fit. She bought is and
also a rubber "bone" (though only a human would have the imagination to
find a ressemblence. She seemed, for a moment, in two minds as to whether
I was to wear the muzzel of carry the toy but, to my pleasure, stuck the
muzzel in her bag and gave me the toy. As we left the shop she said "The
good doctor said that you should practice with your mouth so I want you
to carry that about and chew on it for the next few days."
The next shop she entered was a dress shop and this time I had to be tie
d
up outside. Actually when it comes to dress shops I find this preferable
and it gave me some time to practice chewing. I was careful and bit my
tongue only once, and lightly. I thought my new mouth was going to be the
hardest part of my altered anatomy to learn how to deal with. She emerged
with a large bundle and we went back to the hotel to stash the plunder
and then down to the beach where, for the first time, I was allowed to
run free.
Well I ran. I was clumsy and had several falls but I was encouraged by
slow but progressive improvement. We played "fetch" with the bone and
when I brought it back she'd roll me over and tickle me. A simple but
enjoyable way to pass the time which became a pattern for much of the
remainder of our stay on the island.
That evening, rather carefully we made love. When we'd had our first
orgasm and I tried to withdraw we discovered that the doctor had left us
a little surprise. Trying to withdraw hurt. I couldn't do it. We were
"tied" like a pair of dogs until my erection subsided, which it seemed in
no hurry to do. Instead I felt the build up to another orgasm start
almost at once. I had three before my testicles finally admitted to
exhaustion and we could separate. We were both gasping like stranded fish.
"That man has quite a sense of humour." She said at last. "I wonder
what other little suprises we have in store. He did say that he'd taken
steps to make you the world's best sex-toy, for the use of woman or man
but he wouldn't go into details. I think that's plenty for tonight. I
need a shower. Out you go."
The rest of that holiday was, for me at least, almost idylic. Like
most pets the one thing I can never get enough of is my owner's
attention and in those weeks I had most of it. Although I didn't notice
anything strange at first my pleasure every time I pleased her in some
small way, when she petted me or paid me some small complement was
greater than ever before, as was the anguish at letting her down in any
way or the mildest rebuke. My pleasure at the snap of the leash returned
even though I continued to treat it with great respect. It was nearly a
week before I noticed that her left hand was always in a pocket during
these incidents. She was using the control box to induce pleasure or
suffering directly into my brain! I felt briefly outraged, violated but it
didn't last long. She was entitled to train me in any way she saw fit. If
I had somehow got power myself over that box it would doubtless have
destroyed me very
quickly but used as she was using it it made our wills more perfectly one.
She seldom switched on the speach function of the box, at least where I
could hear. Whenever she was out of sight I would wonder if she was
listening to my thoughts. I kept wondering what she would think of what I
was thinking. It encouraged me to meditate. To keep, as she had said, my
mind pure.
All too soon, though, it was time to leave. My mistress had responsibilitie
s
to attend to, a living to make. As we boarded the hydrofoil my mind turned
from regret for the end of the holiday to worry. There was no problem on th
e
hydrofoil, of course but how would we manage on the planes? I could no
longer pretend to be a person as I had on the outbound journey.
On the boat my lady gave me about twice my usual ration of food pellets
and, even though it was much earlier than my usual mealtime, made me eat
most of it, so that I felt unpleasantly bloated. She also had me drink my
fill, warning me that I wasn't going to get stewardess service on the
plane. As the boat pulled into its moorings she muzzeled me.
There was no real fuss, for a wonder, at Seychels customs, perhaps
because they new we were just in transit. On the other side among the peopl
e
waiting was a man holding up a card with my mistresses name. He let us to
a van emblasoned with "Hamilton's Pet" Supplies and though I wasn't too
pleased to see what was in the back I can't claim to be suprised. It was
a "sky kennel" a lightweight but solid plastic crate with a mesh door at
one end, mesh covered ventilation slots and fittings for handling by fork
lifts. I suppose it was the largest size the airline allowed but it
looked awefully small to me. And a moment later so it proved. It was
neither quite long enough for me to lie straight, tall enough for me to
stand fully upright or wide enough for me to curl up as I'd recently
discovered I could do. I was forced to lie with my backside pressing agains
t
the back of the box and my muzzled nose jammed against the mesh. This
wasn't going to be a very pleasant flight.
The man from Hamilton's drove us to the airport and, with the help of a
ramp and a porter, unloaded my crate onto the pavement in front of the
terminal. My lady paid him and went inside leaving me feeling very lonely
and vulnerable. A number of people stooped and looked at me through the
grill in a puzzled way and someone kicked the crate. Finally two men with
an electric cart came and collected me. They, in turn, left me at one
side of a large, rather dirty room full of unidentified boxes. I could
see only a limited part of the room but a dog was barking incesantly
somewhere to my left. I hoped he wasn't going to be on my flight because
it didn't sound like he was going to stop barking until rescued from his
imprisonment.
But this wasn't ever going to be my day. After my crate had finally been
loaded into the small pressurised section of the plane's cargo space the ve
ry
next thing to come aboard was another crate from which now frantic
barking sounded. Considerately the baggage handlers chose to put the damn
mutt right next to me. Just to make the day complete I was beginning to
feel the effects of my extra-large meal. Already I was desparate to shit.
Soon the point was going to be reached where lying in it for the rest of
the trip was going to seem like a small price to pay for the relief.
So I lay there as the loading was completed and the hold sealed and trie
d
to find a little charity somewhere in my heart for my fellow traveller whil
e
heartily wishing that he had been the one wearing the muzzel. I don't
suppose it would have stopped the barking but it would have reduced the
volume. Praise heaven when the doors were shut and darkness decended on
us he gave one last frantic peal and finally shut up. Perhaps it had
finally got through to him that nobody who might possibly let him out was
in earshot.
I suppose that if I were to rank the misserable times in my life for she
ar
hellishness that flight, and the second leg that followed would not be at t
he
top but it had its moments. Every time I shifted in a futile search for a
comfortable possition that damn dog would start barking again. I'm afraid
that well before the first leg of the flight was well begun I was forced to
capituate to both bowels and bladder, contributing a new unpleasantness
to the atmosphere of the cramped crate. When we finally landed and my
crate was transfered to another plane I prayed the my canine companion
would be going somewhere else but the Gods were in a malicious mood that
day and not only was my previous companion loaded neatly next to me
again, just as before, but a small, yappy dog was added on the other side
and the two of them set out to keep one another amused for the whole
flight. Oh lady how I longed for the sight of your hand on the door catch!
When we were unloaded the second time my heart was glad indeed but the
way things were going it was too much to hope for use to breeze through the
airport. Customs is still keen, to a degree I find ludicrous since, in
these days of easy synthesis, we have become a net exporter of illegal
drugs. The baggage handlers showed no interest but my first warning of
the trouble to come was the appearance of the sniffer dog in my very
limited field of view. Although he ignored his fellow canines with
impressive professionalism when he got a look at me he did an almost
laughable double-take and started barking.
Almost immediately his place at the door of my crate by the face of one
of
his human collegues. Seeing the look on his face it is probably as well tha
t I
no longer have the capacity to laugh out loud. "What the hell are you?" He
said at last. My lady having the speach box I was perforce uninformative.
I think the question was rhetorical anyway.
The next hour or two I had a very narrow view of a burocracy trying to
react to a situation that wasn't in the books. A whole series of faces,
with or without a variety of uniforms peared in at me. At last they
pulled me out of the crate. It was both painful and ridiculous. They used
one of those noose on a pole things that dogcatchers use. Depite the fact
that I was muzzeled they treated me as if I were strongly suspected of
being rabid. Someone they called "doctor" examined me. I think he was a
vetrenarion. He poked and prodded and took a blood sample. He examine my
face minutely. He read my name tag aloud. At last he said to me "You are
human, aren't you?" I shook my head vigorously, no.
He stood up and addressed himself to the assorted customs officers and
police in the room, wrapping the mantle of his expertise about him. "This
is," He began with full pomposity, "The most extreme and perverted case of
bio-sculpting I have ever seen. He undoubtably understands everything we
say and what is going on here but he can't or won't talk. Probably can't."
"But what are we going to do with him?" An official asked in a dazed
tone.
"Well, a good start would be to remove the catchpole, give him a drink
of
water and clean him up a bit. He doesn't look like he's had a pleasant flig
ht.
He's not about to bite anybody though I suppose it's possible he might try
to get away."
Bless the man. But although this all seemed like something out of Gilber
t
and Sulivan I knew we were in trouble here and I should try to take it more
seriously.
They followed the vet's suggestions anyway. Perhaps because it was
something to do while they thought about it. He himself cleaned up the
fur where I had soiled myself with the air of someone used to such
distasteful activity and he removed my muzzle, though they all looked as
if the expected me to explode into an orgy of violence or something.
Instead I licked his face. I'm not sure if he was pleased or digusted.
When I had drunk my fill he put on some rubber gloves and began to
clean my fur with some antiseptic and a rag where excrement had stuck to
it. As he did so he attempted to question me.
"You do understand English don't you?"
I was tempted to lie about it but it would probably just complicate thin
gs
so I nodded reluctantly. I really didn't want to play these games. Why
couldn't they ask my mistress these questions?
"You deny being human but you don't deny that were human. I'm sorry,
a yes or no answer to that would be ambiguous. I mean were you human?"
It was pointless to deny it. He already knew and it was easilly proved.
My
DNA was still human.
He found my name tag and read it out. "Did you allow this to be done
with you of your own free will?"
Again I nodded although I'm not sure if I'd claim to have my own free
will these days. Who needs it?
One of the customs officials finally decided that he was being excluded.
He harrumped. I saw, with a slight sinking feeling, that he had the
passport of my erstwhile self. "Do you claim to be..." and he read out
what used to be my name, a lifetime ago. I replied in the negative.
"Oh. I suppose that was the wrong question I should have asked 'Were
you once...'"
This time I nodded.
"Oh, this is ridiculous. None of this is of any importance. You may be
a
loony and think you are a dog or something but that doesn't matter to the
law. You have attempted to enter the country illegally as a stow-away.
That's the long and short of it and we must establish your citizenship
and immigration rights and determine what laws have been broken. The only
real problem is that this obscene peice of medical malpractise makes it
difficult to confirm your identity."
That was the attitude I'd feared and it was a hard one to crack. To one
who viewed it from that angle my mistress' actions would probably be
criminal, although I don't know exactly what law would be invoked. I
don't believe that the law could officially charge her for my
transformation, which took place beyond its juridiction but there were
plenty of cases where a person was essentially tried for one crime and
sentenced for another (remember Al Capone?) I was very much affraid that
they would dredge up some charge, bend it to fit this unprecidented
situation, and come up with the severest sentence they could muster. What
I dreaded most for myself is that they would try to "cure" me both
physically and psychologically. I don't believe the pschologists ever
changed anyone's basic nature but they can do a lot of damage trying. A
wave of depression came over me. I hate the future and my face was, once
again, being forcibly rubbed in it.
There were eight men in that crowded interview room. I took a quick
survey of their expresions. Of all of them the vetenarion was the only
one who was looking straight at me. I think in that moment he was the
only one there who was aware of me as a living thing, rather than as a
technical problem. I'm sure he was the only one aware of my sudden
defeated look. He made and effort then to cut through that mood.
"I don't think this is any business of customs and immigration. Either
he's the man you've got a passport for or he is what he wants to be
regarded as, just an animal that his owner is importing. Either way I
can't see why his entry is illegal. It might be in breach of airline
regulations or something if he's to be regarded as a human, but not of
the law. "
That produced a momentary silence. Then there was a general shaking of
heads and muttered conversation. One of the customs people finally took
charge. "We're going to hold you on suspision of entering the coutry
illegally. You'll appear before a judge as soon as possible, probably in
a matter of hours. We'll let a court sort it out. Simkins, take him to
detention."
I started, relucantly, to follow the man but my veternarian friend was n
ot
through yet. "Just a moment. I don't know what the detention cells here ar
e
like but you do realise that he's unlikely to be able to use any of the
facilities: Sink, toilet, call bell and so on."
Obviously they hadn't. Further debate ensued. Someone suggested the
quaranteen kennels, half jokingly but was shouted down. Finally they put
me in an ordinary cell with a bowl of water. Some time later someone
brought a cat-litter tray for me. I wonder where they got that. Mostly
though I lay there wishing they would let me be with my lady. I've never
felt so misserable. Compared to this my recent journey had been a barrel
of laughs. I could find escape from the future only in the past which is
infinitely inferior to the present as a place to be. I've always
accepted that "normal" people will never understand me; not with their
heads full of the ideals of liberty and the work ethic, and here we were
firmly in the hands of the straights. I supose it's necessary from
society's point of view that these dogma remain mostly unexamined. Maybe
I'm not so harmless after all.
Perhaps a couple of hours later a small, bespectacled figure was ushered
into my cell. He had my control box in his hand. Like some of the customs
men his initial reaction to the sight of me was a shrinking away, a
controlled fear. This reaction was ceasing to be ammusing. Here I was
less capable of violence that the average sheep and practically everyone
reacted as if I were a lion or something similar. The thought emerged
from the box as words, further startling him but he got himself under
control quite quickly. In my few "conversations" with my mistress using
the box I had found only one way to deal with it and that was to ignore
the words coming from the box and just try to think as if my thoughts
were as private as ever. I just had to accept that with the box turned
on the human knew my thoughts. Why not? I have accepted that I have no
rights. Why should I reserve even this privacy? But this situation was
different because I was not talking to my lady and she had a right to
privacy. On the other hand she had, presumably, given the man the control
box and, with it, total power over me therefore if he learned anything
about her that she didn't want him to know could that be my fault?
"I...". The poor man was floundering. His problem was that when the
box is on my thoughts rabbit on all the time, not letting a polite person
get an word in edgewise. It is rather like logorea. It was an aspect of
the general problem we were facing. He was being polite, treating me like
a person, an equal. He needed either to ignore me or, more simply,
turning the voice box off while he thought and spoke.
He heard the thought and, after a moment's fumbling, turned the speaker
off while he spoke. "My name is Latimer and I'm a lawyer retained by your
...er _companion to help sort out this business. I have to say that the
whole affair is unique in my experience and the airport authorities seem
to be floundering around trying to decide what to charge who with. I
think that's a disgraceful state of affairs. It's pure outrage translated
into legal action. Everything would be simpler if we could solidly
establish your identity. Can you think of a way to do that?" He turned
the speaker back on.
I had already asked myself that question and I couldn't think of anythin
g
at all solid. Presumably my retina and DNA were unchanged but neither was
on record. My photograph, of course, bore no ressemblance. I could not
produce a signature. Even the notion of finding someone who could verify
my identity with personal questions was effectively out since my mistress
had been my only confidant for years.
But, in any case I was convinced that verifying my identity would just
exchange one set of problems for another. I was not that, or any other
person and every attempt to treat me, physically, psychologically or
legally as a person would just leed us deeper into the mire. The me he
wanted to establish as my identity no longer existed.
"So what you are saying is that you want your previous life declared
ended. Do you realise what you are asking? You would have no rights
except those established by cruelty to animals laws. You could be bought
and sold. Killed on a whim."
That was, of course, precisely what I wanted. I tried to make it clear t
o
him. Peopl are domestic animals and like all domestic animals society gives
and society demands. People are special because their principal function in
society is to make decsisions. To function in this way they must be not
only free to make decsisions but be required to do so. Society gives
peopl more freedom than other domestic animals in exchange for
comesurately more responsibilities. The deal simply didn't suit my
personality. I didn't want the responsibility so I couldn't in fairness
accept the freedom.
I had been incredibly lucky. I had found a lady who had use for me
without my decsision making function. Who was prepared to take
responsibility for me in exchange for power over me. And, even more
rarely she had found a way to change me physically so I could truely lay
down the human burden.
On Johans Island this had been fully recognised and accepted. I had been
happy there. If only there were some way he could help us have the realitie
s
of our relationship recognised here I would be eternally grateful.
If they tried to force me into the mold of their stereotype of humanity,
to
force freedom down my throat I would have a thoroughly misserable life.
The lawyer turned off the box and put it in his pocket. "I believe I
understand now and I'll do what I can." He understood well enough
anyway to stroke my head reassuringly. "When we appear in front of the
judge we won't use or mention this box. If you're asked questions you
must answer with gestures as best you can. We'll try and keep it
pragmatic and impersonal. We want logic to win over emmotion. I'll go now
and prepare as best I can; not that there is much preparation I can do
there being essentially no precedent. You shouldn't have to wait here
much longer."
I had plenty of experience at handling waiting but this wait seemed an
extrodinarilly long one. Eventually a group two policement and a customs
officer came to take me to court. Although there seemed some disagreement
of the right way to escort me common sense finally prevailed and they put
me on a leash.
In the van on the way to the court I saw my lady for the first time sinc
e
boarding the flight, although they put us at opposite ends and wouldn't
allow us to touch. She gave me a smile, although I could see she was
worried and determined.
There was another wait before we entered the court. When we were
finally let in they seemed to be at a complete loss as to where to put
me. My lady called out helpfully to the two policemen who were my
escort. "I don't normally allow him to climb on the furniture but if the
court is going to see him hadn't you better put him up on a bench?" It
cheered me to see the typical manly confussion of men who get a
self-evidently sensible suggestion from a woman with which they can find
no fault save its source. After a moment they did as bid and I lay on one
of the appelants' benches, getting a good view of the court. I was delighte
d
to see that the preciding judge was a woman. Score one for pragmatism. I
caught her eyes briefly then lowered mine in deference. The public
gallery was surprisingly full. Had the press got onto this already?
When everyone was reasonably settlted the judge made her opening
remarks. "Anyone can see that this case has an unusual element which will
require certain procedure of the court to be modified. However I will not
permit this to degenerate into farce."
The facts of our arrival were quickly established since they were not in
dispute. Then Latimer asked my lady if I was, in fact, the man whose
passport she held.
"In certain respects. In a metaphysical sense yes. In a legal sense? I
think that's to be established."
"Do you consider him to be a person now?"
"91Person92 is one of those cluster concepts. A person is something w
ith a
series of properties like two arms and two legs, the ability to fulfill a
certain role in society, certain mental abilities and so on. Some of these
properties are evidently more important that others . For example a human
being without the mental abilities of a normal human is still a person
whereas an ape which is taught sign language is still an ape. On this
basis, since mental abilities are the only obvious thing he has in common
with humans and mental abilities do not seem to be very important in
deciding whether something is a person or not I have to say that the
answer is no. He doesn't have enough of the important defining qualities
to be a person. He's just an unusually smart animal. The person in the
passport no longer exists. You can say that I destroyed him in a way
permited by the laws of the country where the act was commited, though
according to those laws he entered the coutry as an animal since he
formally renounced his personhood on arrival."
"Why did you arrange for him to be flown as freight rather than as a
passenger."
"For the same reason that the court officials led him in here on a leas
h,
rather than treating him as a conventional suspect. Common sense. I don't
believe that the airline would have carried him any other way and they
would be quite right. You can't have large animals in an aircraft cabin.
He'd've upset the other passengers. He couldn't have been properly
restrained. He can't use a toilet intended for people."
"So you are asking the court to treat him not as a possible illegal
immigrant, not as a returning citizen, but simply as an animal belonging to
you which you chose to import."
"Exactly."
"As such he would have no civil rights, no entitlement to state benefit
s.
What about criminal responsibility?"
"I believe there are adequate laws to protect people from antisocial
behaviour of domestic animals. I accept my responsibilities as owner."
They questioned me next although they did not put me in the witness box,
where I would have been invissible. They read the civil oath and I nodded
my acceptance.
The prosecutor had no questions for me. Latimer asked me to confirm
who I had been born as. Then he asked. "Did you accept this surgical
TO BE CONTINUED
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