Creatura

By Paul Lucas

Part human. Part animal. These are the genetically-engineered races of the Creatura, the only survivors of a global pandemic, who slowly try to rebuild a world left empty and devastated by the death of the human race three hundred years before.

Shana Feles, a scrappy Felinoid relic hunter, just wanted to finish the mission to the Buffalo ruins, collect her money, and maybe snuggle up to that cute medic Twilight. But then she and her friends stumble across an ancient secret dating from before the Pandemic. A secret some of her fellow Creatura will do anything--and kill anyone--to gain for themselves.

In a perilous quest across a new American frontier, Shana's small band of outcasts try to stay one step ahead of a murderous conspiracy to discover the last great secret of their creators--a secret that may threaten all Shana holds dear.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Lucas
• Release date: Feb 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005369514

Paul Lucas

I grew up on the shores of Lake Erie, just a few snow drifts away from Buffalo, NY. I am a life long science fiction and fantasy fan, and avidly keep up on developments in the fields of science, technology, and ancient cultures.Currently I am a freelance writer and artist, with fifteen years of experience in the field. In 1998 I had a tabletop RPG published, and in 2005 my first novel CREATURA came out. My shorter works have seen the light of day in publications such as Strange Horizons, Afterburn, Tales of the Talisman, Fables, and others. Currently I do a lot of personal commissions and ghost writing work.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

--From the recovered journals of Dr. Samuel Leonine:

A tiny, three-fingered hand reached up and clutched at my pinkie. The puppy-faced newborn looked up at me from his crèche with enormous, all-too-human eyes. He crinkled his canine muzzle, as if not quite sure what to make of this giant alien creature looming above him.

The moment would was one of the most incredible in my life. To actually feel one of Mouse’s creations, skin on skin, to see it living and breathing and thinking behind those enormous eyes...

Maybe the human race had a chance after all.

Amazing, isn’t he, Sam? I glanced back at Min Hee, better known as Mouse, as she hovered close behind. I was always amazed at how such a diminutive woman could sport such an enormous smile. Yet she had every right to be proud; it was her brilliance with genetics that had made the project possible. She had worked non-stop ever since the crisis began, even with a pregnancy swelling her belly to unseemly proportions.

Dozens of attendants, many coughing and red-eyed with late stages of the Pandemic, scurried among the hundreds of cattle housed in the enormous aluminum enclosure, checking and re-checking the readouts of the dozen sensors in each stall. To most outside the project, this was simply one of a dozen such experimental farms set up by the government in the past year in an ultimately futile attempt to breed a vaccine to the Pandemic. Little did the few surviving residents in the area suspect that each of the guinea pig cattle in this particular facility was bringing to term the embryonic results of a year’s frantic efforts of genetic tinkering, like the one who now gripped my finger so tightly.

He’s from the fourth group to be born here, Mouse continued. We’ll be moving him to the safehouse at the Campus as soon as we’re finished with all the standard diagnostics. She sighed. If only our artificial womb technology had kept pace with our genetic science. I would rather have resorted to less, um, unusual methods to gestate our little miracles. But they’ll need a large gene pool to remain viable, and the few artificial gestation chambers we have back at MIT just couldn’t handle those numbers. Even with multiple births here we’re cutting it close. If only we had more time to...Oh! Her tapering fingers clutched at her abdomen. Sorry. Just a little kick.

I frowned at her. One thing I could not understand was why such an intelligent woman would allow herself to get pregnant now, of all times. The Pandemic attacked the young mercilessly. Her child would live a few weeks at most.

But as the end of the world became a certainty this past year since the Outbreak, insanity was almost as common as infection. Who was I to judge?

At least she wasn’t a Doomer.

I shrugged. At least I’ll have good news to tell the big bosses when I go out west tomorrow. If there’s any of them left, that is. But I have to ask: Why a thumb and three fingers? I thought dogs had four digits and a dewclaw...

She gave a little laugh. This is genetic engineering, not evolution. To many they might seem similar, but they’re not. We’re not required to use what’s already there, like nature. We can kind of cut and paste what we want right onto the genome. I always thought that the pinkie was kind of useless. The gene sequencing for losing it was actually kind of basic, at least compared to the other mind-boggling problems we’ve had with this project, so out it went.

She hugged herself, tilting her head affectionately at the small creature before us. They’re different enough from us so the risk of cross-infection is near zero. But I wish I had more time to make them more unique. If you ask me, they’re too human.

What’s wrong with that?

A half-dozen pops ripped away in the distance, cutting off her reply. Gunfire. The staff froze for a second, then scrambled as one toward the exits with surprising speed. Doomers! someone yelled as they ran for the racks of rifles near the door.

Mouse’s face went ashen. If they get to the herd grazing outside...

I took a step toward the weapons, only to be held back by Mouse. Please, Sam, don’t. You’re too valuable. Hopefully this is just another nuisance raid. We’ll chase them off easily enough.

I should do something...

I know the feeling. Buddha, I know. If I was not in this condition, I would be running for the guns myself. She sucked her lip as she regarded her distended abdomen. But I must be careful now, more than just for myself.

But why? I blurted. The child’s practically dead, anyway, isn’t it?

She gaped for a moment at me, then shook her shoulders with a bemused chuckle. Oh, Sam, don’t you know? I thought someone would have told you, or at least you’d be able to figure it out for yourself.

What? I looked at her quizzically, trying to read her inscrutable expression. You mean the child won’t die? But the only way that could be is if... My words faded to nothing as I looked around at the cows.

No. She couldn’t have.

Mouse reached down and picked up the small, genetically engineered newborn, cooing and comforting him until he yawned contentedly. Really, Sam, what did you expect? Cows and plastic-walled chambers aren’t the only means of gestation available to us. We have to use every resource we have to make this work, and I’m far from the only volunteer.

She looked up at me with hard, Pandemic-red eyes, daring me to defy her. I know to you and those officious jerks at Mausoleum they’re just a means to an end, but to me, to everyone who’s worked here, they’re much, much more. They’re our children. If I could, I’d bring them all into the world this way.

I opened and closed my mouth several times to reply, but no words came.

Far off, the gunshots continued unabated.

CHAPTER ONE

I hunkered low behind an ivy-choked corpse of brick wall, a quiet prayer to Saint Cobain on my lips. Appropriate, since I hid in the shadow of a crumbling human church. The wall fragments bled gold blurring into red as the sun descended behind the steeple.

I carefully slid the gauss pistol from my hip holster, hoping the low whine of the magnetic coils priming would not give me away. Meters away, my pursuers, four Lupinoid mercenaries, snuffled loudly at the cool spring air for my scent. Their own unwashed wolf-smell, pungent with wet fur and rank sweat, burned in my nostrils.

Damn Roadkill and her stupid tests.

The gruff voice of the largest Lupinoid, Frostbite, boomed off the rotting buildings. Hey, kitty! Come on out! We got some catnip right here for you! The other Lupinoids snickered. I could imagine the lewd gesture Frostbite made to accompany his taunt. He had quite a talent for them.

My muscles tensed as I heard their feet scuffle on the rubble just beyond the wall. I would be their prey in seconds.

Doubling my legs under me and uncoiling them with all my strength, I vaulted straight up and over the two-meter high wall. I barely cleared it. By some miracle I landed nimbly on the uneven rubble, facing the Lupinoid pack. Startled, their triangular ears tapered back. Their kind always seemed so surprised at a Felinoid’s natural agility.

My gun roared a wide arc on full automatic fire. The needle bullets exploded through them, giving each a halo of crimson sparkling in the rays of the setting sun. They crumpled, one still trying to bring his rifle to bear.

Whistling low, I shook my head at their still-twitching carcasses. I was surprised that worked. My old Militia sergeant would have screamed my tail furless for trying such a stupid and reckless stunt. These Lupinoids were idiots anyway, falling for so basic an ambush. Being Man’s Best Friend once upon a time obviously didn’t require much in the IQ department.

Wait. Only three of them? Weren’t four after me?

I whirled to my left just in time to see the blur of a rifle stock and Frostbite’s wicked, yellow-toothed grin. A freight train slammed into my chin, and the whole world exploded into a roar of static and leaden darkness.

- - -

Gray streaks of light slowly, slowly trickled back into the world. Consciousness was trying to claim me again, and I was very sluggish to respond.

Frostbite, what the hell do you think you were doing! a female voice barked, close-by.

Frostbite piffed, unconcerned. Hey, you said you wanted her sim to be realistic.

That didn’t mean rifle-whipping our guide, dumb ass! You’ve just kissed bye-bye to a thousand credits of your pay! More if she’s seriously hurt! And you’re on latrine-pit duty for the rest of the mission!

Frostbite growled. What? Like hell...

Commander! A new voice sounded, right over my ear. She’s waking up!

My eyes fluttered open, revealing a universe full of fuzzy shapes pulsing in rhythm with the throbbing in my skull. It took many long seconds for my eyes to finally focus and bring the world around me back into some semblance of clarity.

We were back at base camp, with the rest of Roadkill’s mercenary company. The collection of rag-tag tents was located in a decrepit, overgrown parking lot in some obscure suburb of the ancient city called Buffalo. Trees and underbrush surrounded us on all sides, but if one looked hard enough one could spot the remains of a stone foundation here, a heavily cracked sidewalk there. At the far edge of the clearing, a rusted-through chain-link fence leaned like a friendly drunk against a towering maple tree.

Five meters in front of me, framed by my boot-clad feet, were the sources of the two shouting voices. The taller Lupinoid was Frostbite, sporting a coat of pure white fur under his faded camouflage fatigues. Like all Lupinoids, he possessed an angular wolf’s head, made proportionately bigger than nature intended to support an enlarged bio-engineered brain. He walked upright, like all Creatura, but stood with a slight stoop to compensate for the digitigrade stance unique to his race. A bushy tail poked out of his fatigues just below his belt. He clutched his assault rifle hard in three-fingered hands to contain his boiling rage.

He still wore the VR goggles we used in the sim, flipped up onto his sloping forehead. The goggles used computer imaging to paint over images from the surrounding environment, to simulate gunfire and other effects of mock-combat. They could network with other goggles in use, and went completely opaque if you were shot in the sim and didn’t lie down and pretend you were dead. My own goggles lay orphaned and forgotten several meters away.

Facing Frostbite was a smaller Lupinoid, female, with scraggly brown fur and an eyepatch over her right eye. She stood toe-to-toe looking up at the male, nearly twice her size, with crossed arms and a nonchalant stance, like he was no threat. Only her deep scowl and twitching tail gave away just how pissed she was.

Roadkill spat. If you have a problem with my disciplinary measures, Mr. Frostbite, you can take it up with our employers when we get back to New Albany. But right now, you better get to your new duties before I dock all of your pay and send you walking back to the Salamanca outpost in your skivvies!

Frostbite responded with a hellfire glare. But after several tense seconds he turned curtly and stalked away, grumbling to himself as he flung the VR goggles from his head. They bounced high on the cracked tarmac.

Roadkill walked over and squatted down next to me. How you doing, kitten?

I’m fine, Roadkill. At least, that’s what I meant to say. It came out more like, Urgmmphl.

Roadkill addressed the medic. Well?

The medic’s name was Twilight, a Felinoid like me, with well-groomed dark gray fur and oh-so-velvety green eyes. Unlike Lupinoids, Felinoids had very human-like head hair, but he wore his closely-cropped so it blended in seamlessly with the rest of his coat. He was a young recruit six months out of his mandatory stint in the Coalition Militia, and desperate enough for college tuition money to take a job like this.

Twilight had been the subject of discussion between Roadkill and me several times during the two-day cargo-zep trip out here. He was easily the most attractive member of the company as far as we, the only two females present, were concerned. He seemed honestly unaware of just how cute he was, which, of course, made him all the more adorable. He did seem a little shy, almost secretive at times, but that could be overcome by any sufficiently insistent female.

Myself, for instance.

She’ll be fine, Twilight said, running a gauze pad over my wound. I did a quick ultrasound with the portable. Skull and jaw infrastructure’s sound, and there’s no sign of a concussion. I’ve shot her up with tissue knitters and some happy juice, so she won’t start feeling anything until tomorrow morning. She should be fully functional by then, if a little sore. There’ll probably be a little bruising, though.

Roadkill nodded. Nice work, kid. For a hacker you’re making a pretty good medic.

"Wannabe hacker, he corrected. I feel I have to remind you again that medical wasn’t my MOS, it was my secondary, so I really hope for everyone’s sake that this is the worst injury I have to treat."

I hope so too, kid. She smiled her tight, black-lipped smile at me. Sorry, kitten. That Frostbite’s a bastard. Maybe I should dock him another five hundred creds. Hell, maybe I should just beat the fucking crap out of him right now and get it done and over with.

N-naw, I stuttered. I discovered that if I took it real slow and concentrated, my mouth could form coherent syllables. He’s just pissed because I ‘killed’ his three critters in that sim.

Roadkill chuckled. You did frag them good, kitten. Those egotistical butt-sniffers will be days living it down. Getting mowed down by a female, and a Felinoid besides. Serves them right. Her smile disappeared as she lowered her voice. And if I didn’t need Frostbite and his little three-critter crony squad, I’d frag them right now for what they did to you.

Excuse me, commander, Twilight said in a hushed tone, pulling out supplies from his med-kit. May I speak freely?

Of course.

He swabbed my wound some more. The gauze pad he pulled away was awash with tufts of tawny fur and small blotches of crimson. Yes ma’am. That Frostbite’s going to be trouble. His little gang doesn’t talk much with the rest of us, and when they do, they’re usually bad-mouthing you or the mission. They especially don’t like having Ms. Feles here--

Rakshana, I mumbled. Friends just call me ‘Shana.’

Uh, yes ma’am. They don’t like having, er, Shana here with us because she’s an old friend of yours. They think you’re playing favorites.

Roadkill scratched an old scar on her muzzles. "Damn right I’m playing favorites. Rakshana here is the most valuable critter we’ve got. She’s the only one who’s actually been to these ruins before, and if she can whip three of their asses in a training sim, then she’s a hell of a lot less of a liability than they are.

Yes, ma’am, I have no trouble with that. But Frostbite...

Don’t worry about him, kid. He’s just big, mean and stupid. Likes to hurt critters for fun. I’ve seen a lot like him in this business. But I guarantee you that if he pushes me too far, he’ll find out there’s one critter in this company who’s a whole lot meaner than he is. She smiled broadly, making a show of baring her canines. An unsettling sight to those who didn’t know her well, and a terrifying one for those who did.

You rest up, kitten, Roadkill said, patting me on the shoulder. We need you chillin’ and killin’ the day after tomorrow. After that, we can get back to civilization and terrorize the males in New Albany like we used to. She straightened and gave me a broad wink as she walked toward her tent.

I should have never taken this job, escorting a dozen cranky mercs into the wilds surrounding Lake Erie. But Roadkill and I went way back, and we liked to think of ourselves as closer than sisters. Roadkill’s hastily-assembled company needed a relic hunter who was familiar with the area, and I had been through these ruins several times, years ago. Besides, Roadkill said she couldn’t think of anyone else she’d rather have along to watch her back. And I needed the money.

So here I was, lying wounded before anyone had even fired a shot. As omens from the Martyrs went, this one was pretty clear.

But some good came out of my incident with Frostbite. Twilight paid me a whole lot of attention for the rest of the night, and that was just fine with me.

CHAPTER TWO

I perched myself on a fallen tree and pitched rocks into a stream while the rest of the camp went through its pre-dawn reveille routine. I had already been up for half an hour. Discipline among the mercs was still somewhat lax, with our target not expected to arrive in the vicinity of the ruins until the afternoon of the next day. The company was not planning to start its march for the heart of the city until mid-morning.

Gray from the east smudged the starry sky, lending a graphite luminescence to the countryside. A gloomy time of day, lending itself well to my melancholy mood. I carefully positioned myself so that I could see the sun rise between two ancient buildings on the far bank of the stream, the only two that had survived semi-intact in the downtown of this forgotten little suburb. Watching the day begin this way was a ritual of mine ever since I started regularly visiting ruins as a relic hunter.

I never told this to anybody, not even Roadkill, but I had one great, goofy dream in my life.

For a few brief seconds, as the sun silhouettes the buildings, I could almost imagine them whole again, as they were before the Great Pandemic, before the year of the Six Billion Martyrs. I could almost see the city as it once was, bustling with humans, who would smile at each other in greeting and blithely go about their early-morning business. In that moment of blinding sun and deep shadows, I swear I could almost feel them, haunting their city.

My one great dream, you see, was to talk to a human being.

For just a few minutes, to understand what it was like to be who they were. To understand who created us.

But this was the closest I would ever get.

Being in the midst of ruins like this always made me dream of my father. The night before was no different.

The dream started, as it usually does, with a far-away voice in the darkness. My father’s voice. Never forget, Rakshana, he called, that the human race died for our sins.

I was alone in the shadowy void. I gasped in joy at the sound of his voice. I had not seen him for so long, since mother had driven him away, screaming and yelling and blaming like she always did.

The void melted away and I was a kitten again, snuggled securely in my Daddy’s lap, looking up a his friendly, mahogany-furred face. It contrasted sharply with my own tiger-style fur, dusty orange with bold black stripes, the only feature I inherited from my mother. I was glad for that quirk in genetics, because I wanted to be like my Daddy in every way. He was so much smarter than a silly kitten like me. If I had a question, any question at all, he always had just the right answer. He cradled my tiny head in his gentle three-fingered hand, and I felt warm and safe in his strength.

We sat in my family’s old apartment in New Albany, on the relic human couch Daddy always cherished. Mommy hated it, the way she hated everything of his. It was beaten-up and splotched with three centuries worth of stains. The soiled wooden frame was out of place with the rest of the apartment, which was furnished with modern plastics of Mommy’s choosing.

But I didn’t care what Mommy thought. Daddy didn’t. And what Daddy thought was the only thing that mattered to me.

The humans made us in their image, he continued in his deep, sing-song voice, as their last, most perfect act of creation. They died so that the One Soul could be passed onto their children, the races of Homo Creatura.

That’s us, right Daddy? I squeaked in my little kitten’s voice.

He nodded, standing up. I slid from his lap to the cold floor, holding his hand. He was so tall and straight, like one of those human heroes in the ancient flatvids. Never forget what they died for, Rakshana.

Daddy?

Suddenly my hand was empty, his fingers slipping away like smoke. I searched and called for him desperately, but I knew, somehow, that he was not coming back.

Ever.

The void returned, its darkness enfolding me. Empty, desolate, and unforgiving.

What’s up, kitten?

I yelped and swore to every saint I could name, heart jackhammering in my chest. Roadkill smirked. She sidled up and sat down beside me on the log. What’s got you so worked up? she said.

She didn’t need to know about my dream. I indicated the ruins with my chin. I was thinking about them.

Them who? The humans?

I nodded.

You think about them a lot, don’t you?

I drew my knees up to hug them. "I guess I do. Probably because I spend a lot of time around human things. I just wonder a lot about what they were like. Really like, as people. It’s weird, Roadkill. Sometimes, when I’m alone in the ruins, I kind of get these feelings. Like I’m not alone. Like maybe all the humans who died are still there, walking around and watching me."

Sounds creepy.

Sometimes it is, like you’re walking on someone’s grave. But other times-- I turned my head away. I don’t know.

What?

Well, other times it seems like they’re there to guide me. To help me see the right path . . .

Roadkill rolled her eyes as she pulled a cigarette from her vest pocket. I thought you gave up that Humanist crap years ago.

So did I. But lately, I don’t know. I’ve been trying to work through exactly what I believe in. My father was a Humanist.

Roadkill lit her cig with a flick of her pocket torch. And look where that got him, kitten. She puffed a few times. Me, I never bought into that humans-were-the-agents-of-God crap. They just were who they were.

But they were our creators. My father always said that they gave us not only our forms but our souls, the breath of life. I have a friend in the Church of the Martyrs who believes...

Roadkill crinkled her muzzle. Please, kitten, you’re giving me a headache. Humping through the woods and shooting guns, that I know. But God and souls and stuff? Give me a break. Now, that kid Twilight, I’m sure you can talk his tail off with it since you’ve completely stolen him away.

Stolen him!

C’mon, kitten. I saw how you charmed him with your little miss injured kitty routine so you got a bunch of ‘extra medical attention’ from him last night.

All we did was talk! Right out in the open!

Oh, sure. For now. This wouldn’t be the first time you hogged the best-looking one for yourself. She let a sly smile spread under her scarred muzzle. She offered me her smoke. Want a puff?

No thanks.

Your loss. This will be the last one for a while.

Why’s that?

After one final drag, she stood up and crushed the cigarette under her heel. I’ll explain at assembly in fifteen minutes.

- - -

Roadkill and I stood on the bank of the stream as we watched the males strip in the cherry-colored sunrise and splash into the hip-high water. Spinner, one of the rabbit-like Lapines, arced his usually droopy ears high as his more sensitive regions contacted the chilly water. The other males weren’t any happier.

"And scrub everywhere, Roadkill growled at them. Don’t give me that look, Twilight, Boomer. I won’t watch. Me and Ms. Feles will be upstream doing the same duty. And if I catch any of you brainsucks peeking on us, I’ll cut off your nuts and use them as bear bait. Get me? She patted the carbon-steel knife on her hip for emphasis, the one as long as her forearm. You got an hour to do yourselves, your bedrolls, and your uniforms. Get to it!"

Roadkill turned and tugged on my arm. C’mon.

We hiked several hundred meters upstream, hugging the bank closely as Roadkill led the way. In our backpacks we carried our spare clothing, sleeping rolls, and rain tarps. The trees and underbrush closed in around us, and soon we were walking through tall grass along a deer path. Outcroppings of heavily-overgrown buildings could occasionally be seen through the trees. Birds chirped merrily overhead, and insects buzzed around us. The whole area was permeated with the lusty fertile scent of soil and aging grass. Is it really necessary to do this so soon? I asked Roadkill as soon as we were out of earshot of the males. From what I remember of my Militia training, scent neutralization should only be done when . . .

The Militia’s stupid, Roadkill retorted. They’re still too hide-bound to old human tactics. They don’t teach what’s practical in today’s world. She tapped her nose. They simply don’t take the sense of smell seriously. Most Creatura got a sense of smell much, much better than the humans ever had. We know from our employers that Musteldae’s got at least one Lupinoid with him, and he’s a ferret, which is almost as good. They’ll smell this shit-breathed company kilometers away unless we take precautions early.

We came to a broad section of the stream, where the water was slow-moving and deep. Roadkill turned toward me. This looks as good a spot as any.

We each laid the clear plastic tarps we brought with us on the uneven ground and emptied our packs onto them. One by one, we took each piece of clothing, dunked it in the stream, scrubbed it down with astringent soap on the plastic, dunked it again, then hung it on a nearby branch. As soon as the uniforms were dry, we sprayed them with scent neutralizers. We repeated the process with our sleeping rolls. When that was all finished we stripped and did the clothes we were wearing. I was halfway through doing my last shirt when I glanced at Roadkill.

The commander was already done and waiting for me to finish. She sat naked against a broad pine, sharpening her knife--like any of her knives really needed sharpening--with a small whetting stone. I always admired my friend for her compact, muscular frame that came from a lifetime of street brawls and military service. Numerous scars and bald patches splotched the smooth line of her fur here and there. Below her small breasts four vestigial nipples were visible through her thin stomach fur. Lupinoids had been the first of the Creatura races to be bio-engineered, and were the least refined as far as human-like features were concerned. They had more numerous animal-like traits than most other races, except maybe the Myotans. Digitigrade stance, multiple nipples, long muzzles, no distinctive head hair beyond their natural fur covering. They looked almost like the Hollywood version of the classic werewolf, though of course smaller and far less homicidal.

Roadkill’s body was quite a contrast to my own. I was tall for a female Felinoid, nearly 160 centimeters, and a bit lankier and bustier than I’d like. Creatura genetics were a little more refined when the human scientists got around to my breed, and they were able to give my ancestors more human-like characteristics. Although our facial features were still very distinctively feline, the muzzle was flatter and the eyes and lips more expressive than Lupinoid specimens. We had human-style breast and legs, though of course fur-covered like the rest of our bodies.

Despite the hellion bitch image she liked to cultivate, Roadkill never lacked for bed partners, male or female, when she wanted them. In fact, when we were younger and in secondary school together, I got the feeling Roadkill wished I would be much more than just her friend. Neither of us ever had a problem