FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Airlock sealed, stairwell ascended, Bernard met atop the mezzanine beside his office entrance. He handed me a latte and croissant--the place the analyst went to didn't offer tartines. The new teams were to arrive shortly, though Bernard already seemed to be drained. Reports had to be filed, orders distributed, and people directed. With my meeting with the subject, all of my responsibilities fell on his shoulders. It's only been twenty minutes since I last faced him. He never was as good as I was at keeping up with work, but trying to compare anyone in this building to myself...needless to say I had an inherent advantage.

"I caught snippets of your conversation with it," the man said. He broke up his statements with sips from his morning coffee, arms resting on the railing. "It still boggles my mind that we made that...thing."

"That it exists at all or that it is already smarter than either of us before it's even fourteen months old?"

"Heh, now that you bring it up, the latter is fucked up. But no. It just talked strangely. Thought strangely. Acted. Hell, I would use the word 'alien' to describe it if it didn't carry an extraterrestrial connotation."

"Really? Huh." I took a sip of my coffee. The analyst didn't order enough cream for it. "I thought it, well, maybe not normal, but it didn't act all too peculiar to me. Closer to a child if anything."

He turned to face me. Shitfaced and all, he didn't seem all that assured. "You're not exactly someone I would use to measure 'normal,' Pascal. There's a reason why your specialty is more biologic and in dealing with physiology when compared to psychology."

"Whatever. I still think it's not an issue."

"Oh, and I thought we agreed to stay away from the name thing. The last thing we need to do is relate that thing to a solaeren."

"'I think and, therefore, I am.'"

"Smartass."

"We name pets, don't we? And speaking of that psychology of yours, there are plenty of people who name inanimate objects."

"Pets and rocks aren't self-aware, Pascal. They don't ask to be named either. Sends shivers down my spine just thinking about it." His gaze turned back to the chaotic miasma of scientists and analysts below.

"I know. I tried to keep it from going anywhere, Bernard. Not sure how the International Civil Liberties Coalition would react to a corporate homunculi being given a name from a speculative science fiction novel. Doubt we would want to find out"

"I wouldn't worry too much about those dumb liberals. Still, I think we should stop you from giving it anymore pieces of fiction. Too easy for it to establish an emotional connection."

"I don't think that should be an issue moving forward." Dissection is not usually a pleasurable experience for the recipient.

He sighed. "Got me there. The new groups should me making their way down right now. You want me to be on point or..."

"No, I got it. Just keep everyone focused and calm. Or as calm as one could be right now." He nodded in acknowledgement.

I descended from the mezzanine. The elevators were close enough that I didn't feel myself trapped walking there. It took a couple of minutes after I got in front of them before they opened. Three elevators, twenty-five new engineers being incorporated into the project. Officially. They appeared younger on average when compared to the established workforce here; I'm guessing they hovered around my age. Dressed more casually, carrying laptops, smartphones, smartwatches, and a couple had wireless headsets plugged in.

"Morning, gentlemen."

"Doctor Bouchard?" the man in front said. A canisean with ears that weren't as erect as my own, fur that was an amalgam of chocolate and cream, and shoulders that were anything but broad. His accent sounded northeastern.

I shook his paw and nodded. "Pascal will suffice." Project Manager of Electrical Integration, Vladimir Kalishnik.

"Good to see you in the flesh. Everyone is here and ready to get started, though the prototypes are still working their way down."

"I'm well aware. Thank you all for being on time." And, of course by that, I mean three minutes late. "I'll direct you to your workspaces." I glared at the individuals still listening to music while I was talking. Once they registered my stare of death and destruction, the headphones and headsets were off. If I hadn't known the makeup of the teams, I would have been surprised at the sight of the female engineer in the software group. Only the second woman on the entire project compared to the eighty-strong male component.

I turned my back and started walking deeper into the facility.

"Now, most people here were only made aware of your prescese a short while ago, but it's been made crystal clear that they are to respect your work and responsibilities. If they treat you ill or are uncooperative, let me or the Deputy Director--Bernard--know. They same expectation will go for you all, however, so behave yourselves.

"This facility and its work does not compare to that of other companies in the Saint-Michel Bay. You will not find bean bags, yoga classes, juice bars, or cute animal mascots. Or at least not down here." I turned my gaze back. "Though I take it you are all aware of this. It's probably fair to say that you guys know the most about phase three, so try to help the others along. Relay anyone who holds moral objections to me as well."

The corridor turned right and opened up to the main offices.

"Alright, you guys know the general idea. Set up at the space with your corresponding name plate. Cybernetics specialists will be placed with cybernetics specialists and all that, but you all will take up the space in the farther corner." I pointed across the room. "Any specialized equipment that you do not have on your person is being brought down shortly. If there are any issues, relay them to me." Most of them carried some kind of bag or box, but the heavy gear was coming down the service elevator. "Vladimir, if you would follow me."

Up the stairs, around the mezzanine, and face front towards my door. I waited until the door shut to turn the windows opaque.

"Your office is being set up right now. Anything sensitive and personal will be left up to you, of course."

"Naturally," he responded. His paws imprinted on the chair he leaned back on. "So, it's really happening. Never thought the day would come."

"It's been more than seventeen months of work just on my end--twenty for everyone else. It's strange. Shit, I'd even wager it's a bit scary. I just hope it all plays out."

"Scary, huh? I don't know what stick you have up your ass. For me? This is like a dream coming right before my grasp, waiting for me to snatch it. I mean, we are literally redefining what it means to be alive. What it means to be organic."

"What it means to be solaeren, even. It's a dangerous path."

"Aren't getting cold paws are we, Director? Would be rather ironic, coming from you of all people! I'd hardly consider that thing a solaeren, though."

"All I am saying is that we are at a crossroads. Not just for ourselves either, but for all of society."

"I know, it's so exciting!" he said like a giddy primary student.

"I'd prefer the word fascinating. We still don't know what the ramifications of the work we do here will be, but I would hope that we are still able to look back without regret on how we handled it. Set a good example for what is to come."

"Oh. Shit, you're being serious, aren't you. Pascal--look: advancement always takes sacrifices. Society never moved forward without taking risks and posing questions that weren't fully realized. The work we do here...people of tomorrow won't give a horse's ass about how we do it--I am not even sure if there are any moral quandaries to consider with that thing. If we are able to eliminate mental illness, fallibility, weakness, well, any toll is worth that."

"You know, I was almost waiting on you to spout some philosophical proselytizing!" I worked to crack a large enough smile. "There's a reason why I'm here, Vlad, and you know that. I don't want to leave this up to someone else. I got to get in on the action a little!" He grinned at that. "But no matter. Have your guys finished up the finalizing touches for the processor?"

"Just about." He must have caught my reaction. "I know they're cutting it close, but one of them--Jérôme, good at finding bugs in the inter-tangled webs; practically built the chip's OS from the ground up--was worried about some last minute quality control. He and the neural network chick, Sandrine, decided to investigate, and if need be patch, some bits of the script one last time."

"Fine, but I want it to be finished at least two hours before we start the procedure. Once we start, we can't really put a pause on this."

"Bringing you back to when your mom told you to pause your online games?" He was incorrectly proud of that bit.

"Funny. I'll let that one slide. Still, I'd like to see their work before then. Give it a final once-over."

"What, you think you're going to spot something they didn't?"

"I've been spending some time trying to learn the language. Can't do us any harm, and I like to know what this hundred-billion solar project is banking on."

"Oh yeah? And how are your autodidactic studies going?"

"Hey, CompSci's never been my strong suit. They didn't make the language the most accessible in the world, but that's to be expected when a couple of technocrat prodigies create their own from scratch. It's complex and far from intuitive...but it's brutally efficient; functional. I can respect that."

"Well, the buck stops with you. I trust you know what you are doing. And it should work flawlessly. That girl, Sandrine? She's here for more than just that ass of hers. I don't know how, but that bluestocking can do things with machine learning that none of my other team members could have dreamt up."

And there it is...

"I'm well aware. Without her, we'd be sitting on our asses for at least another four years. I'm still surprised they were able to make it so that the brain and processor's machine learning craft how to execute and interpret commands on their own."

"I know. It's unfortunate that this kind of tech won't be available for wide distribution anytime soon, though. It's not like we can strap a 350 IQ brain to every computer out there to find the optimal configurations and pathways."

I grumbled in agreement.

"We don't know how it will turn out, though. Not yet," I said. "Best we can do is work our asses off until it's all over." I glanced over to the television on my wall and hiked my thumb at it. "Bring up the arm and leg schematics. I wanted to go over the organic nerve connectors."

---

Hurtling through the air, it whizzes past and is locked onto its target. A large thud accompanies its impact, and Bernard recoils. His paws shoot up to his forehead as he is jolted awake. A glob of drool splatters across his lapel no thanks to his maw turning into a hippo's while he was pass out.

Part of me finds it odd and alien how shocked and uncomfortable he looks being brought back into reality. Then that part of me remembers that not everyone has been through hell.

"Ah! Fucking hell! Who the fuck--ugh, damn it, Pascal, did you have to hit me so hard?"

"It was just the printout that we all got, and the one that you were supposed to read."

"Uh huh..." His voice drifted off, his eyes still shut firmly. Looking up at the sun right when you exit a more poorly lit building. "Why did you wake me?"

"Because it's six-thirty right now."

His eyes opened up, blinked a couple times, then went wide once the picture in his mind finished developing. "Shit shit shit shit shit, right." He bolted up erect, dusting himself off and looking frantically around. He whispered under his breath, "Why the fuck am I up so late?"

"Because you stayed up until one."

His eyes met mine in a slightly irritated way. "And I am in your office because...?"

"Because we were going over the procedure for the coming-turn present day. That, and I didn't want to be carrying you over to your office. I doubt anyone still up and spying on us would ever look at you in the same light again, all hauled over my shoulder, drooling on the floor, passed out--"

"Funny, but you can stop." I cracked a smile. "You could have woken me up prior, or at least in a less violent way."

"One, you need the sleep more than I do--five hours is hardly substantial--and two, where's the fun in that?" My shoulder got a light punch for that.

"Ok. Yeah, ok, I think I'm good now. Yuck. Do you want to make the rounds, waking up the associates and boffins, or shall I?"

"I think you might as well," I told him. "In fact, I'm probably going to be offloading all personnel management to you until the procedure gets underway, if that's alright with you. Try to be up here in ten to fifteen. I just want to do another quick round with Vladimir and Svobodová." Director of Physiology.

"Yeah, ok. I'll get on that." Bernard headed out the door, slowly getting less disoriented the more distance he covered. Inversely proportional.

Going off two hours of sleep right now. Longest I have lasted is forty-six hours with no sleep, but again: hell. Two hours wouldn't be too big of an issue for me, but the procedure would take probably close to thirty-six hours to go through if the estimate is off by how much I think it is.

I finished typing up an email that I had started on prior to messing with Bernard. Sent some other ones after that and switched over to my laptop. Tablet. Whichever. Two-in-ones just felt like a Frankenstein of a name.

Alexi Darnaire: The bonding won't be ideal. A hell of a lot of screws, wiring, and magnets. I'm guessing--and don't take this as my endorsement--you are going to be welding and/or soldering the prototypes right to the bone. It would more or less fuse the prosthetics, but unless you do it very carefully, you are talking about possibly irreparable bone damage even taking into the subject's healing factors.

We were, and it will.

Dmitri Verner: Sorry P, need to make sure: nanotube "tendrils" will communicate and interact with neurotransmitters. I got that. Just need to be 100% on the chemical compound of the insulator we will be using. Improperly done insulation means widespread neural firing, likely uncontrolled.

I sent him the file and linked to the thread DNI and the section heads covered it. Also told him that he skipped a level in management addressing that to me. His response was weak and meek.

Several other message threads, ones that were less inept, and a waste-of-my-damn-time phone call that I had to do because some associate fucked up. I'm sure few people wanted to see their boss storming down the halls with a wireless headset and a raised voice. Went over to the bloke's office and held him there until security arrived.

I fumed back to my office, grabbed that messenger bag, and stuffed it full of two political magazines to at least come off as genuine, my laptop, charger, and everything I would probably be using over the course of the next day or so, excluding food and a change of clothes. The walk down to the subject's room carried extra weight. Several more people were mulling about the halls, running back and forth to lug supplies, papers, and sustenance around.

Door, stairs, door, wait, door, guilt.

"Oh, Doctor Bouchard!" the pup said, getting up from his bed and setting an atlas aside. "It's good to see you again, though I didn't expect it to be so early. I thought you said you wouldn't be here for another thirty minutes or so."

"Just thought I should get some more time in. Brought some extra material for you to get into if you so wish. The Montélay Briefing and the Republican Reserve." The two magazines were sandwiched on the right side of my bag. The subject jaunted over and whisked them out of my paws.

"Great! Mind if I read these while we talk?" The nod I gave was his green light.

"Is Charged coming along well?" I asked him. My shoulder let my bag drop onto the white epoxy floor. I positioned myself beside it.

"Oh, that," he said without looking up from the publications. "I finished it yesterday afternoon." I already knew the answer from watching the numerous camera feeds, but I may as well have kept up the illusion of benevolence. "I think Dubois was trying to make the ending a surprising plot twist, but he dropped enough subtle hints throughout for me to pick up on. Not very subtle from my perspective"

"Such as?"

"Just the particular phrasing used at moments. The degree of interweaving, intersecting, and aborted timelines makes it difficult to keep future events secret. Made more sense for things to be tied to something in the past or not yet understood."

"And the ending itself? What do you think about it?"

"It was rather depressing. Anticipated, but that doesn't change the emotional response when one sees what is essentially all of the main characters being killed. The time warp incidents continued to get worse and worse, cities duplicated so that there could be two Montélays at once, overlayed so that anyone could be overlayed with another object, eventually building up to skyscrapers and city blocks, people coming back from the future, being deposited in the future, and so the Voyants would try and create time bubbles, literally freezing sections of space in order for them to be unaffected, but then time bubbles began happening around the world as well--all of these time bubbles cause everything within them to gradually turn red due to redshifting, which is important for the ending. Governments and other organizations that have been established over the decade of time-related incidents work with the Voyants after one is able to neutralize the effects of time manipulation on an object with some thinking that the whole world could receive similar treatment. Low and behold, they begin working on this when the dialogue suddenly stops and everything becomes pink. As it turns out the remaining one hundred pages were just documents and photographs, leaving the implication that the entire world got trapped in a time bubble or the equivalent of a black hole."

"So I take it the ending was more anticlimactic than you would have liked?"

"No, that's not the reason. I'm rather surprised the book worked at all with so much overlap with people coming from the future, being deposited in the past, swapping places in space and time, being killed off--even Ethan got the axe. Got half of his body stuck in a time bubble, leaving only his legs and right arm, which, mind you, is not a pleasant sight even when seen solely through words. It's still impressive at how the time travel was internally consistent. I guess at the end of the day, it's desirable to see good win out over evil or whatever one would call a series of unstoppable, global events terrorizing everyone." I was sure he didn't lose the irony in what he was saying, especially judging by what article he was on in the Briefing.

"Battles and wars are rarely deciding on which side has the more just motive and actions, unfortunately," I responded. "Actually, it's often the opposite. The side that is willing to throw more bodies at the problem, the side less empathetic and caring about civilians."

"The side willing to do whatever it takes to win." I nodded. "It says here that North Mahraqet had its airspace closed yesterday after a SAM turret accidentally shot down an Aelmerian Air Service plane. Four hundred dead over the Haamud Strait."

"Yeah, it's...well, I don't envy the Sentinel right now."

"What about the governor of North Mahraqet? I can't imagine he wants to face up against Itsuko."

"He won't have to. North Mahraqet's air defense systems are leased from and operated by Dietrich-Brenkauer, so having it not shoot down civilian planes during peacetime is their responsibility."

"The Dvorkich amendment to the Corporate Sovereignty Act should prevent that, though. Multinationals are immune from sanctions, extortion, or coercion from foreign powers."

"The Sentinel won't care. She has several hundred civilians who died due to a Caskyan weapons platform. She took off from Polaris Camp aboard Tempest One four hours ago, so she should be landing in Montélay in two to meet Dietrich-Brenkauer's CEO and the Prime Minister, or at least that would be my guess."

"Not the Secretary of State?" I shook my head as I watched him finish reading the Republican Reserve too. I added a verbal "no" to make sure he registered the response.

The conversation lasted another forty minutes lacking any real structure. I ended up moving about the room, sitting next to him on his bed, leaning against the western wall, crouching over his floor-strewn schematics...he moved about even more so than myself after finishing up his reading.

I checked my phone's time at an ever increasing frequency (and I think he noticed) until I motioned for him to follow. He stared off at nothing before turning back at me and beaming. "Alright, Doctor Bouchard! Lead the way."

There was a pair of french doors embedded into the southern wall. Two flat, white panels that blended seamlessly with the other white wall panels. The technicians in the control room must have noticed me moving over towards them as they opened outwards welcomingly as we approached. There was an airlock not dissimilar to the one I use to enter the observation room, though it is a fair bit wider to accommodate gurneys and the like. The opposite side's doors eventually open once the ones to our back shut.

Another white room opened on the other side with the same dimensions as the observation room, though the bed, bookcases, and mechanical parts scattered across the floor were replaced with an operating table, a circular track suspended from the light-box ceiling above and around the table, and mechanical parts organized in drawers.

The subject's normal physician stood smiling next to the operating table. One that had contours to fit a body and was surprisingly wide.. The subject probably just thought it was an observation table, though the distinction was really just determined by how it was used.

"Morning, Doctor Faherty!" he called out from behind me.

"Good morning there. Why don't you sit down up here, if you would be so kind" Declan said and patted the operating table. I walked over with the subject, and he hopped up. Declan and I exchanged glances. He wasn't fully on board, but he didn't have much of a choice.

Declan asked for the subject to hold out his arm so that he could get an IV tube inserted to make it easier to administer various fluids and medicines. He tied a band around his bicep and rolled a looser one up from his forearm to pull back his fur and make it easier to slide the IV needle in.

Time slowed for me after that.

I grabbed a syringe from a drawer, withdrew a set volume of fluids from a vial, and walked back over to the subject lying down on the table, smiling contently. The syringe's needle slid into a little spout, and the paralyzing agent entered the subject's bloodstream. His smile faltered and he tried to struggle, but eventually everything froze where it was except for his pupils, now the size of pinholes.

I gestured into the air and several technicians came through another seamless door. Two had screw guns while one had a metal carapace in his arms. They came over, and the carapace was placed over the subject's torso and subsequently secured down just as I had instructed them earlier. The paralyzing agent would last several hours for a normal solaeren, so they had about a minute and a half to properly restrain the subject.

The arms came next, held out at ninety-degree angles and secured at the wrist to the table. The legs were similarly secured before the forehead got a steel arch screwed down. A medical pitstop in both precision and timing.

Robotic, surgical arms were brought in simultaneously. I helped several others get them hooked into the circular track suspended above. Lights, cameras, manipulators, scalpels, laser cutters, scanners.

He began to regain control just as we were making our way out of the operation room. Grunting and groaning as he tried to extricate himself from the restraints. His muzzle was strapped shut for better or worse.

I took the stairs up to the observation room, though its layout and current function reminded me much more of a navy bridge. Bright, angled consoles laid up against the hologlass panels that were displaying general information for everyone to be aware of. Things such as heart rate--quite elevated at the moment--oxygen saturation, and a map-like projection of his body.

All of the program directors were manning stations. Vasili was manned at organ function, Alexi watched over muscles and bones. Kazemir, Colin, Vladimir...everyone in upper management. Bernard had gathered them prior to my arrival so that once everything was situated, we could begin immediately.

The computers had to run through some diagnostic systems checks with the surgical arms. They came back green, and I typed in the command to initiate at my own station.