About vulpesffb

Welcome to "Foxsylvania!"--I am your humble host, an unabashed, long-time anthropomorphic red fox furry and furry writer who prefers to refer to himself as a vulpine American, the product of a secret government experiment gone horribly awry. We indulge in a mixture of science, speculation, pop culture, and outright fantasy here, and hope that you'll enjoy your visit. Be sure to check out the home cookin' in our kitchen, and the mud wrasslin' out back!- -Milk and cookies for everyone!--Enjoy, huzzah!

Dark Nativity…

RaptorJohn and Marsha were expecting a baby, but instead they got a Velociraptor.  At their prenatal sonogram, Dr. Janus examined repeated images, only to determine that there was no mistake.

“I’m afraid I have bad news,” the physician advised the expectant couple.  “Your child is grossly abnormal.  I would strongly advise that you terminate the pregnancy!”

Marsha shook her head in disbelief.  “What exactly are you saying, Doctor?- -Is the child deformed?  Is there a genetic abnormality?”

“No,” replied Dr. Janus.  “Your child is perfectly healthy.  It is also not human.”

“Not human?  What do you mean, Doctor?,” asked John, struggling to understand.

“Have you ever heard it said that ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny?,” asked Dr. Janus.  “No, I suppose not.  Well, the development of the individual parallels the evolution of the species prenatally.  At one point in its development, even a human embryo has what would become in another species gill slits.  Well, for reasons unknown, your unborn child has failed to develop past a reptilian stage.- – You must abort it!”

Marsha shook her head firmly in the negative.  “Every child is a gift from God, Doctor…and I intend to carry this pregnancy to full term!”

“But my good woman!,” interjected Dr. Janus, “This ‘child’ is of a different species entirely!  It is not even remotely human!”

“Doctor, you heard what my wife said,” advised John.  “We’re having this baby!”

“You are within your rights,” said Dr. Janus, “but Marsha may not survive her pregnancy, and the product of the pregnancy will be completely unpredictable!- – Don’t say that you haven’t been advised of this!”

The couple stood their ground, and some months later found themselves in the delivery room where following a long and torturous labor Marsha gave birth to something inhuman.  The infant Velociraptor practically erupted from its human mother, drawing gasps from the attending physician Dr. Janus and nurses.  Pausing only momentarily, the small but fully functional creature sprang to the face of Dr. Janus, swiftly removing his nose with its hooked talons and needle-like teeth.  The bloodied Velociraptor then leaped to the floor, issuing a high-pitched cry and making good its exit when an additional nurse entered the delivery room.

Dr. Janus sputtered through the blood of his ruined face as he struggled to speak.  “So this is your ‘gift from God,’ eh?,” he gasped.  “Pray to God that He takes it back!”

The physician collapsed to the floor as the Velociraptor worked its way through rooms and corridors of the great metropolitan hospital, administering toxic care to everyone that it met.  Then it abruptly stopped to sniff at the air, moving with agitation and excitement in another direction.

Not far away, you see, another unusual birth had occurred.  Mary had a little lamb, and the raptor sensed tasty prey…

Anomaly

The Dig

Dr. Chan the paleontologist furrowed his brow and mopped beads of sweat from his forehead.  The newly-excavated Tyranosaurus Rex skeleton was highly unusual, with several remarkable features that couldn’t readily be explained.  The T-Rex appeared to have died violently, but that was hardly unusual for his species, a carnivore who often defeated large prey for his meals when he couldn’t scavenge.

What was unusual was the fact that the specimen had apparently suffered several
severe blows to the head, resulting in puncture-type damage to the cranial bone
structure.  The angle of the damage indicated also that the blows had come from
above, as if something had descended upon the fearsome predator from the skies.  
Even more strangely, the large skull of the T-Rex, even in its fossilized state,
showed indicators that the creature had additionally suffered burns sufficient to
cause charring to the bone surface.  Collectively, the injuries still discernible
upon the skeleton of the predacious dinosaur had almost certainly resulted in its
death.

Now the area in which the remains were discovered was not known to have experienced volcanic activity, nor was it believed to have been forested during the time when burning might have occurred to the bone.  There was simply nothing known to have existed in the area at the time which could have caused the damage.  Dr. Chan, however, had a theory as to what might have caused the insults to the remains of the dinosaur.  It was an explanation that presently could not be proven, but one which he nonetheless strongly believed because of his cultural heritage.  He could not offer this explanation because of fear that he would be ridiculed and professionally discredited, even though his explanation was supported by the mythologies of many cultures around the world and throughout time.

Dr. Chan, you see, believed that the formidable T-Rex had long ago engaged in battle with a dragon, and lost.  An earlier, more naive generation had regarded dinosaur bones as the remains of dragons…perhaps someday, the bones of the dragon would truly be found…

Dr. Chan smiled, and held onto his faith…it is said that faith is the “evidence of things hoped for,  the substance of things not seen…”  

Tomorrow’s Yesterdays…

Endgame by ff_b

In early December of 2012, CIA Director David Petraeus arrived for a secret meeting at the White House with President Obama.

“Mr. President,” began Director Petraeus, “I have extraordinary news!”

“What might that be, David?,” Obama responded.

“Mr. President, my information regards the wreck of the ‘Titanic,’ which as you’re aware sank a hundred years ago.–Sir, the ship is…reassembling itself!”

“What is this, David…some kind of joke?,” asked Obama.

“No, Mr. President,” Petraeus answered solemnly as he placed a pile of high-resolution photographs before Obama.  “Three months ago, the bow and stern reunited.  Since that time, hull fissures have somehow been sealing themselves.  Ship artifacts and components settled across a large debris field have also been reuniting themselves with the vessel!”

“You expect me to believe this absurd story from a few photographs?,” Obama asked, his face registering his disbelief.

“I know that this strains credulity,” admitted Petraeus, “but that’s not all.  Other things are happening that are equally remarkable.  For example, Amelia Earhart has been found!”

“You mean the wreckage of her Lockheed Electra?–That’s incredible!  Were bodily remains recovered?,” Obama asked, intrigued.

“Yes, you might say that,” answered Petraeus, “in a most remarkable state of preservation!”  He removed a pager from his pocket and activated it, issuing the order, “Send her in.”  A moment later the door clicked open and Amelia Earhart walked in, looking exactly as she had at the time of her disappearance in 1937.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. President!,” said Earhart, extending a hand.  She regarded Obama’s skin color, her eyes widening almost imperceptibly.  “My, how times have changed!,” she added.

“Yes, indeed they have,” agreed Obama, shaking the aviatrix’s hand in wonder.  He then sank into his seat, overwhelmed.

“Mr. President, there’s more as well,” cautioned Petraeus.  “Flight 19 has returned from the Bermuda Triangle.  The Avenger torpedo bombers flew in under their own power, and neither the aircraft nor their pilots appear to have aged since they were last heard from in 1945!,” he advised.

“Mr. Director…what do all of these incredible occurrences mean?,” demanded Obama, eager for an explanation.  

Petraeus looked first at Obama then at Earhart.  “The ancient Mayans predicted that the world would end on December 21st, 2012,” he reflected, “and it appears that their prophecy is coming true.  Remakable events are transpiring as history draws up loose ends in preparation for the new age soon to dawn,” he concluded.

“And what,” asked Obama, “would you as CIA Director advise us to do?”

“At its current state of restoration, sources indicate that the Titanic will be fully functional and seaworthy by the December 21st deadline.  I would suggest that you book passage, Mr. President…we’re going for a ride!,” declared Petraeus.

“And just where might that ride be headed?,” pressed Obama.

“The Roswell pilots long quartered at Area 51 have generously offered to guide us through a rift in the time-space continuum that will open at that time,” explained Petraeus.

“Do you suppose that those aliens might let me try my hand at the controls of one of their aircraft after we pass through that continuum?,” asked Earhart playfully.

“Of that I have little doubt,” Petraeus reassured Earhart.

“Then hot damn!–We’re headed for the future!,” declared the woman from the past to two men of the present, eager to start her journey into tomorrow…

Visionaries…

The Artist

It was one of those unseasonably warm days in early January when the butterfly flitted onto my shoulder.  Those sixty degree days must have caused it to emerge prematurely, I thought.  Still it was strange, and I gently extended my finger for the creature to climb onto, marveling at its delicacy as it did so.  The butterfly perched on my finger as I examined it, realizing to my amazement that it was not organic!  As the tiny insect fluttered its wings, I saw that the wings were a polymer-type material, and I could see microgears meshing as the articulated legs moved.  Traces of microcircuitry could be seen running along the minuscule body.  As if aware that its true nature had been detected, the butterfly flew away, and I saw it no longer.

The technology that could create such a thing was still in the process of being created, and for what purpose had such an extraordinary thing, complex but delicate, been designed?  Apparently it had been devised just because its creator could do so, and he or she had engineered it for the joy of creating it.  Such a person lived in this time, yet ahead of it.  In all of human experience there had only been a handful of such individuals.

As a student of history, I knew that in the Hellenistic Age of Greece, there had lived an extraordinary man who demonstrated a knowledge of mechanics, hydraulics, and other technologies that was many centuries ahead of its time.  So great were this man’s capabilities that his understandings would not be approached until the Renaissance, and even then imperfectly so.  The great Leonardo DaVinci, himself a genius, could not get one of his predecessor’s machines to function, although in the present day they would, as Leonardo had incorrectly used square rather than pointed teeth in a gear design.  What if this remarkable intelligence had somehow managed to engineer around the problem of death, so that his consciousness in this world survived his physical body?  And what if that individual had continued to learn, grow, and evolve beyond a single human lifespan?

A few miles away, a most extraordinary butterfly flew through an open window.  Servomechanisms hummed and whirred as the consciousness of Archimedes smoothly extended his robotic arm to provide a roost for his returning winged creation…and a positronic brain turned to ponder other marvels that it was even then just conceiving…  

Not of This World…

First and Last Contact

What was it about big metal ships, anyways?  People always expected the alien visitors to come in them.  In reality, it was not practical to send large metallic ships nor was it feasible to send fragile biological life forms in them, as they are quite vulnerable to the stressors of space flight, and were possessed of a finite life span which made traversing the vast distances of space personally impossible.  But alien intelligences had evolved far beyond our own, making it possible for them to visit other civilizations by proxy.  Recognizing the brevity of their own existence, the aliens had first used nanobots to precisely duplicate their own neurology, and translate it in every nuance to an intelligent machine which in effect became themselves.  This guaranteed a functional form of immortality, with the software that represented an individual’s consciousness transferred to a different machine when the software of the biological body wore out.

So comprehensive was the transcription of the nanobots that the intelligent machine which it was transferred to retained the individual’s complete life experiences, their unique orientations and abilities, and all that was in essence their personality.  The resultant machine became, in effect, that specific individual in their totality without the annoyance of a high-maintenance, disease-prone body which deteriorated with aging and had a finite life span.  

Bigger is likewise not always better, and so for the purposes of interstellar travel the intelligent alien machines were quite small, not much larger than a Terran insect, really.  Each of these small but very sophisticated machines bore an individual consciousness which had once been a biological entity, and the unit was capable of sustaining, repairing, and even replicating itself.  With infinite patience and efficiency these tiny alien machines streamed across the vast reaches of space in diverse directions, with one penetrating the atmosphere of our system’s third planet from the sun to visit what was deemed by the unfathomable alien mind to harbor conditions hospitable to the generation of life.  The tiny but sentient and durable machine readily passed undetected by the sensing devices of the global military establishment as well as by SETI; it was so small as to be inconsequential.  Everyone on Earth was programmed to detect missiles and large metallic saucers, or at least a decipherable message from an E.T.

The alien consciousness in the tiny but remarkable vessel was drawn by the abundance of chemicals in the vicinity of Africa, where human life itself may have had its genesis.  Sampling the atmosphere to its satisfaction, the tiny craft identified an indigenous life form by a waterway, a massive, herbivorous mammal that humans call a hippopotamus.  Excited at its discovery, the minute alien buzzed about the great head of the hippopotamus, anxious to further investigate the sensory apparatus that seemed to be centered there.  The hovering movements of the alien caused a buzzing, droning sound in the ears of the large mammal, which in turn caused the hippo to perceive the probing alien as a bothersome mosquito.  The hippo snapped its powerful jaws upon the interstellar visitor, ending its long journey and quite crushing the extraordinary device.  Days later, the remains of the advanced alien technology would be excreted in a large pile of dung, and draw no attention whatsoever except for that of dung beetles, who had no use for or comprehension of evidence of vastly superior intelligences.

This would prove most unfortunate for the inhabitants of Earth, who thereafter would be visited by a planet destroyer sent by the perturbed alien civilization…

Of Things Yet Unseen…

The Augment

The lithe figure moved with athletic grace and speed almost silently through the woods, keeping comfortably ahead of his pursuers from the secret government installation called only, “the Shop.”  Their scent signatures were readily discernible to him, each one unique and distinctive.  Although he had been running for hours, he could have easily continued to do so for an indeterminate period of time, indeed all night if he needed to.   As darkness spread, his eyes adjusted readily to the gloom, for he could see well in minimal light.   The humanoid sniffed the air as he ran, rejoicing in its heady aroma and the wealth of information each breath brought him.  A genetically augmented human, the fugitive was well-equipped to use his heritage to escape those sought him.

As he maintained a powerful stride, the man-thing pondered his origins in the laboratory where as a human embryo his genes were spliced with those of a variety of animals and even plants, rendering him into something humanoid but quite extraordinary.   They had called him “Adam” in honor of the supposed original man, but his hot blood coursed to rhythms other than those of a single species.  His innate hatred of captivity had led Adam to escape the prison that had birthed him. When the time was right, the scientists caught off guard and security personnel proved no match for his preternatural reflexes and strength.  He had left them bloodied and broken in the hallways, and feeling strangely exhilarated by the combat.

So Adam ran through the night, feeling at one with it.  When day broke, he effortlessly climbed a tree from which he could see for miles, exposing as he did so chloroplasts in his skin which enabled the conversion of sunlight into energy.  Indeed, Adam could survive without food if in the sun for at least twelve hours a day, although he most often used solar exposure to enhance his bodily reserves.  As he sunned himself, Adam’s skin also assumed a protective camouflage pattern, matching that of the leaves and tree bark that surrounded him and rendering him indistinguishable from it.   

The turmoil of an approaching helicopter roused Adam from his brief rest; how had it tracked him?–Of course, the microchip that they had implanted in the lab, how could he have been so negligent as to have forgotten it?!–Adam clawed open the skin on his thigh, grimacing at the pain and smashing the chip on a tree branch.  The helicopter was closer now, its sound almost deafening.  Hurriedly, Adam reached to his lower ribs and pried off the symbiont, a disk-shaped, mollusk-like creature.  When the helicopter had closed to within a few dozen feet, Adam flung the symbiont at the small craft with strength and accuracy not humanly possible.  The symbiont thunked against the helicopter’s metallic skin, attaching itself and exuding a molecular acid which swiftly burned through the hull.  Once inside, the symbiont scurried on crab-like legs towards the human inhabitants of the helicopter, flinging itself upon them.  They instinctively clawed at the horrid creature, but received only painful burns as the acid which coated the symbiont ate into their flesh.  Within moments, the chopper veered wildly off course, its pilot losing all control as he struggled to remove the symbiont from his face.  Careening about, the helicopter rotors sliced into nearby upper tree branches, causing it to flip sideways, impact with a tree, and explode.

Again alone, Adam mourned the loss of the symbiont, his chameleonic skin flushing with a variety of colors to register his distress.  In time, he would grow another. He descended the tree, his clawed hands and feet easily finding purchase on the bark. Freed of the microchip but alarmed by how close his pursuers had come, Adam made his way to the sea, knowing that he could not  as easily be followed there.  The gill slits on his neck opened as he cast himself into the water, that ancient cradle of life which would now serve as his sanctuary until he and others like himself could inherit the world…

Welcome!

– – Welcome to Foxscriptions, a subsidiary blog of Foxsylvania which will consist of short, flash-fiction stories written by yours truly and primarily in the genres of sci fi, horror, satire, and fantasy.   Seldom will they exceed 1,000 words; I don’t have the time to write books, and you probably don’t have time to read them!  They will tend to include if not feature at least one animal character, usually anthropomorphic, and will often bear a scientific or metaphysical orientation. 

These brief stories are intended to be rather impressionistic, and will tend to emphasize events rather than character.  They will usually be “stand alone” type efforts, although occasionally some will be linked to others and be a type of longer or serial effort, especially if interest is indicated and if the creative juices are flowing.  Many of these stories have appeared elsewhere on other “furry” websites, but are presented here for more of a general audience.  They are generally pitched to a “PG” readership, and are not intended for children but rather for teenagers to adults.

I hope that you enjoy reading these efforts, and it’s good to have you here!