"Beast" [Copyright (c) 1989 Watts Martin] She was beautiful. That often meant enhancements, but she came by it naturally--you could tell, and so she was exotic. Perhaps that was the reason she was here now. But that made no sense. "Here" was a puddle of watery, ebony-tinted machine oil. Already, neither John nor her father were in sight; the sound of their footsteps was cancelled out by faint white noise. It was the sound of current, in arm-wide cables running beneath the floor panels, in switching circuits beside her, in wire bundles hanging above. It peeped out as status lights along the walls, chirped as hidden piezo buzzers. The corridor was a synapse in the city's brain, a tight, hostile space inside the banks of supercomputers that served and controlled the world above. The brain was bleeding: the oil collecting at her feet dripped from a leaking pipe in the lubrication system. The drops landed unnoticed on the side of her head, making a slick, dark streak through her red hair. "Shit," she breathed, wincing at the echoes. She might laugh at the suggestion she was too delicate for cursing, but now she felt more delicate than ever before. She wondered if she could find her way back to the access hatch. A soft hiss came from behind her, a hydraulic door closing somewhere; she cursed again. It was as if the computer were alive and reading her thoughts. She turned her head and an oil drop hit her nose. She started abruptly, almost losing her balance, and then nervously inched down the corridor. She had seen all of this before--in a sense. If she hadn't explored this on the net, she wouldn't be compelled to explore it now. She was the one who had shown the "program" to her father, although she had by no means forced him to use it. Still.... The corridor took another turn and then opened up without warning. The honeycomb-shaped space appeared to have been a debuggers' room; data ports lined the walls, bordered by darkened hexadecimal displays. The soft amber light came from two circular panels that faced one another on opposite walls. Two other narrow corridors met here. However, what caught her eye was ludicrously out-of-place: a four-poster bed, complete with canopy, pushed up against one wall. By the bed was a small table with a tray of food on it, and a small bookcase by the headboard. Upon the bed lay an oblong steel box. She approached the bed cautiously, as if expecting the floor to collapse under her feet. Hesitantly, she touched one of the bedposts. Real wood; they hadn't been made with that for decades. Silk sheets. Slowly, she sat down, facing the food, a vegetarian plate that smelled all natural and all delicious. As she leaned towards the table, her elbow bumped against the box, and she looked down at it. Engraved on the top was: JASMINE. Her name. Shaking slightly, she opened the box. Inside was a rod of translucent blue crystal. Jasmine closed her eyes and shivered. The data pack was worth more than her family had ever owned, the heart of the supercomputers surrounding this surrealistic bedchamber, sought after by every net-hack in the country--herself included. It was such a crystal that her father had tried to steal for her, not knowing its worth, using the "program" she had found--not aware that whatever he was communicating with was aware of him, and very protective of such crystals. She pushed the box away and lay down on the bed. The "program" described itself as a creature. Did it only exist inside the computers around her, or outside as well? She shivered again and rolled over, falling into a dreamless sleep. When she awoke, the uneaten food had been replaced by a steaming bowl of wheat and a cup of hot tea. She stared at it pointedly, then turned away, saying aloud, "Whoever's keeping me here, I want to see you." **You do see me,** a voice said. **I am all around you.** When she realized the voice was in her head, she screamed without thinking about it, and then shut her eyes tightly. **I didn't mean to startle you,** the voice came again, sounding apologetic. "You've kidnapped me," she said. "It's a little late for sorry." **You came of free will,** it replied. "You would have killed my father." **By taking the wrong crystal, he might have killed me.** "If you don't mean to kill me, why am I here?" **Perhaps I want to eat you.** The voice sounded amused. "Computers don't eat people." **I am not a computer.** "Then what are you?" The voice was silent. "I don't want to stay here!" **If you can find your way out, you are free to leave.** "Damn you!" She kicked over the tray, sending china, creamed wheat and hot tea through the air to crash and splash futilely against the far wall. "What the hell do you think you are?" **I am a monster, Jasmine,** it said. **We must all be what we are.** "There are no monsters--" **Really?** "--There aren't even many animals left." **More's the pity. I used to love animals.** "Do you have a body somewhere?" **Somewhere.** "Let me see you." Nothing. She cursed, picking up the tray and flinging it against the wall after her breakfast, and ran blindly down the closest corridor. Her flight down dark steel tunnel continued until a loose cable caught her, sending her sprawling into the wall. As she hit, the lamp above her flickered and died, leaving her in dim shadows cast by the light filtering from the corridor behind her. Ahead was blackness. She collected herself, still gasping, and tried to stand. Daggers lanced through her ankle, and she collapsed again, sobbing. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the cold corridor wall. When she opened them again, something watched. She turned slowly to her right. Huge gray eyes, at a height a little above her own head, glittered back from the darkness. Jasmine whimpered and started to push herself away. **Don't be frightened,** came the voice in her head, gentle this time. **I won't come closer if it disturbs you.** "What are you?" She finally said, still pushing herself away. **Are you sure you want to know?** "God. No, I'm not." She buried her face in her hands and tried to steel herself. "But show me." The eyes rose almost to the ceiling and moved forward. They sat in a face like a wolf's, with a shorter, broader muzzle and a human-like chin. The ears were set high on the head, and had tufted points. The entire creature stood almost two meters high and was near half again as broad, huge arms ending in powerful claws, wide digitgrade feet. It was covered in sparse, mottled grey and white fur, clumped in places, shedding and scabbing in others. It wore what appeared to be the pants of an old tuxedo, dirty, oily, and threadbare. A new scream caught in her throat; she forced it down as the creature approached hesitantly and sat down crosslegged against the opposite wall. Even though the corridor was well over a meter wide, its knee almost touched her extended leg. At 172 centimeters herself, she could look most men in the eye; she barely came up to her captor's neck. The creature worked its mouth a second. "Urrr," it said aloud, then smiled, showing sharp, long yellow fangs. Jasmine shuddered, realizing it might have been quite serious about eating her. "You have never seen a recom before?" Her eyes widened slightly. "You're...recoms aren't--" "--like me," he finished. "Not officially. I was one of the first ones... built." "No," she said. "They never used recombination to make anything like you. Enhancements, strength, animal uplifts--" He laughed harshly. "Oh, sweet. DNA manipulation wasn't meant to make people stronger or give them cute little tails, for making pets human enough to be slaves and sex toys but not smart enough to know they're exploited. They wanted weapons, Jasmine. There are no more like me because they were too successful." "What do you mean?" He leaned back. "I was too much, and not enough. Too strong. Too smart. Too ugly. Too independent." "A soldier?" "I was meant for terrorism, not battlefields. A terrified soldier can still shoot; an untrained human is nothing against me." Her mind raced backwards, and she tried to keep her voice level. "You weren't one of the recoms who started the massacre in New York?" "That was one recom. Like me. He was successful." "One of you killed two hundred--" "Three hundred thirteen," he said, looking down. "It is far too easy for one like him. Like me." She shuddered, feeling sick. "I remember hearing about it. They said it was a failure, a freak." She closed her eyes. "They killed them. Why didn't they kill you with the rest of them?" "We were not failures. They killed most of us because the program was an embarrassment. We were close enough to human to make them uncomfortable, but...." He scratched his chin; a scab flaked away. "Out of twenty they made, only five were considered successes. I was not one of them. "Three of us escaped the laboratory during our testing. They weren't aware how difficult it was to keep us locked up, I suppose." He laughed barkingly. "One of those three started killing; it was what he was meant to do. I escaped down here, and here I have stayed." "The other one?" "I don't know. Perhaps he is still alive; if he has been found, they have killed him. It is as simple as that." "I don't know; engineered beings are a lot more common now, even though a lot of people are still afraid--" Especially if one looked like you, she finished silently. "Hell, there are even human/recom marriages." She tried to twist into a more comfortable position. "You've been down here eighteen years?--Owwww!" He moved towards her, reaching out a paw, and she yelped. He retreated contritely. "I'm sorry. I was trying to help." "Why weren't you... successful?" "I don't like to kill," he said simply. "You're not going to be able to move without my help, unless you want to crawl back." She ignored him. "What do you want me for?" "If your father thinks you are in danger, he will be less likely to harrass me." She laughed bitterly. "If that's the only reason you've brought me here, you're as stupid as you are ugly." He closed his eyes and flexed his claws. Jasmine swallowed nervously; he had said he didn't like to kill, but perhaps she shouldn't press her luck with something that could probably rip through inch-thick sheet metal. "How could his stealing from a computer harm you?" He sighed, and looked around. "Since I've been down here, Jasmine, the computer has become more than home. It is a part of me." He focussed his gaze on her. "When something moves through here--a rat, a person, or just a data stream--it is almost through my own body. You might say I've already eaten you: I feel you inside me. "When you broke into the network, you went deep enough to find me. You broke into me as well. Does that make any sense to you?" She nodded negatively, and he laughed again. "I have spent the last week trying to learn to be human for you. I am sorry if it is not good, but this is the best I can do." He looked away from her, seeming sheepish. "When you broke in, you made yourself a part of me--or me a part of you. How could I not be interested in you? You forced yourself on me, Jasmine." She shivered again. "You make it sound like I raped you." "I apologize if my words are offensive," he said. "Will you let me carry you back to your bed?" She pulled away. "I was only teasing when I said I might eat you," he said plaintively, extending a paw towards her. After a moment, she placed her hand in the paw. It swallowed up her hand to the wrist, and the creature stood up, compelling her to follow. He brought his other arm around her and effortlessly scooped her up against his chest. "You smell like shit," she said. He grunted and brought her back to the bed in huge, silent strides. The swelling in her ankle went down in two days. The creature was always by her side when she needed something, always missing when she needed to be alone. She never asked how he got the bed, or her food; she suspected he could get her anything she wished by his control of the network. The recom's relation with the computer undoubtedly could make him the ruler of New York; she wondered if he realized he was quite possibly the most powerful man in the country. The first time she stood up on her own, he was suddenly beside her. "Jesus, do you teleport?" She said, after she recovered from the shock of turning around and seeing him there. "In the net, I can do anything. With my body, I only walk very softly." "I'm not free to go yet, am I?" He looked away, crossing his massive arms. "You blackmailed my family into bringing me here--" "Your father could have come in your place, but you would not let him." "How do you know that?" "Because I know you," he said softly, looking embarrassed. "I do not want you to leave." She cursed under her breath and sat down, listening to the hum of the electronics around her. She was inside the largest computer network ever constructed, with no terminal to access it with; her captor seemed to be--or claimed to be--able to communicate with the computer one-on-one in a way no terminal had ever been capable of. Magic? The night before, he had said he was a wizard, the computer his castle; she believed it. She looked back over at him. He stood towering over the bed, head cast down, looking away from her, scabs flaking off his uncared-for fur.... "Mange," she said. **What?** he said, without looking up. "I hate it when you do that," she said. "You have mange. That's what's wrong with your fur. When's the last time you bathed?" He looked at her uncomprehendingly, shaking his head. "You have a toilet down here. Is there somewhere to bathe?" "There is more plumbing, but no fixtures," he said, looking at her curiously. "Have your pet computer get a bathtub for you." He looked at her mournfully and left the room. That evening, he came back and extended his paw to her, then led her down a maze of twisty little passages that dead-ended in a large chamber whose original function she could not even guess. Pipes covered the right-hand wall of the room, and flush against it was a huge marble hot tub, filled with water. Soaps--real soaps, not the portioned, synthetic kinds--lined one side of it. "How in the hell...?" "Rich, spoiled people have such things delivered to them frequently," he said. "Deliveries can easily be rerouted." "But how did you move it?" "Magic," he said, pointing to the other side of the room. A small motorized platform rested in the corner. "It came in pieces; I put it together for you this afternoon. Now, what is mange?" "_You_ are mange," she said, trying to push him towards the tub. He looked down into the swirling jetties. "I don't like water," he rumbled, gingerly taking off his shirt. "I wouldn't do this for anyone else." "I wish you wouldn't say things like that." "It's true." He took off his pants and looked comically sheepish; she turned away as he climbed into the tub. "You shouldn't be that embarrassed," she said. "I didn't see anything." He looked a little relieved. "Although I'd have expected it to be a little bigger, proportionally speaking." His eyes got a little bigger and his ears flattened. "Don't be so sensitive. Christ." "Now what?" He looked over at her quizzically; she sighed, and pushed the brush and a random bar of soap at him. He dabbed half-heartedly at his fur with the soap. "Oh, crap," she said, reaching over and grabbing it back from him. "Like this." She splashed water on his back and soaped down the fur, then started scrubbing at it hard with the brush. "That hurts." "You could break my neck with two fingers, and you're trying to tell me I'm hurting you?" The scabs fell away under her fingers, revealing dead patches of skin and stunted, curled fur. "Pretty nasty." She ended up giving him as complete a bath as she could without getting in the tub herself. The pleasure on his face glowed so brightly she couldn't help laughing. "Did you remember to get towels?" He pointed to a pile of them by the motor platform. As she tossed him one, she said, "After all this time, you still haven't given me your name." "We were beasts," he said. "We didn't have names." "Beast it is, then," she said. "Do you ever go outside?" "How could I?" "I already told you, recoms aren't all that uncommon now." "To you, recoms are humans with tails, or cat ears, or claws. I am not human." "You are." "Until I met you, I did not feel that way. Would the rest of humanity?" "If they got to know you," she said, smiling. "Jasmine," he said. She looked up at him; his not-quite-alien eyes shined with something she couldn't recognize, something powerful and full of sadness. "Do you love me?" "What?" she said, gasping. "Nothing," he sighed, looking away. The next three days were spent voraciously reading the contents of the bedside bookshelf. Hard copy was usually limited to legal documents; it was curiously thrilling to read a novel printed with ink in bound volumes. All of the books dated long before she had been born, and she recognized none of the authors' names, but no matter. Every day, she would talk to the recom about what she was reading, for they had little else to say to one another; if she spoke of the world above, he would become taciturn and sad. He could not bear talk of her family, and was appalled when she suggested he could leave his cybernetic labyrinth safely. Every night, she helped him to bathe and brushed him; the fur began to look a little less tangled, and most of the scabs were gone. The third night, he again asked if she loved him. "How can I?" She replied. He left, silent. One evening she asked him to show her the computer. "I use it through a terminal," she said. "What's it like for you?" He looked puzzled a moment, then extended both his hands to her. She placed her own in them, unhesitatingly, and the world was filled with amber phosphor and crackling white noise. As her senses cleared, a field formed around her, a flat, featureless plain of grass under a faintly glowing yellow sky. A tall, dark-skinned man with flowing black hair and a scraggly beard held both her hands, his eyes watching her face intently. "This is all in the computer?" she asked. He nodded. "Is that the way you want to look, or are you just playing what-if?" "I do not know. Perhaps if I were human, I would be like this." "Then you would be quite handsome," she said. "It would be easier to love someone who looked like this," he said, looking away. "This has been my reality for years." The plain flickered around them and was replaced by a grid of amber lines. A group of squares some ten meters away glowed blue for a moment, then exploded upwards in columns of flourescent blue vectors, crisscrossing and growing, connecting into a solid castle of light complete with pennants flapping in a breeze of faint multicolored pixels. "But it is all fantasy, a child's dream." Everything faded away, and Jasmine was sitting on her bed, hands enveloped by the creature's shaggy paws. "I can no more stop looking this way than I can live in that castle." "You already look much better than you did when we met," she said. "When I kidnapped you," he sighed, releasing her hands. "I am foolish to ask if you love me. I am sorry." "I like you," she said, looking down. When she looked back up, he was gone. However, the next night he asked her again. "Do you love me?" she challenged. "Yes," he said. "Then let me go," she said. He gripped his arms, hugging himself, and turned from her. "If you go, will you come back?" "Should I?" "No," he said. "Follow me." He led her down the corridor she had first entered her bed chamber from, through a series of turns and Y-branches to a small, plain metal door. "You're letting me out?" she said, wide-eyed. He nodded, looking miserable. "Thank you." She grasped his arm awkwardly. "Jasmine." Looking up at him, she saw a tear running down his muzzle. "If you don't come back, I think I'll die." "Don't say that," she said, wiping away the tear with one finger. "I'll come back. And keep bathing yourself, dammit." She hugged him--then drew back, unsure of herself. He looked as if he had been hit in the stomach; she quickly stepped through the door. Being out on the street during the daytime was safer than being out at night, but only slightly; she hurried back to her complex, past security and into the elevator, punching her family's level as the doors closed. Her door opened on the second ring. "Jasmine?" "It's me, Hope." She grinned. Her sister stood in the doorway of the little apartment, staring blankly, then shook herself, laughed, and threw herself into Jasmine's arms. When they let go, Hope led her into the small, utilitarian room behind the door. "Father and John are out buying weapons," she said, with an odd smile on her face. "What? But they never--" "To rescue you. They'll be heartbroken to learn you've gotten free yourself." "He let me go." "He? The computer?" "Beast," Jasmine said, looking around; it had only been a week, but she felt she hadn't been here for years. She sat down on one of the small, uncomfortable low-backed chairs and told her story to Hope. Her father came home carrying two Colt Gauss rifles, John trailing behind with a box of ammunition under each arm. He dropped both of them when he saw Jasmine rising to greet him. "Idiot," she said, hugging him. "You two are living arguments for gun control." "How did you--" her father began. John simultaneously said, "We got them to rescue you!" "It's a long story," she said to her father, then turned to John. "There was nothing to rescue me from. Also, hero, those don't use cased shells." She repeated most of her tale. For reasons she could not have explained, she left out bathing the creature, or his plaintive admissions of love. After she finished, John said, "We should still go in and kill it." "You mean Beast?" She said, horrified. John looked puzzled; of course, that's what he meant, and he couldn't understand why she kept using Beast as if it was its proper name. "If it has as much power as you say it does, then it's too dangerous." "He said he would die if I didn't come back," she said softly, looking away. John looked at her curiously, and walked out of the room. He proposed to her the next day. The last time he had proposed to her, she had told him to wait a year; it had been less than six months. He wanted to move out west, to one of the places where green still grew, away from underground complexes, light-rail transit and electronic environments, where people, he said, were less suspicious of one another. "I can't leave," she told him simply. She did not say she was worried about Beast, but he heard it in her voice; he walked away without speaking. That night she dreamed of the castle of light, of walking into it, down stone corridors drawn by computer, through room after room searching for something. As she opened an oaken door, she felt a skeletal hand on her shoulder, and she suddenly awoke, sweating. There were noises in the living room; she went to her door, slid it open silently, and looked out. Nothing. One Gauss gun was gone from the table. "Oh, God," she breathed. Then, feeling as if she was still dreaming, she dressed, left the apartment, and soon found herself in the service catacombs beneath the lowest underground city level. The access panel was standing open. She stepped inside, closed the door, and called, "Beast?" No answer. "Dammit, you're all around me," she grated, striding down the corridor. It took her over two hours to find the hexagon bed chamber. The amber lights had changed color to red, and she could barely see a meter in front of her. She headed down the corridor towards the bath; this was a path she was more familiar with. The recom was huddled naked in the corner formed by one side of the tub and the wall; he didn't move when she entered. "Beast?" Still no answer. She ran over to him. His fur was finally clean and almost shiny, his smell faintly sweet, but his eyes were blank. One paw held the brush; it looked pitifully tiny against his huge claws. The other arm hugged a pillow to his breast. _If you don't come back, I think I'll die._ "You can't die, damn you," she said, pulling the pillow away and pushing herself against him. "I love you." He was warm and soft, and she closed her eyes, feeling dizzy. **Beautiful Jasmine,** his mind-voice came, and his eyes opened. "You came back," he whispered aloud. "I had to," she said, crying. "I have to--" "I've been brushing," he said, smiling weakly. "But I don't think I've moved from this spot for a day." "I'm not worth dying for, Beast." "You are," he said, looking down at her. She looked back into his eyes, holding her breath, then gently kissed him. It lasted eons in the space of seconds; his features were an exquisite study of longing as their lips parted and she buried her face in the fur of his neck. He trembled slightly, putting his arms around her and stroking her hair. Then he tensed, looking above her. She turned her head. John stood on the other side of the room, the Gauss gun held loosely in his arms. "Why didn't you see..." she whispered. **Before you came back, I was aware of nothing.** "Jesus Christ," John said, moving closer. "Who...?" said the recom, holding Jasmine a little tighter. "Someone I loved. A long time ago," she said. John lowered the gun, took a step towards them. "I don't understand," he said, his eyes on the creature. "I know," Jasmine said. She rose to her feet, extended her hand to the recom, who stood slowly. John's eyes widened, and the gun came up again. His eyes went to her in confusion. She walked towards him, keeping herself between the gun and Beast. "Shit," he said. The creature walked towards him, stopping just behind Jasmine; he raised the weapon again. "Give him the gun," Jasmine said. John lowered the weapon and looked at her. "I don't know what's wrong with you," he said, shaking, "but we're gonna find out." He laughed a high-pitched, nervous squeak. "Give it the gun. You know how dangerous this--thing--might be with a weapon?" Beast pushed Jasmine aside and grabbed the muzzle of the gun, twisting it aside. John fired; the dart shot into the bath, shattering one wall. They were suddenly standing in ten centimeters of water. The recom still held the front of the gun; he pulled it gently, lifting John off his feet before he lost his grip. Then he wrapped one huge paw around the stock, the other around the barrel, and brought his arms together. The gun snapped in a shower of blue sparks and smoke, the remaining ammo splashing into the water at their feet. He handed the pieces back to John. "No more dangerous than I am without a weapon." He smiled toothily. John looked at what was left of the rifle, then turned and ran, sploshing maniacally out of the room. Jasmine broke into hysterical laughter. "What will we do when he comes back?" her new lover said softly. "We won't be here," she said. He looked down at her, puzzled. "Can your computer get a flyer here?" "There are already fliers here," he said. "But I can't leave." "You can't stay." "Jasmine--" "In California, recoms are legally human." "I don't know anything about your world." "I'll teach you." "I'm ugly." She drew his face down to hers and kissed him again, longer, more intimately. "You're beautiful." He stood there for long moments holding her, his eyes closed, breathing hard. Then he took her hand and led her down a new hallway. There were several flyers in the room, ranging from industrial cargo carriers to personal sport ships. It was one of these she headed towards. "Beautiful," she said, climbing up the short, stubby wing. The only sign of wear was a fine layer of dust. The top half of its small, delta-shaped body was all smoothly curved Plexiglas, identifying it as a Porsche 1411. It was a two-seater; the recom crouched behind her in the cushioned, seatless storage space, looking uncomfortable. Jasmine poked her head under the dash and reached up into it. The craft started almost immediately; at the sound of the lifters, lights flared around them, the low roof rumbling back to reveal a narrow shaft barely wide enough for the flyer. The beast sat very still, watching the walls warily as they ascended. Several minutes passed, and suddenly the world opened up, the metal replaced by the glowing cityscape dropping beneath them. The beast made a whimpering noise and shut his eyes. "I am leaving part of me," he whispered. Jasmine turned on the main engines, and the flyer glided around in a graceful arc, picking up speed, and shot towards the west. The moon was rising behind them, and as the city lights receded, the stars seemed to come out. "I had forgotten how stars looked," he said softly. "They're beautiful from up here," Jasmine said, climbing back over the seat. He stared at her, panic in his eyes. "The ship can fly itself until we get to California, and that won't be for about four hours." He relaxed a little, and she settled against him. "It's a very tight fit back here for both of us," he said a few moments later. "That's what I was counting on," she replied, taking off her shirt. He looked at her questioningly. "You look very comfortable without clothes. Unless you have any objections, I'd like to join you." She wriggled out of her pants and tossed them in the front seat. "Jasmine," he said. "You don't have to--" he started to say, but she cut him off with a kiss, pushing him down against the floor and stretching her body against his. "I know," she said, kissing his neck. Then she moved down him, nuzzling his chest, entwining her hands in the fur of his back. He looked up through the canopy a few seconds, feeling the warmth of the engine underneath and the much greater heat of Jasmine on top of him, and then he wrapped his great body around hers and began to move with her. Shortly, they saw only each other, but they felt the stars inside them.