Upgrade: To Freedom
© 2024 by Walter Reimer

Thumbnail art by  scotikproductions


She’d never been much of a runner, even as a little girl back on Earth.

But Sarla had been doing work in the fields ever since awakening in her new body on Founding. Her speed as she ran across the rows of plants surprised her, even with her fear helping to spur her along.

The sound of her blood roaring in her ears eclipsed the screams and gunfire as she got closer to the low fence that marked the border of the farm and the banks of the river.

Small geysers of dirt erupted to either side and ahead of her; she put on a spurt of speed, gathered herself into a crouch and leaped the fence just as a whistling sound went past her left ear and a sharp pain told her that a bullet had clipped her. The jackal hit the sandy bank, rolled and fell into the river with a splash and a sudden realization.

She’d never been much of a swimmer, either.

While the river’s current was strong and fast, it wasn’t very deep. Sarla floundered for a few moments before her toes hit the sandy bottom and she finally succeeded in keeping her head above water. Coughing and blowing water from her canine nose, she was carried swiftly downstream by the current and away from the massacre at the farm.

After an unknown amount of time and thoroughly disoriented, Sarla dragged herself out of the water and into a thicket, gasping for air and flopping into a patch of tall grass. Exhausted, the jackal gave in to her body’s demands and fell asleep.


***


Sarla stirred and blinked awake, aware of the sunlight drying out her exposed fur. She stretched, working the kinks out of sore muscles before crawling to the river and drinking deeply of the clean water. Recalling what happened the previous night, she immediately began running her paws over herself, searching for any injuries.

Her left ear throbbed, and a light touch of her fingertips showed that it was now a little shorter than her right ear. It didn’t hurt, and she guessed it should heal up.

Realizing what had made the wound and how close the bullet had come to hitting something far more vital than the tip of one ear brought back the memories of the previous night, and Sarla curled up and began to cry as the realization hit her that nearly everyone she knew in the world – this world – were probably dead.

It was an instinctive reaction, and she knew it, but it felt proper to cry.

When she had finished weeping, she blew snot from her nose, dried her eyes, and started to think.

Could she go back to the farm? Tell whoever she found there that she’d had no part in the riot, and had run away in a panic? Sarla thought it over as she wiped the tears from her eyes, and finally dismissed the thought. She had no idea how far downriver she’d drifted, and she didn’t have her identification card.

A feeling of dread came over her as she thought of what might happen if she presented herself at the nearest settlement – wherever that might be – and announce that she’d fled a massacre. She might not be believed.

Or whoever she approached might turn her over to the authorities.

She might end up dead.

Sarla glanced up at the morning sun, shading her face with one hand, as she collected herself. Her fur was caked with mud and still wet on the side she’d laid on. Well, the river was right there, so washing off wouldn’t be a problem, and getting something to rinse the taste from her mouth or drink would be just as simple.

That left food, and as soon as she thought of it her stomach started to rumble.

What could she eat, out here? What was safe? Her ears flicked at a sudden splash near the riverbank, and she saw a fish. It was silvery-looking, and fat.

Okay, then. She liked fish.

But how to catch one? She vaguely recalled reading about people using things like nets, lines and hooks, but naturally didn’t have anything of those things, and wouldn’t know how to use them anyway.

Well, she had her hands, and surely she was smarter than a fish.

Sarla spent part of the morning trying to stalk and pounce on her quarry, and even managed to get a finger on one before it sped away from her. The jackal sat down on the riverbank and growled to herself, “Come on, you’re smarter than they are . . . “

She sat and watched the fish for a few minutes until she saw one come up under a bug that had landed on a patch of still water between some reeds. The fish moved up, swallowed the insect and swam away.

Aha.

It took her a few moments to catch one, but she dropped a small bug onto the water and drew back, hands poised and ready. A fish, drawn by the movements of the bug as it struggled, came up under it, and Sarla plunged her hands into the water. Seizing the fish, she pulled it out of the water and grinned in triumph.

Only for her grin to fade as the fish squirmed, slipped out of her grasp and landed on the sand. Flopping frantically, it tried to head back into the safety of the water, but the jackal seized it and held it tighter, saying, “Oh no, where do you think you’re going?”

She had caught her first fish. Her tail wagged.

Now what?

She quickly ticked off an inventory of what she didn’t have before shrugging. She’d always liked sashimi when she could afford it.

The fish’s skin put up almost as much of a fight as it had, but her new body had a good set of teeth and Sarla finally reached the meat. Spitting out bones, she made a sloppy mess of the meal and even devoured the entrails.

She used the carcass as bait to catch another, and a third before she was satisfied. Her stomach full for the moment, Sarla then shed her panties and bathed in the river to get the mud and fish scales out of her fur.

With her panties rinsed out and draped over a bush to dry, Sarla glanced up at the sun, now directly overhead, and started to think.

The sun had been shining on her side of the river when it woke her up; was the farm on the same side? It took a while for Sarla to recall early mornings in the fields, and she finally managed to remember that the rising sun always illuminated the opposite bank. So, she was on the opposite bank, well and good. “Still no idea how far downstream,” she muttered, “but I’m not headed back there anyway.”

Once she had her panties back on, she went up the riverbank and found a small hill that could give her a vantage point. “All right,” Sarla muttered, “if the sun rises in that direction, it should set there,” and she turned around.

The ground was hummocky and mostly sandy, with some scattered rocks and random clumps of bushes and hardy grasses. It seemed to go on forever, but a mountain range drew a jagged line across the horizon. “Huh. No way to carry water,” she said aloud, “so the desert’s out.” She turned and looked downriver. “That way, then,” and she returned to the river and started walking.

It was easier going for her feet, and drinking water was readily available, but it was getting hotter and Sarla was panting as the day wore on. She pulled up some reeds and wove a crude hat as she walked.

It didn’t keep all the sun off her head, but it did give her some shade.

She succeeded in catching another two fish before the sun went down, stamped down a bed of grasses, and curled up to sleep.

The jackal woke up scratching, as small insects had found homes in her fur. Fortunately they couldn’t swim, so a dip in the river started the day.


***


It was nearly sunset on her third day since the massacre at Farm Number Seven when Sarla saw something in the distance just before her ears perked at mechanical noises. She crouched in the reeds and crept closer.

A huge pipe with a grating across its mouth sat in the river. The pipe was connected to a shed topped with solar panels; the mechanical sounds were probably a pump, since another pipe exited the building and snaked across the dry earth to a grove of trees.

Sarla crept around the pumphouse, her ears perked and her movements wary as she looked for any sign of workers or surveillance cameras. As far as she could discern, there were only two buildings, and only one of those had windows.

She sank down into an angle created by the inflow pipe and the pumphouse, curled up, and decided to get some rest. She’d move on before the sun came up, and fell asleep hearing the thrum of the pumps and the soft rush of water.

The jackal awoke with a start and saw that the sun was already up over the horizon. “Shit,” Sarla whispered as she stretched and looked around. Some plants had taken advantage of the sheltered space between the pipe and the building, and one was sporting large red berries.

Curious, Sarla reached out to one.

“Don’t.”

She froze, ears swiveling. “Um, wh-why?” she stammered.

It was a man’s voice. “You’ll be spewing out both ends before noon.”

“Oh.” Her hand withdrew from the berries and she gathered her feet under her, preparing to bolt for the safety of the river.

“Want something to eat?”

Sarla froze again before turning to face the man.

A jackal, like her; he was wearing work boots, a t-shirt, shorts with pockets, and a broad-brimmed hat. He didn’t appear to be armed. He had his hands at his sides as he looked her over, and Sarla self-consciously crossed her arms over her breasts.

He smiled. “Want something to eat?” he repeated.

She was aware of her tail tucking between her legs to curl up and cover her below the waist. “G-Going to t-turn me in?” she quavered.

He shook his head, crouched, and extended a hand. “Name’s Vanya.”

“S-Sarla.”

He tipped his head. “Funny name.”

She huffed. “Computer glitch in transit. I’ve gotten used to it.” Still covering her breasts with one arm, she reached out and grasped his hand. His grip tightened and he helped her up and over the pipe.

He was about her height. Once she was on level ground she released her hold on his hand and returned to covering her cleavage. “So, you’re not turning me in?”

“Why? You kill someone?” He started walking toward the buildings she’d seen past the trees.

Sarla tagged along, lengthening her stride until she caught up with him. “No,” she said. “I was – I was at Farm Number Seven. Some of the men started a riot – “

Vanya nodded. “Heard about it. Pretty bad, huh?” She shivered and he said, “Yeah, pretty bad. So you ran.”

Sarla nodded. “Y-Yeah.”

“Good for you.” He glanced at her as they walked along. “I’m not going to turn you in, so you can relax.”

She did.

Just a little.

“Do you,” and she swallowed, “do you run this place yourself?”

Vanya shook his head. “Worker’s dorm on the other side of the house, but we’re a small operation. We can always use another set of hands.”

Sarla felt herself tensing. “I don’t have my card.”

The man glanced at her, looked her up and down, and nodded. “Left in a hurry,” he remarked. “Well, first things first, and that’s to get you something to eat.” Her stomach rumbled, and two sets of ears swiveled. “What’ve you been eating?”

“Fish.”

He looked impressed. “Wow. Brave of you, running like you did.”

“I was afraid.”

Vanya nodded. “Being brave means you were afraid, but you did what you needed to do anyway.” They reached the back door of the house and he opened the door for her. “Have a seat,” he said, nodding toward the kitchen table, “and I’ll fix something up for you.”

Sarla sat down on one of the chairs, painfully aware that she was pretty filthy. Her nostrils flared and her ears went up as she smelled coffee, and he placed a mug in front of her. She hesitated and he asked, “Problem?”

She looked up at him. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Helping me.”

Vanya nodded and poured himself a mug of coffee and sat down facing her. He took a sip from it to show that it wasn’t drugged, and as she sampled her coffee he replied, “It’s sort of in my nature to help people when I can. I know that there are people who won’t abide by Upgrade’s rules and way of doing things, so I set this place up for those who want to escape.” He shrugged. “Part of the produce here goes to feeding us here – “

“How many?”

“Counting me, ten.” He smiled and took another sip. “Always some room. Anyway, part of it ends up in the kitchen, while most gets sold to Upgrade. If you want to stay, you’ll get paid, just like everyone else.”

“My card – “

“It happens,” he dismissed it. “Cards get lost or stolen. It won’t be an issue.” He winked at her and tapped the side of his canine muzzle. He left his mug on the table and asked, “You still want something to eat?”

“Yes, please.”

‘Something’ turned out to be fried eggs, sausage and toast, and Sarla ate ravenously. Let it be drugged, she thought; it would be a great last meal. She was finishing her coffee when she saw him looking at her. “Yes?”

“Hm? Oh, just thinking.”

“What about?” Sarla asked warily.

Vanya’s ears dipped in a blush. “Well, I was thinking that you might want to get a shower, and after that seeing about some clothes.” He looked away. “You’re about my wife’s size.”

“Your wife? Is she here?”

He nodded. “Her grave’s . . . well.” He took a breath. “Elise and I came here in the first wave, years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Sarla said, and meant it.

Vanya sighed. “She’s been gone about a year now.” He shook himself and started to clear away the dishes. “Bathroom’s upstairs, so you can get clean. Elise’s things are in boxes in the spare bedroom.”

“Thank you. You’re being very kind,” Sarla said as she stood up.

The male jackal nodded.


***


Hot water and liquid soap were almost sensual delights, and his late wife had been a little fuller in her hips and bust. A belt solved the issue with the shorts, but the shirt draped a little loosely. Sarla gave her fur a cursory swipe with the furbrushes she found in another box and went back downstairs.

Vanya was looking at something on his tablet and glanced up as she entered the house’s main room. “Barefoot?” he asked.

“Her shoes didn’t fit.”

“Oh. Been doing a little searching,” the male jackal said. “Says here you’re listed as ‘missing,’ but it doesn’t look like they think you had any involvement in the riot.”

Sarla blinked and looked over his shoulder. “Really?”

Vanya nodded and brought up a highlighted block of text. “Getting your identification card back shouldn’t be a problem. You might have to answer a few questions, though.”

“Probably for being a nuisance,” she muttered.

“Huh? What’s that?”

Her ears dipped. “I was a teacher, back on Earth, and I kept pestering them for a job opening while I was working on the farm.”

He looked away from the tablet and met her gaze. “A teacher?”

“Yes.”

“High school?”

“Elementary.”

He thought for a moment and blanked the tablet. She stepped back as he stood up and he said, “Come with me.” Mystified, she followed him out of the house and to a one-story dormitory.

A group of five men and four women were finishing breakfast and looked up as Vanya and Sarla entered the building. “Morning,” Vanya said. “This is Sarla.” A few of the others waved, while two of the women said hello. “I met her by the irrigation pump,” and he glanced at her, “and I hope to convince her to stay here.”

“Hi,” Sarla said.

“We could use another set of hands,” one of the men piped up.

“I’ve done farm work,” Sarla spoke up, “but I was a teacher back on Earth.”

Several of the others brightened. “We’ve a few here that can’t read or write,” a feline woman said.

Sarla smiled.


***


Getting an identification card wasn’t quite as easy as Vanya made it out to be. Sarla was questioned by a pair of unsmiling men from Upgrade’s Armstrong office. Part of their unhappiness seemed to stem from having to drive all the way to Vanya’s farm from the town.

“Name?” One of them, a bear, had asked.

“Sarla Konndy.” She remembered to use the name the glitch had given her.

“Date of birth?” She told him, and he studied his tablet. “What happened at Farm Seven that night?”

Partway through her explanation the other man, this one a mountain lion, asked, “Why didn’t you tell the farm administration that something might be brewing?”

“It wasn’t my business,” Sarla said defensively.

The two frowned, but the cougar said, “Can’t blame you. You would have to sleep sometime.”

There were a few more questions, mainly having to do with how she managed to get to Vanya’s farm, and the bear finally drew a card from his shirt pocket and slid it across the table to her. “Your new ID,” he said, “with the cost of replacement deducted from your account.”

“Thank you,” she said as she picked it up, looking at her canine features in the ID image. “What about Farm Seven?”

“What about it?” the bear asked. “It’s back in operation, with a whole new group of workers and administrators.”

For some reason, that news chilled Sarla.

Still, she was pleased that she had her card back. It was her identification, of course, but it also allowed her access to the local network and her bank account.

“Thank you, Vanya,” she said as the two Upgrade agents drove away. Without really thinking about it, she hugged the male jackal briefly before stepping back and putting her card in her pocket. “I guess I’d better get to work now.”

He smiled. “Sure.”

‘Work’ soon became routine, with Sarla earning her pay in the field or elsewhere on the farm, with time set aside to teach those who wanted to learn, improve their literacy . . . or get tips on catching sashimi on the hoof, as it were. The jackal was saving up for an interactive whiteboard, and Vanya approved of the idea.

Sarla had also taken the chance to send a long email to her brother back on Earth, telling him about her condition and experiences since she’d signed the contract with Upgrade.

A few months after she was discovered by Vanya, a company nurse-practitioner was called to the farm. After doing some examinations and tests, she pronounced that all the people at the farm were in good health, and two of the women were pregnant. They and the two fathers were congratulated by the others.

A few weeks later, Sarla dusted her hands off and walked up to where Vanya was working on the farm’s tractor. “Vanya?” she asked.

“Yes?” The jackal didn’t look up from what he was doing.

“Um,” and she tried to think of how to say it. “I’ve seen you.”

“Uh huh.”

“Looking at me.”

Vanya paused and looked over his shoulder and up at her. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” and she shook her head. “Do – do I still remind you . . . of Elise?”

He smiled. “No. You’re you, Sarla.” His ears dipped. “But I’d like to get to know you better.”

Sarla crossed her arms over her chest, paused, and dropped them to her sides. “Maybe a walk? After dinner tonight?”

“Sure.”


***


Little Vanya was almost five years old when Sarla read the news from her tablet and grinned. Jeff had gotten her letter, and he’d lodged a formal complaint through his government post. Balked by Upgrade, he’d leaked her account to the press.

The report had caused many in the public, some of whom had seen relatives sign Upgrade contracts, to demand an accounting from the corporation. Upgrade had grudgingly decided to permit some measure of governmental oversight to prevent future (as it called the massacre) ‘excesses.’

Sarla smiled as her son, a lively and healthy jackal like his parents, sat nearby and played with his toys. He and the other children on the farm were part of her school now.

And with more of Upgrade’s secrets being exposed in the press and to the population, Sarla was sure that her and Vanya’s son and the other children would grow up free.

She ran a paw over her pregnant belly as she watched her son play.



end



<PREVIOUS>


<FIRST>