[Vfw-times] story: TBP the child

[Oren Otter]

Here I go, getting myself into trouble once again!


TBP: The Child
by Oren Otter

	Larry was not very used to his body.  It had only been two months ago that
SCABS turned him into an inanimorph.  Life as a teddy bear hadn't been kind
to him.  The man had been unable to move or even utter a simple word for
the better part of a week.  It was nearly two before he was able to perform
the simple act of crawling around on the floor.  Consequently, Larry lost
his job, and later his home.  That was how he ended up in the Otter's Pond
SCABS colony for the homeless.
	This place has been a godsend for many of the less fortunate.  Harry
Renstom, a rather wealthy seal, runs a resort on the edge of the lake here.
 He employs some of the homeless SCABS in his resort and for the rest, he
helps them to build a working community in exchange for the SCABs looking
good and entertaining the tourists.  This arrangement is thanks to the
almost scheming mind of one Oren the Otter.
	Oren at this moment was standing at the mailbox outside of his simple sod
home and pondering the contents of a piece of mail.
	"What's that your staring at?" asked someone to Oren's left.  The otter
turned to see Larry, the teddy bear.  "Must be awful interesting."
	"Check." Oren replied simply.  "My publisher managed to sell one of my
story series to a movie company.  Ever hear of the HEA?"
	"‘Fraid not."
	"It's about... well, it's not important what it's about.  I know you're
not into sci-fi.  Anyway, this is my first royalty check."
	Larry stood on tip-paw to look at the numbers on the check.  He nearly
fell over.  "Ten...thousand?"
	"It's a small company.  Bluenight says there will probably be more if the
movie does as well as they hope."
	"Ten thousand dollars?  What are you going to do with it?"
	"I'm not sure."
	"How about buying a nice, shiny Cadillac, eh?"
	Oren raised an eyebrow.  "What would I do with a Cadillac?  My feet would
never reach the pedals.  No... I'm just going to have to find somebody to
give this to."
	"Give... GIVE it to?" cried Larry in alarm.  "You're just going to give
that money away?"
	"What would I do with it?  I have no rent, no utilities, and I catch my
own food.  What I've gotten from my books and from Harry will easily last
me the rest of my life.  No, I'm going to give this to someone who needs it."
	"What about the colony?"
	"I thought about that, but Harry takes care of the colony.  We don't
really need it here."  Oren stood and thought as Larry continued to stare
at the check.  "I've got it." he announced.  "Children's hospital!"
	"Mind if I tag along?" asked the bear.  "I want to see the expression on
your face when you give that away."

	* * *

	"Thank you so much, Mister Otter." said the director of the Saint Nicholas
Children's Hospital.  "This will go a long way toward improving the quality
of life for many of our young patients, here."
	Oren simply smiled.
	"If there's anything else I can do for you..."
	"Do you have a snack bar here in the hospital?  It was a long trip in and
I..."
	"Sure thing.  You'll find the vending machines in the cafeteria straight
down at the end of this hall and on the right."
	"Thank you."
	"Wow, man." said Larry as he followed the otter down the hallway.  "You
didn't even blink!  I could never just hand over a check that size and not
even blink."
	"It's only money, Larry!  There are some things a lot more important than
money."
	"Like...?"
	Oren was about to respond when he came across a little girl in a
wheelchair who was trying desperately to stand.  She had nearly succeeded,
but her legs were unsteady and giving way.  Oren rushed to catch her before
she fell.
	"Thank you." said the girl.
	Oren placed the girl back in her chair, amazed at how utterly light she
felt.  Placing a blanket over her lap, he got a good look at her face.
Oren couldn't believe what he saw.  This face was so young.  She couldn't
have been five years old, and at the same time, looked incredibly ancient.
She had no hair, had vericose veins at her temples, and thin, wrinkled
skin.  When she had spoken, the tone spoke of someone at the end of her life.
	"Where were you going?" asked the Otter.  "I'll help you get there."
	"I wanted a drink of water." said the girl, pointing to the water fountain.
	"I'll get you a drink." Larry volunteered.  "Let me get a cup from the
cafeteria." and he wandered off to fulfill his promise.
	"Are you a kitty?" said the little girl.
	"I'm an otter." said Oren.  "We're kind of like kitties but we're more fun
to play with."
	"Can I pet your fur?"
	Oren smiled and placed his head on the girl's lap, purring and trilling as
she ran her delicate, aged hands across his scalp.  Tears welled up in his
heart for this poor, frail little child, and before long, the emotions
manifest themselves in a new transformation.  Oren found himself changed
into a sable, lying across the little girl's lap, letting her caress his
luxuriously soft fur.  When Larry returned, he felt some water get spilled
onto his coat, but he didn't mind, as long as the girl was happy.

	* * *

	"I want to thank you again." said the director.  "I haven't seen that girl
so happy since she was brought here.  For the first time in months, she's
sleeping with a smile on her face."
	"What's her name?" asked Oren.
	"Amanda."
	"What's her last name?"
	"Doesn't have one.  We don't know who her parents are.  We found her
abandoned in a garbage can."
	"A garbage can?" Larry echoed.  "How could anyone do such a thing?"
	"It's not as hard as you might think." said the director.  "Most folks
can't handle raising a child with progeria."
	"What's progeria?" asked Larry.
	"A genetic disorder." Oren volunteered.  "She has no telomeres."
	"Telewhatzis?"
	"Telomeres.  There's genes at the end of each chromosome which act as a
biological clock.  Each time a cell splits, the telomeres become a little
shorter.  When the telomeres are used up, the cell can't divide anymore.
That's why people age."
	"Is this something to do with SCABS?" asked the bear.  "Is she a
chronomorph?"
	The director shook his head.  "Not in this case.  It's simply a mutation.
Amanda was born old."
	"Is there any treatment?"
	"I'm afraid not.  Most age research has been in the fields of geriatrics
and infant unimorphosis.  Progeria is simply too rare to demand a decent
amount of research."
	Oren felt his body shifting to sable again as a tear ran down his cheek.
"We can't just let her die."
	"I'm afraid there's not much we can do except try to make her comfortable."
	"Then that's what I'll do.  Is it all right if I come back to visit her,
Doctor?"
	"Of course it is.  You come back as often as you want."

	* * *

	Bubbles, everywhere!
	Amanda had never been so delighted.  With a wave of a soap-filled
bubble-wand, she filled the air with a thousand shimmering spheres.  The
girl laughed aloud.
	"You like that, do you?" asked Oren.
	"I like it!  It's fun!"
	Oren smiled.  It felt so good just to be out here in the autumn sun by the
lake with his young, old friend.  "Next week, we'll try flying kites."
	Amanda rubbed at one eye.  "I had a dream about you, mister Otter." she
proclaimed.
	"Oh?  Tell me about it."
	"In my dream I wasn't old and you and me were playing hopscotch."  She
rubbed her eye again.
	"Is there something wrong with your eye?"
	"It hurts.  It feels all puffy."
	"Let me see."
	Obediently, Amanda allowed Oren to inspect her eye.  The pupil was cloudy,
and it did indeed look swollen.  Oren called to a passing leopard.  "Ramen!"
	"Meowr?"
	"Do me a favor.  Run and get Harry.  Tell him to call a doctor.  Scratch
that.  Call 911.  This looks pretty bad."

	* * *

	By the time Amanda and Oren arrived at the hospital, the girl was sobbing
and wailing, clutching at her eye.
	He didn't see it when it happened.  He only heard the scream from the next
room, and then suddenly, silence.  His heart froze in his chest.
	"Mister Verden?" said a doctor who stepped out into the waiting room.
	Oren leapt to his feet, suddenly aware that his fear had transformed him
into a least weasel.  This only added to his small and helpless feeling as
he waited the dreaded announcement.  "Doc, she's not... please, don't say
that she's... she's not dead, is she?"
	"Relax, mister Verden.  She's alive."
	"What happened?"
	"Amanda had developed an infection in her left eye.  That infection caused
the eye to swell until the lens was forced from its place.  I'm afraid we
lost the eye but on the up side, Amanda experienced immediate relief."
	"She's going to be all right, then?  Aside from the eye?"
	The doctor took a deep breath.  He didn't want to give this news to the
distressed little animal before him.  "I'm afraid that it goes beyond the
eye.  There's now a horrible infection in Amanda's head.  Being progeric,
I'm afraid that she doesn't have the capacity to fight it.  She has the
immune system of someone over a hundred years old."
	"What does this mean, Doctor?  Will she die?"
	"You already knew that her life was going to be tragically short... to be
perfectly honest with you, Mister Verden, I'd say that she has about two
months left if we provide constant treatment.  Do we have your permission?"
	"I'm not her father." Oren explained, sadly.  "She's... It's... St. Nick's
Hospital..."
	"I understand."
	"When can I see her?"
	"She's under heavy anesthesia right now.  I'll let you know as soon as
she's ready for visitors."

	* * *

	Under the bright lights in the recovery room, Amanda lay, crying softly.
She dared not open her remaining eye, for her head hurt far too much to let
the intrusive light invade.  She simply lay, waiting, and hoping, until she
felt the warmth of fur under her hand.  "Mister Otter?" she croaked out.
"Is that you?"
	"Yes, sweetie.  It's me."
	"My head hurts, mister Otter."
	"I know, dear.  I know.  I wish I could make it stop."
	"Mister Otter?"
	"Yes, hon?"
	"Am I going to die?"
	Oren wanted to say no.  He wanted to lie and ease the pain of this poor
child, but nothing would come out of his throat.
	"Mister Otter?  Can I go to the lake with you one more time?"
	"Of... of course you can."

	* * *

	Larry couldn't believe he was doing this.  As he sat stark still in the
middle of an enormous basket of flowers, his mind raced over the thoughts
of what would happen if he should be caught.  Oren, meanwhile, was trying
very hard to control his emotions.  If he let them slip at all, he would
instantly return to his lutrine form.  At this moment, it was vital that he
remain human.  To keep the reason side of his brain dominant, Oren walked
along reciting the names of all the U.S. presidents and spelling them
backwards.  The mental gymnastics this required allowed him to remain human
until he reached the nurse's desk.
	"May I help you?" asked a portly black woman.
	"Hello, Miss..."
	"O'Reilly.  Ralph O'Reilly."
	Another case where SCABS made greetings more difficult.  Oren felt his
ears begin to get fuzzy.  "I, uh... I have a delivery here for a miss
Leary?  Room 502?"  He placed the basket containing the flowers and Larry
on the desk.
	"Mrs. Leary has a visitor and has asked not to be disturbed." said the
nurse.  "But if you'd like to leave that here, I'll make sure she gets it."
	"Thank you." said Oren, turning to leave.  Suddenly he remembered that he
needed someone to sign for the delivery or it would look suspicious.
"Um... could you just sign... right here?"  His adrenaline was pumping,
now.  As he held out his clipboard with its forged delivery slip, he
realized that his hands were now almost completely paws.  The nurse stared
at them.  Oren's face began to change.
	"First day on the job?" asked the nurse.
	"What?"
	"Let me guess.  Your form is tied to your emotions, isn't it?"
	"Yes sir.  Ma'am.  Sir."
	She took the clipboard and signed her name.  "I understand that.  I got
the same thing.  It's been a zoo around here and that's why I look like this."
	"Rough day?"
	"The roughest.  I mean, it ain't bad enough everyday here in the SCABS
ward that we can't have some hotshot doctor making it worse by coming in
and..."
	"Pet me."
	A pause.  "What did you say?"
	Oren, now almost completely lutrine above the neck, took the nurse's hand
and placed it on his head.  "Pet my fur." he said.  It'll make you feel
better."
	The nurse looked around nervously.  "I can't just... you're not a real...
I mean..."
	Oren let out a long, friendly purr.
	"You are just the biggest charm bird.  You know that?"
	After a few brief moments, Oren looked up to see a slender white man
standing where the pudgy black woman had been.  "Feel better?" he asked.
	"Way better." replied nurse O'Reilly.  "Thank you.  I needed that."
	Meanwhile, Larry had snuck away down the hall.

	* * *

	On the phone in the waiting room, Oren spoke with his friend, Jesse.
"It's going to be risky, I know, but the alternative is unthinkable.
You're the only one I know with the fine control to pull off something like
this."
	A pause as Jesse spoke.
	"Thank you.  I can't tell you how much this means to me.  Meet me at the
burrow in two hours, okay?"
	"Mister Verden?"
	Oren turned around to see a doctor wheeling Amanda into the room in a
wheelchair.  "I gotta go." he said.  "Amanda's ready.  All right.  See you
there.  Bye."
	Before he could cross the room to reach Amanda, the doctor intercepted
him.  "I just wanted to let you know" the Doctor said.  "That Amanda has
been on rather strong pain medication since losing her eye.  She probably
won't be very playful today.  In fact, she may spend most of the day
sleeping."
	"I understand."
	"Mister Otter!" exclaimed Amanda sleepily.  "Are we going to fly kites
today?"
	"Yes, sweetheart.  And maybe we can play frisbee, too.  You can throw and
I'll fetch."
	As Oren smiled and spoke soothingly to his young friend, Larry entered the
room.  "Hey, I'm sorry I took so long finding the right room.  Are you all
ready to go?"
	"Ready!"
	"Okay.  Dial-a-ride is waiting out front.  Let's do it!"

	* * *

	Tiredly, Amanda flung the frisbee several feet out in front of her.  Like
a puppy, Oren scooped it up and brought it back.
	"Thank you, Mister Otter." said Amanda.
	"I'm supposed to bring it back.  That's part of the game."
	Amanda smiled and tossed the frisbee again.  "I meant thank you for
everything."
	"You're welcome." said Oren, placing a hand on her wrinkled knee.
	"I love you." said the girl.
	"I love you too, sweetheart."
	"Why?"
	Oren paused.  "Why what?"
	"Why do you love me?  I know I'm not much fun and I can't run and play and
I look kinda funny."
	"That's okay." said Oren.  "You're beautiful on the inside."
	"Mister Otter?"
	"Yes?"
	"My heart hurts."
	"I understand, sweetie."
	"No, I mean my real heart.  It feels funny."
	Whatever Oren would have said next was interrupted by the arrival of an
azure-furred kangaroo.
	"I'm ready." said Jesse Roo.  "Is everybody ready?"
	Oren looked extremely nervous all of a sudden.  "She doesn't know what
we're planning, Jesse." he said.  Then he turned to Amanda.  "Honey, this
is my friend Jesse Roo.  He's a polymorph."
	"Hi Mister Roo."
	"Hello."
	"Jesse and I want to try something.  He's going to use his powers to make
your immune system stronger.  Do you know what that means?"
	"Uh-huh."
	"Now it may hurt quite a bit, so you can say no."
	"It's okay." said Amanda.  "But it'll only last a day and then I'll go
back to normal."
	As Jesse placed his paws on Amanda, Larry walked up, a syringe in his paw.
 "I hope you know what you're doing." said the teddy.  "You know that this
could very well kill her."
	"She'll be dead in weeks if we don't do this." replied Oren.
	"And if she dies, they'll charge you with murder."
	"I know, but it's worth the risk."
	Larry handed Oren the syringe.  "It's a Martian Flu culture, just like you
asked for.  Be careful, and don't give her the whole thing.
	Amanda whimpered as Jesse altered her immune system.  He did not enjoy
hurting the child, but it was necessary if she was to survive what was
coming next.  Without warning or permission, Oren jabbed the syringe into
Amanda's skin and deliberately infected her with Martian Flu.
	The next few hours were almost unbearable.  Amanda's breathing became
ragged and rasping.  Her skin became like fire to the touch.  At times, it
seemed almost certain that the child would die.
	It was late into the night that it finally happened.  Amanda's fever had
broken and her breathing became more stable.  Oren had been keeping vigil
beside her during the entire ordeal, and as Amanda stirred, so did Oren's
heart within him.
	"I feel funny." she said.  "My skin feels kind of like my blanket."
	"The hospital is going to be calling to find out why Amanda hasn't come
back." said Jesse as he took a place beside Oren.
	"Too bad I didn't recharge my solar phone." said the otter.
	"Yeah, well that happens when you stuff it under your pillow."
	"Mister Otter, I feel funny!" said Amanda.  "What's happening?"
	"Everything's going to be all right." said Oren.  "You have SCABS.  Your
body is changing."
	Larry, who had long since fallen asleep beside Oren's burrow, stirred
himself.  "I don't understand how that's possible." he said.  "I mean SCABS
doesn't affect children, does it?"
	"Normally, no." said Oren.  "Except for children with aging diseases.
Remember, as far as a virus is concerned, Amanda is ninety years old."
	"Would you look at this?" murmured Jesse as he watched the girl's wrinkled
skin tighten and darken and separate into the threads of a finely woven cloth.
	"What am I turning into?" asked the girl.
	"A stuffed animal.  A beautiful little toy... well I'll be!  Oren, look at
this!"
	"What am I, mister Otter?  What am I?"
	"You're an otter, Amanda, just like me!"

	* * *

	"So..." said Oren as he stared at his lawyer's feet.  "What do you think
my chances are?"
	The dignified looking Mrs. Carter sniffed a bit before answering.
"Honestly? I think you're screwed.  We'll find out soon enough.  Here comes
the judge."
	Oren felt extremely cramped here in the judge's chambers, despite his
miniscule size.  A natural feeling when one is expecting to have an
emotional bombshell dropped on him.
	"Mister Verden?" said the judge as he took a seat behind his desk.
	"Yes, your honor?" Oren responded, jumping to his feet.
	"I have reached my decision.  Sit down please.  Now then... concerning the
rumors I have heard, it is alleged that you deliberately infected an
already sick child with Martian Flu, knowing full well that she might very
easily not survive."
	Oren swallowed and said nothing.
	"It is also alleged that the reason you did this was to possibly save a
little girl who was dying as well as drastically improve the quality of
life for her.  Now, while I cannot condone reckless endangerment, I can
say, off the record, that I wish there were more people in the world
willing to lay their freedom on the line for the sake of another.  It seems
to me that you truly love this child."
	"Oh, I do, Sir!  Your honor!  I truly do!"
	"You have many things going against you.  You're single, you're nearly
homeless, and you are a victim of SCABS.  However, in my opinion, you are
exactly what this girl needs.  Therefore, I am going to approve your
adoption of the child Amanda as..."
	Oren and Light didn't hear anything else.  They had begun dancing for joy.
	"Are you two quite finished?" said the judge with a bit of a smile.  "Now
then... there are certain conditions.  The doctors' tests reveal that like
your own shape-changing ability, Amanda's is also tied to her emotional
state."
	"Yes, we know."
	"Then you also know that if she should suffer a prolonged bout of
depression, she will revert to her former state, wherein she will very
probably die of old age.  In the event that your daughter succumbs to such
depression, care will revert to St. Nick's hospital."
	"Understood."
	"Condition two: Since Amanda may very well have an indefinite lifespan,
she is to receive a formal education as required for any child."
	"Of course!"
	"And condition number three... though there is no sufficient proof that
you actually did deliberately infect the child with Martian Flu, I'm
telling you this off the record... if you EVER pull a stunt like that again
I will personally nail your rudder-tail to the wall.  Do we understand each
other?"
	"Perfectly."
	"All right, then!  Just place your signature and pawprint right here, and
then you can go and see your brand new daughter!"

	* * *

	In the courthouse hall, with Jesse Roo by her side, a little toy otter sat
fidgeting.  When Oren came out of the judge's chambers, she shot to her
feet.  While this simple act of standing filled her with delight, she
quickly forgot that emotion as she asked the question she desperately
needed the answer to.
	"Mister Otter?"
	"Yes, dearheart?"
	A pause, for fear of the wrong answer.
	"What is it, Amanda?"
	"Are you... are you my daddy?"
	"Yes!  YES!" cried Oren as he scooped his daughter into his arms and held
her against his rapidly beating heart.  "Yes, Amanda, I'm your new daddy!"
	"Daddy?"
	"Yes?"
	"I love you, Daddy!"
	"And I love you, Amanda Verden!"

	* * *

	Under the light of a crescent moon, Oren floated on his back and stared up
at the stars as he listened to the serenade of the crickets and the
occasional cry of a lake loon.  Against his chest, he felt the welcome
weight of his daughter as she shared the stars and the crickets.
	"Daddy?" she asked.
	"Yes, sweetie."
	"Will I have to sit under the blow-dryer again tonight?"
	"Not if you wring yourself out really good."
	"Okay.  Daddy, how come I turned into a toy otter?  Do lots of people turn
into toys?"
	"Yes, actually.  Quite a lot of inanimorphs become dolls or stuffed
animals or plastic or clay."
	"But how come I turned into this?"
	"I don't know.  Maybe it has to do with you being around me and Larry.
Maybe it was just meant to be."
	"Thank you for making me like I am."
	"You're welcome."
	"And thank you for being my Daddy."
	"Thank YOU for being my little girl."
	"Daddy?"
	"Yes?"
	"Can I have a little sister?"

Oren Otter
The Changing Workplace
http://www.ottercomics.com/tcw


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