text: “I came as quickly as I could. I’m really sorry.” Cotton Clayborne looks up at Kirk Chapman, his eyes hollow with worry and fear. Clayborne hooks his thumbs in his bib overalls, shifting his oil-stained CAT cap. “You know I want to help, Kirk. I’m a patriot and a veteran like you, and I want to win the war against Zirconia. But she’s a threat to the safety of my family, and that goes beyond the call of duty.” “Where is she?” Clayborne grimaces as if he’s reliving a horrific memory. “In the barn.” “Again, I’m sorry. I know she didn’t mean for this to happen,” Kirk says, putting his hands on Clayborne’s shoulders. Looking up at Kirk’s angelic features, Clayborne feels a sense of reassurance. “You know, I used to feel like I was taking the government’s money, but not now. What my son saw will stay with him forever. He saw her change shape. The last coherent thing he said before he went mute was, ‘I was swallowed up by hell.’ No one should see that.” “Well pay for his therapy,” Kirk offers. “Don’t bring her here anymore.” Kirk enters Clayborne’s spacious barn. Freya is sitting on a haystack, looking forlorn. Wearing a brightly colored floral sundress, her dark hair cascading down her shoulders, and with her light blue eyes pointed toward the floor, Freya looks like a pouting twenty-something with a lot on her mind. “I screwed up.” Kirk sits down beside her, putting a comforting arm around her. “You don’t have eyes in the back of your head.” “Not according to Dr. Mortel. He thinks I’m part insect anyway. I was in a hurry. I could feel the change coming on. I had no idea the boy was in the loft... Last night I was reading him Grimms Fairy Tales. Today I became one of the monsters in their stories. How is he?” “In a state of shock,” Kirk replies. “We’ll take care of him, and we’ll find you another place you can rest between missions. You'll have to stay at the lab for now. I know it’s like a jail, but the director of security doesn’t think you should be wandering around...” “So, I’m going to be guarded, just as if I was in jail.” “You’ll get plenty of tuna, Friskies, whatever you want.” “Then you’ll send me out to spy on someone, or demand I do something worse. I’m just a tool to you.” “No, not to me.” “When is this arrangement of ours going to end?” Freya asks. “When will I be free?” “It’s difficult to say. There’s a war going on...” “It’s becoming harder to control my transformations. I need to be someplace where I can be alone when they happen. I’m the last of my kind, an abomination,” Freya says, leaning her head against Kirk’s shoulder. “Don’t think that way.” “Before I die, I want to know who killed my brother, Talgo.” Picking up a strand of hay, she adds, “But I suppose that would be like finding a needle in this haystack.” “When this next assignment is over, I’m going to use all of the department’s resources to find out.” “You’ve said that before,” Freya replies. “No more assignments until we find out, okay? And I promise you’ll have more freedom.” “...All right... What do you want me to do?” “Win the war.” “Thanks to your brother, we know the Zirconians are planning to build a revolutionary submarine that will turn the tide of the war in their favor,” Kirk says. “My brother gave his life for that information. I’m much more reluctant to do the same.” Dr. Mantel Mortel holds up a cat collar. Pasty, with thick glasses, acne, and greasy hair, the head researcher for Aldoria’s secret service division, prides himself on having traded good looks for an abundance of intelligence. “This will adjust in size whether you’re a cat or in human form. It has a miniature camera and recorder in it. We’ll be able to hear and see what’s going on.” “But your main mission is to get one of the three flash drives,” Kirk says. “Have you memorized the route?” “Yes, of course.” “Then it’s time for you to change.” Freya rises from her stool, trudging toward the bathroom. “Just once, I’d like to see how she does it,” Dr. Mortel says. “It’ll cost you your sanity,” Kirk replies. Dr. Mortel notices Kirk’s dejected expression. “Those pretty blue eyes have got you feeling bad for her, haven’t they? “She doesn’t deserve this kind of life.” “She’s not human, Kirk. She’s a cat on two legs.” “Well, we treat our pets better than we treat Freya. She’s alone in the world. The Zirconians promised her people safety, then slaughtered them for sport. We promised them sanctuary, then turned them into spies and lab rats. Have you come up with a formula that can stop her from morphing and keep her human?” “You might as well ask me to come up with a way to beat the house at a casino. She hasn’t been helpful. We know about as much about her kind as we did when they surfaced six years ago. She’s hiding something. Freya has the ability to change her shape, yet a simple thing like a panic attack can stop her from being able to morph. She won’t tell me if her civilization came from here or another planet, or why her x-rays are virtually identical to ours, instead of those of a cat. Freya won’t even tell us how old she is. We estimate she’s at least three hundred years old. Still want to have a hot date with her?” “Stop it, Mantel. I just want to make sure she’s looked after and treated with respect.” “You’re in way too deep, Kirk. I didn’t want to be the one to tell you this, but when she comes back from this mission, we’re going to study her more closely.” “What exactly does that mean?” “A quick death, then dissection.” “You can’t do that! She’s the last of her kind!” “Have you seen any woolly mammoths lately?” Dr. Mortel retorts. “We can duplicate her body. Thanks to our examination of her body functions, we’re on the verge of making it possible for humans to live as long as her kind. What we haven’t figured out is how she’s able to morph from human form into a feline.” “And you need to kill her in order to find out?” Dr. Mortel slides his fingers through his greasy hair. “It’s not my call, Kirk. We recently discovered two other species that can alter their appearances. She’s obsolete.” The bathroom door creaks open. A black cat pads into the room. Kirk picks up the cat, stroking her fur. Freya purrs contentedly. “You’re too close to this,” Dr. Mortel repeats. Freya sits near the backdoor of the Zirconian military headquarters. She meows loudly when the door opens. A kitchen worker out for a smoke notices her. “You’re a cute kitty,” he says, picking her up. He looks at her collar. “Freya. My name’s Marcel. Nice to meet you.” Freya purrs loudly. “Would you like some milk, kitty? I only have lactose free until the delivery truck gets here, but it tastes the same.” Marcel takes Freya into the kitchen, placing a bowl of milk in a corner for her. The dishwasher looks over at Freya. “Another stray, Marcel? You know how General LaCroix feels about cats, especially black ones. He thinks they’re witches. Remember what he did to the last one?” “...Tortured it... Then strangled it,” Marcel says sadly. “Someone should do that to General LaCroix.” “....Sssh. Shut up.” Freya’s ears perk up. “...General LaCroix...,” she says to herself. Freya laps at the bowl. A tiny field mouse peeks out from behind the nearby refrigerator at her. “Go away, Micky.” Frightened by Freya’s whispered threat, the mouse’s eyes bulge and it scurries away, Freya sneaks through the kitchen and out into the hallway. Passing disinterested guards, Freya climbs the steps to the second floor. Passing gold-framed portraits of heroes, generals, and admirals, she enters the war room. Half a dozen of Zirconia’s highest-ranking military leaders are gathered around a massive conference table, staring at a series of plans. Placing his monocle over his eye, Admiral Brice Berne says, “The X-15 cobalt-powered submarine is the perfect innovative weapon to bring Aldoria to its knees. “It had better,” President Francoise Picardy harrumphs. The heavyset, double-chinned leader of Zirconia glances at Freya, picking her up. “Please put it down, Mister President. Black cats are witches in disguise,” a tall General with a long scar on his left cheek protests. “That’s old-world nonsense, General LaCroix. You’re so superstitious.” Freya’s ears perk up and she hisses at General LaCroix. “Relax, puss,” President Picardy says, stroking Freya’s fur. “It’s strange, General. Cats can sense fear, anger, or happiness in humans. What do you think this cat is sensing in you?” “That I’m the baddest mother...” “GENERAL!” “Forgive me, Mister President.” “Save your anger for the fight against Aldoria. How quickly will the new submarines be ready, Admiral Berne?” “Three are under construction now. They’ll be finished in three months.” “And you say they carry missiles that can reach the Aldorian capital city?” Admiral Berne replies, “Yes, sir!” with boyish glee. President Picardy puts Freya down in a nearby chair. “We have three flash drives with the plans on them,” he says. “General LaCroix, as my most trusted commander, I’m passing my flash drive onto you, and I trust you will destroy these plans after our meeting. I will say this candidly, gentlemen, we are losing the war. But a submarine that carries twice as many missiles as anything Aldoria has, is twice as fast, and can stay submerged for two years can bring us victory. We will sink their convoys without the fear of retaliation, then bottle their fleets up in their harbors and lay siege to their cities. I think a celebration is in order. I have champagne and caviar down the hall in the library.” Laughing and patting each other on the back, the president and his staff file out of the room. General LaCroix quickly returns. Leaning over the table, he glares at Freya threateningly. “I get rid of one black cat and three months later another one shows up. Soul stealer! I’ll choke you to death and gut you just like the last one. You can’t fool me, witch. I know you’re the devil’s mercenary. I’ll take great pleasure in sending your empty husk back to hell.” Freya hisses at General LaCroix, swiping at him. General LaCroix recoils. “Witch! You scratched me!” He tears the collar off Freya’s neck, tossing it on the floor. “I’m going to take all nine of your lives, witch!” Picking Freya up by the nape of her neck, General LaCroix moves toward the window. Freya meows loudly in protest, fighting his grip. General LaCroix is about to throw Freya out of the window when he hears someone clear his throat. Turning, he smiles weakly at President Picardy, dropping Freya. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell who the real animals are around here,” President Picardy says. Pushing the door open to the bathroom, Freya begins to change. She comes out of the bathroom with her hair up, wearing a tight blouse and a short skirt. Sashaying down the hallway, she passes an admiring young captain who arches his eyebrows approvingly. Entering General LaCroix’s office, she confidently marches toward his assistant’s desk. The woman lowers her glasses, eyeing Freya like a rival. The women exchange icy pleasantries. “I’m here to spell you for this afternoon,” Freya says. “Happy anniversary to you and your husband from General LaCroix!” “I knew he would remember!” Grabbing her coat and pocketbook, the woman speeds out of the office. Freya is studying sensitive information about troop movements on the computer when General LaCroix bounds into the office. His look of surprise quickly turns into a lecherous leer. Rubbing his scar, he removes his hat, tossing it on a chair as if he were hurling a Frisbee. “Well, who are you?” “Your assistant for the rest of the day. Jackie had an emergency and had to leave.” “I think we’ll work well together. Come into my office with me.” General LaCroix sits down in his plush chair. Looking up at Freya he smirks, patting his knee. “...Why, General...” “I can make you a commissioned officer tomorrow if you want.” Freya sits on his lap. Wrapping her hands around his neck, she draws him closer. “I think you can sense how I feel about you,” he says breathlessly. “...Such eyes...” “Almost like a cat’s eyes, eh?” General LaCroix gasps for air as Freya’s hands tighten around his throat. “You killed my brother.” “What? I haven’t killed anyone,” he gasps. “You strangled him, cut him open.” “I did that to a cat...A witch...,” he whispers as Freya crushes his windpipe. “Let me show you how I feel about you!” Freya’s beauty begins to melt away. Her fair skin turns into a gelatinous mass, her arms into claws, and her peerless smile into dozens of hungry fangs. Her silky hair morphs into poisonous hissing snakes that peck and bite at General LaCroix’s flesh. Freya takes the flash drive out of General LaCroix’s jacket pocket. She passes the boyish-looking captain in the hallway again. He pauses to take in her beauty, smiling to himself. Remembering he has a dispatch for General LaCroix, he enters his office. General LaCroix’s once-dark hair has faded to snow white. His chest, arms, and legs are torn open. What’s left of his ravaged face is frozen in a silent scream. Written in his blood on the wall are the words “For Talgo.” Freya quickens her pace, her heels click-clacking against the sizzling summer pavement. Ducking into an alley behind a garbage bin, Freya tries to will herself back into the form of a cat. “...Calm down... Calm down...,” she says to herself, but the more she speaks, the more nervous she gets. Wringing her hands, she heads back into the street. “There she is!” the captain yells. A detail of four other men charges after her. Shucking her heels, Freya races down the street, dodging bewildered onlookers. The men follow haphazardly, knocking down bystanders and barely avoiding groups of curious children. Scampering down an alley, Freya scales a fence, putting some distance between herself and her less agile pursuers. She tries to ignore the glass cutting the bottoms of her feet as she crosses an old football field. Crossing the street, she enters a bodega. The elderly man behind the counter tries to smile at her but can only manage a slack-jawed expression as he watches Freya tread blood across his linoleum floor. Heading out the back door, Freya pauses to catch her breath and get her bearings. A tabby cat rubs up against her leg. “Hello, fella. Can you help a fellow feline get home?” The cat purrs, looking up at her. He begins to walk away, then pauses to look back at Freya. “Really? You want me to follow you? What have I got to lose?” The cat leads her through a maze of alleys, stopping at what appears to be an abandoned apartment building. Freya follows the cat inside. She watches in fascination as the cat morphs into a sandy-haired young man. A group of men, women, and children appear out of the shadows, greeting her. “Where am I?’ “A sanctuary for changelings like us,” the man replies. “How did you know I was one of you?” “Your eyes. They tell a story. Your brother, Talgo, described you to us. He said you were fighting for the Aldorians against the Zirconians like he was. He told us that you were as disillusioned as he was to be involved in a war that had nothing to do with us. He found this sanctuary for us, a home for our civilization to grow while the humans destroy each other. It’s your home too, Freya.” “Who is this?” Kirk asks, looking at the sandy-haired man. “Hoffen. He’s a good friend.” “I thought we were good friends, Freya.” “I’ll always be your friend. But I’m also a changeling, and so is Hoffen. I have to go where I belong.” “This sounds like goodbye.” “It is,” Freya replies, handing Kirk the flash drive. “I know I promised to help you find Talgo’s killer and to give you more freedom...” “I found those things on my own.” “Just as well. Dr. Mortel wanted to dissect you.” “I know. I think he changed his mind. Go ask him.” Kirk is surprised to find the door to Dr. Mortel’s lab open. Broken glass and destroyed files line the floor. “Mantel? Are you here?” Seated in a chair is Dr. Mortel’s shredded, white-haired, moldering corpse. His mouth is frozen open in a silent scream.