Becoming Animals

by Olga Werby

  “Thank you,” Kyle responded. Technically, he outranked these men, but in reality he had been working outside of a clear command structure for some time now. He trained people below and above him. As an expert rider, he held command by virtue of experience and seniority.

  “Sir? Do you need to get it ready?”

  “Hmm?”

  “The bird,” the young soldier said. “Do you need to get it ready? You know, to find Toby and the major.” He kept calling Grock it. No one who’d been in the Brats program for any length of time referred to the animals as it. Once you rode, you knew the difference.

  “I know my orders,” Kyle said. He leaned back, pretending to relax. Grock was his eyes and ears. The bird had perked up as soon as he’d heard Toby’s name. Grock knew who she was. Toby had ridden Grock many times and sometimes Grock pined for her in his own strange, bird way. Kyle could feel Grock’s emotional bond to her as he could feel all the other Brats animals’ bonds to the girl. Something of Toby was inside the psyche of all of them and, through them, perhaps within Kyle too.

  They parked beside some low buildings in the back of the park. The men opened the door and Grock hopped out. Kyle stayed in the van with all of the communications equipment and with one of his minders. The man who’d referred to Grock as it went to meet up with the others who were already hunting for Toby and Major Watson.

  It was all wrong, all sick. They should all be on the same side. But after Will’s breakdown and the move to Arizona, the Brats project had fractured—there was Team Toby and then there was everyone else. Kyle was firmly on Toby’s team.

  Kyle inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, and focused on the world through Grock’s senses.

  His raven soared over the park, taking in the unfamiliar sights and smells—the crowds, the trainers, the whales, the water. Grock spiraled higher until he could take in the whole park in one view. Like a map, Kyle thought and Grock agreed.

  Over the last few months, Grock had gotten better at reading maps. The original hurdle was learning to communicate to the bird that what he was seeing on the screen was an abstract representation of reality. Kyle hit on the idea of using video footage from drones flying around the army base; this was familiar territory for Grock. Once the raven recognized what he was looking at, with a bit of help from Kyle, he became very excited and interested in watching the computer screen.

  Kyle then moved to showing Grock video games with flyovers of complicated terrains. These were more abstract than the drone video footage, but over time, Grock got used to watching. He even liked it when Kyle let him operate the game console with a joystick. That moment when Grock linked the controller movements with changes on the screen was the true breakthrough. The leap to a computer-generated map was relatively easy after that.

  Now Grock was flying over the marine park in real life, but he had already done several flyovers of this place sitting on Kyle’s shoulder in front of the computer on the way here. Grock oriented himself in the airspace above the park faster than Kyle did even though Kyle had tons of experience flying drones.

  “Do you see them?” Kyle’s minder asked.

  Kyle jerked from his seat and almost fell off. Grock screeched. “Don’t do that,” Kyle said, annoyed.

  “Sorry, sir,” the man said. “I’ve ridden Miny a few times and I know how much concentration it takes. But I’m being told that they’re about to deploy the drones. I wanted to make sure—”

  “Drones?” Kyle felt Grock’s dread of the machines surge through him. “Okay, thanks for letting me know. Let’s not spook Grock.”

  Grock hated drones. He’d even attacked a few of them out in the desert around the army base. Grock had never forgiven the drone incident back on the university campus.

  “I know he really hates them,” the man said.

  He sounded sympathetic. Anyone who’d experienced riding, however brief the experience, felt a strong sense of kinship with other riders. It was those bonds again. Kyle and this man—and Toby—were linked together via Miny.

  “Ask them to keep their distance,” Kyle said. “Let Grock do his thing without adding stress.”

  Grock did one wide sweep over the park before Kyle was interrupted again.

  “Sorry sir, but I’ve got some intel. Vikka and Will have been secured. They shot Cory, but she escaped.”

  “What?” Kyle screamed out his question. High above the park, Grock screeched in mirrored stress. “Is she hurt?”

  “Sounds like they might have grazed her, sir, but she’s missing too.”

  “Are they crazy?”

  “It was a new guy. Apparently, he didn’t know—”

  “Didn’t know? He’s been removed from this mission, right?” Kyle couldn’t get over the idea of someone trying to hurt one of their Brats animals.

  “I don’t know,” the man said.

  Kyle felt sickened by the mere thought. Shooting at Cory was akin to shooting at Toby. The feelings between an animal and its rider transferred back and forth. If someone shot Grock while Kyle was riding him…

  The man who had shot at Cory couldn’t have been a rider himself. No rider would do that. That meant that the broader military was involved in the search now; this was no longer being handled only within the Brats program. And that was very bad news. Toby and the major were in a lot more danger than he had thought.

  Grock circled around. The crowds had thinned. Park security appeared to be trying to empty the park. But it would make finding Toby easier. He had Grock look for Cory too. He hoped the raven wasn’t too badly hurt.

  Grock flew over the three main water stadiums. He spotted an orca being attended by a trainer by the side of one of the pools. Several people, who apparently hadn’t heeded security yet, were standing around taking pictures. Grock landed on an empty chair in the stadium, just to the side of the orca. The whale was big, especially compared to a raven, and Grock was suitably impressed.

  Grock met the eye—just one—of the big orca. Kyle was struck by what he saw behind that eye: the intelligence, the presence of mind. How would it work to ride something so self-aware?

  There was some part of the inquiry that Grock understood. Grock was self-aware too. Perhaps not in the same way as humans or whales, but he knew who he was and he felt himself independent of other ravens. He remembered his past, he understood the now, and he even made plans for later. It was what made riding Grock so difficult. The rider had to meld into the bird’s self-perception, to somehow overcome the boundary of other and become one, a greater one.

  That was also one of the problems with sharing self-aware animals with multiple riders. That boundary could only stretch so far. All animals had these boundaries or, at least, Kyle thought so. Rats had them and pigs too. But the more intelligent, the more self-aware the creature, the more robust that boundary became. That’s why they started the BBI training with rats.

  Would Toby be able to overcome this partition with a whale? Kyle didn’t think he could. And in the back of his mind, Grock cried out in agreement. Riding didn’t only allow the human to enter the animal’s consciousness domain, it lowered the barriers to human self-consciousness as well. Kyle wondered if the new people at Brats were aware of this. Sharing his consciousness with Grock was the most intimate thing Kyle had ever done.

  Grock heard the soft whirl of the distant drones and bristled in indignation. “Grooooock!” The bird let out his anger. “Groooock, grooooock!”

  “Easy, boy,” Kyle murmured. A surge of adrenaline washed over Kyle’s senses. It was so intense that he almost missed it—there, just on the edge of Grock’s acute hearing, was a soft “caw” in response to his cries.

  Cory!

  “Grooooock!” Grock answered. He took off into the air and flew in a narrow search pattern, looking and listening. Cory was here, close, hidden.

  The drones moved in. Grock and Kyle hated them together.

  Another barely audible “caw.” Cory must be right beneath Grock.

  Don’t look!
ordered Kyle. Fly away. Lead the drones away from Cory.

  Surprisingly, Grock immediately understood the intended trickery. He turned and flew away from Toby’s raven with determination and purpose. The drones followed at a respectful distance.

  “Did your bird find them, sir?”

  “Not yet,” Kyle said, returning to his human senses. “There are a lot of new sights and sounds. Grock was very interested in the whales.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” the man said. “When I rode Miny, I got overwhelmed by an apple.”

  Kyle knew what he was talking about—all newbies got the apple test. If the rider could solve a problem while the rat was distracted by the scent of an apple, then the rider could continue with the program.

  “Did you pass?” Kyle asked.

  “Barely.”

  “Congratulations…I’m sorry, I never got your name?”

  “Martin. Martin Martinez, sir. My parents liked rhyming things.”

  “Congratulations, Private Martinez.”

  “I’m hoping to advance to your piggies class someday, sir.”

  “It takes time, but don’t give up,” Kyle said encouragingly. It was difficult to split attention like this away from Grock, but he wanted to earn the good will of his minder.

  “Should I tell the drones to back off?”

  “Please,” Kyle said. “Grock’s discovered the cafeteria.”

  The open-air cafe had been a good choice—believable. No one would doubt that Grock was just looking for an opportunity to scavenge a bit of leftover hot dog. Other birds were there already, aggressively fighting over the park visitors’ scraps.

  “They tell me the seagulls got there first,” Martin said, revealing to Kyle just how closely Grock was being monitored.

  “I’ll let Grock grab something and eat it away from the scrimmage.”

  “I’ll tell them not to get too close. I know how possessive animals get with food.”

  “Good idea.”

  Grock swooped behind a dumpster, expertly stole a bread roll directly from the beak of an unfortunate seagull, and took off again, looking for a place to enjoy his prize.

  “I’ll let Grock eat it in peace, then I’ll get back up in the sky,” Kyle said. “By then, all of the visitors should be gone. You’re monitoring the exits?”

  “Of course, sir. They’re not getting away.”

  “Good. Then we don’t need to rush. I’m sure they’re not trying to sneak out. Cory and Toby must have been traumatized by the gunshots. The major is probably just giving them some time to recover.”

  “That’s what I think,” Martin said. “Major Watson will bring them back safe and sound. We don’t want another altercation.”

  “No, we don’t,” Kyle agreed.

  Kyle tried to relax his body. He wanted to project the lie that he was releasing control over Grock.

  Grock flew a few circles around the cafeteria, then hopped inside the perimeter of low shrubs around the cafe, trying to lose the spy drones monitoring him from a distance.

  The air was thick with crying gulls. Kyle scanned the skies for other ravens or crows—people had trouble telling those birds apart from a distance. Grock could easily blend in with a murder of crows or a conspiracy of ravens.

  He spotted a few crows fighting the gulls for scraps. A few more and Grock might slip out of his hiding place without being noticed.

  Kyle was surprised when Grock pushed his beak out of the hedge and spit the bread out, announcing the prize loudly to the birds in his immediate vicinity. It was a very clever move on Grock’s part—Kyle had nothing to do with it—and Grock felt pride when Kyle recognized what he was doing. Gulls and crows and even a few ravens joined the fight for the succulent bread bun. As it often was with humans, the prize was more coveted when everyone wanted it.

  Grock waited a few seconds, then joined the scuffle, pretend-fighting a gull for the chunk of the bread he had just thrown at them. Several seagulls turned on him in indignation and Grock, faking fear, flapped away.

  He flew to the roof of the cafe, joining a menagerie of birds there already. Kyle thought that Grock blended in nicely. Grock watched the drones circling the cafe at a distance. They didn’t change their flight pattern. Had they not seen Grock fly away from the scrum? The band on his foot made him visible to those in the know.

  “Grock is really enjoying his bread,” Kyle said to Martinez.

  “It’s pandemonium down there,” Martin said sympathetically. “I was told this happens every day when the visitors leave.”

  “Hmm.”

  “There’s no rush now, so take your time, sir. We locked down the park and have people on all the gates and roads leading out. The drones are going wait it out too. I’m sure Grock is a handful right now.”

  “Thanks, Martin. I’ll let you know when Grock is sated and ready to go. I just hope he won’t get sick in the van later.”

  “No rush, sir. Really.”

  Kyle directed Grock to fly away from the bird feast. Grock didn’t resist; he understood what Kyle wanted him to do and he agreed. It was a strange meeting of the minds.

  The raven lifted gracefully into the air and spiraled back out toward the marine stage, away from the food. The drones didn’t follow. Kyle exhaled.

  He made Grock fly from dumpster to dumpster, garbage can to garbage can. He never picked anything up, just swooped down, pretending to participate in a frenzy of activity around each trash receptacle. Without hurrying, Grock made his way back to where he’d first heard Cory’s call.

  “Groooooock,” Grock cried out softly.

  To those who knew him, Grock’s cry was a dead giveaway, but to most people he probably sounded like just another hungry bird. Kyle was counting on the ignorance of the search crew. “Grooooock,” he sang out louder.

  “Caaaw.”

  It came from one of the empty stadiums, below the bleachers. There were no people there, no whales. Even the cleaning crew had come and gone. Unfortunately, there were also no birds there. Grock couldn’t hang out above the empty rows of seats for too long before the drones spotted him again.

  Drop down, thought Kyle and Grock did, falling between the stadium seats and under them.

  It was dark under the bleachers and not very clean. This was a domain for the rats.

  “Caaaaw.” Cory’s call came from the far corner, next to the stage. Grock flew to her.

  “Grock?” Kyle recognized Toby’s voice immediately. They had found her!

  Cory looked bedraggled. Several of her wing feathers stuck out at odd angles and Kyle could see patches of blood. Her bright blue beacon still shone brightly on top of her brain implant. Grock nuzzled her affectionately and Cory cawed back at him.

  “Grock? Kyle?” It was the major’s voice.

  Kyle made Grock look around. Toby sat just against the wall of the stage pool. She was propped up on a backpack with her oxygen tank by her side. George was next to her, watching the interaction between Grock and Cory.

  Grock hopped over to them both.

  “Good boy, good boy,” Toby cooed to him.

  Grock made happy noises and Kyle split his attention to make sure he was suppressing his own gurgles of contentment back in the van.

  “Glad you found us, Kyle,” George said, nodding to Grock to acknowledge the bird as well.

  Kyle tried to assess the major’s mood. Was he nervous? He had to be. The air was thick with pheromones signaling distress. Was George hiding something? Not for the first time, Kyle wished that Grock could talk.

  Toby motioned for George to pull the computer from his backpack. Toby placed the laptop on her lap and opened it. To Kyle’s amazement, Cory jumped onto her lap and, using her sharp claws, started tapping the keys.

  “Groooock!” Grock screeched in excitement.

  “Shhhh,” said both George and Toby.

  Grock lowered his head as Kyle realized he could have given away their location.

  “Here, Grock,” Toby called to him. “Come
here. Look at what Cory can do.”

  Grock hopped onto Toby’s shoulder and looked down at the screen.

  Cory had spelled out “hello.”

  The keyboard, of course! Why hadn’t Kyle thought of it himself? It was so obvious…in retrospect.

  Grock joined Cory on Toby’s lap. “hi,” he typed.

  It wasn’t easy and effortless, as it had been for Cory, but Kyle figured she had more practice. Still, ravens had an incredible spatial memory, so once Grock found a key, he’d never forget its location again. Kyle bet he would be able to type in complete darkness if the keyboard had a standard layout and Grock had time to orient himself. This was a remarkably rich way to communicate and the major had known all about it. Why hadn’t he shared until now?

  “Good boy, Grock!” Toby said.

  “Nice, Kyle,” added the major. “Now, tell me what’s going on.”

  Grock dutifully typed out what little Kyle knew about the situation. At first, Kyle had to visualize the shape of each letter and the sound it made. But as Grock got more familiar with the keyboard, the process of pecking out the words went faster. By the end, Grock got very good at finding the keys that Kyle thought about in his head. It helped that the major mostly asked questions that could be answered with a single word or even “y” or “n” replies.

  Kyle was able to communicate that the park was under lockdown, that it was only a matter of time before they found the major and Toby, and that they were holding Vikka and Will, neither of whom were hurt. Kyle wished he could tell them more, but he didn’t know more…yet.

  The major vented his frustration with the army’s actions. “We have legal standing! Not only were Vikka and I declared Toby’s legal guardians, but with Will out here…”

  Kyle totally agreed with him; Grock bobbed his head in agreement.

  “What are they thinking? If we decide to take Toby to a marine park, what basis can they use to stop us? And why would they? Why start a confrontation?” The major threw up his hands.