Story #330 - White Fox

White Fox

"You're the White Fox!" A woman exclaimed as John Avery moved past her cafe table. Coming to her feet, she had a broad grin on her face and a look bordering on worship in her eyes.

"No ma'am," he said, doing his best to avoid looking directly at her without seeming rude. It wasn't that she was unattractive - far from it, in fact. Her praise was misplaced, however, and he would be remiss in taking advantage. "You have the wrong man."

"Sorry." Her face fell and she sat again, an embarrassed flush spreading across her cheeks. John moved quickly down the street; there was no sense in calling more attention to her predicament than necessary. The communicator at his wrist chirped at him and John ducked into an alley, pulling his sleeve up and over the silver device. 

"On!" He barked, and the face of Mal, his assistant, wavered into view. The technology Mal had brought with him for the communicator was only a few years ahead of what humans were producing, but it wasn't for fear of techno-evny that John didn't want to be seen. Two years ago, a career saving the world had seemed like the perfect solution to a life spent toiling in mediocrity, but the expectations that came with such a job were proving to be more than he'd been prepared to handle.

"Master?" Mal's voice was like a gravel truck on a bumpy road. While he could pass for a human most of the time, he chose to stay in the lair as much as possible. There was no sense in stirring up the city more than necessary.

"Yes," he said in a whisper. "What now? This is my day off!" John tried to keep the petulance out of his voice but did not entirely succeed. If Mal noticed, he gave no sign.

"Master, I must ask you to identify yourself before I can relay the information I have for you."

John grit his teeth and then brought his wrist close to his mouth, lips barely moving as he spoke. "White Fox, confirmation Delta six-nine periwinkle humidor."

Mal's face split into a grin; John was almost certain the code had been designed to be as ridiculous as possible, but his sidekick maintained innocence "Thank you, Master," Mal went on, form shifting as he spoke to that of a small child. John had become used to such transformations - Mal was not entirely alien, not completely one of the Shifters that had infiltrated the highest levels of human government but was not entirely human either. The result was a creature that could take only four humanoid shapes and had no control over when his transformations would occur. Staying at the lair was the safest course for everyone involved, Mal included.

"We have received a priority one message from the United High Council," the half-Shifter went on. "They require your presence at your earliest convenience." It took an effort for John to stifle a sarcastic reply; never would be a convenient time for him but wasn't an option - and the Council members got cranky if they were made to wait for more than a few hours.

"Fine," he said, "I'll see you soon. Fox out."

***

The lair was pristine, as usual, and Mal met John at the entrance with white uniform in hand and freshly pressed, the half-Shifter's form having changed again to a thin, balding man. Alien fabric in the garment Mal carried had the advantage of not only making John look bigger than he was but giving him a strength commensurate with his size. His body could also take increased punishment, something that had come in handy on more than one occasion over the last few years.

"Please, Master," Mal began, but stopped at a hand in his face.

"I don't need to hear it, Mal," John said in weary voice. "I'll hurry, I promise."

Mal nodded and stepped out of the way, then swept a hand toward the changing area as if John had somehow forgotten where it was. He grumbled as he crossed the pristine granite floor - his sidekick had a way about him, a character that John found at once compelling and yet utterly maddening. It was hard not to ascribe some of he anger he felt at the Shifters to Mal, despite the fact that the half-human hadn't been given a choice in his physiology.

Five fuming minutes later and John was ready, the sleek uniform of the Fox surrounding him. There was still a trill that came with seeing himself in the mirror, knowing that he would be the one piloting an alien craft to save the world, but it was wearing thin. Though Mal had been free with his technology and expertise, he had never wanted the Fox for himself, saying his unannounced transformations made it "too dangerous", and John had to agree.

"You look splendid as always, Master," Mal said as John moved into the launch bay.

"Shut up." He couldn't resist the jab.

"I beg your pardon?" Mal had transformed again, and was the spitting image of a small girl with tousled curls and grass-stained feet but John didn't feel any guilt at his rudeness - the alien could take it.

"You heard me, Mal; I got suckered into this thing two years ago and I've had about enough. I'm looking for a way out."

"Of course you are," there was a smile on his sidekick's face as they climbed the ramp into the Fox itself. "And I wish you only the best in that endeavor, Master."

John grumbled something that was not worth saying; he was caught, and the alien knew it. Despite his misgivings, despite being at the beck and call of the Council, there was an allure to the uniform of the White Fox and the power it gave him - something about the role that made it worth playing.

"Your permission, Master?" Mal said with a smile, and John couldn't help but feel his spirits lift as the lair's launch bay doors split open.

"Take us up, Mal," he said, looking skyward. "The Fox flies again."

- D