(Woman to Saola)


Three months.  Three months in this damned jungle, and they had nothing to prove for it.
Anh Le sighed, brushing a lock of her hair form her eyes.  It had been three weeks since she’d last taken a bath, and while she accepted the job hazard, it still grossed her out just how dirty she could get.
She wiped some sweat from her forehead, grimacing as her hand came away dirtier than it had been a second ago.
Miles Hughes, her photographer and sole companion on the trek, was a step away from her.  He noticed her disgusted look and offered her a comforting smile.
The two had been together since they’d been hired, the Vietnamese Wildlife Conservatory paying the two generously for their services.  It was this pay that had kept Anh going, enough money to let her move anywhere she wanted and retire on the spot.
“Bit dirty work, innit?”  Miles asked, a grin across his rugged features.  Unlike her, he seemed to thrive in the filth, and he no doubt had some story as to how a good inch of dirt reminded you how close you were to nature.
It was hard to believe the outdoorsman was a geneticist, almost as outrageous as the Conservatory hiring a geneticist for a photographer.  He probably worked for cheaper; she’d never seen any job classifieds in his line of work.
Hell, that was how they got her.  Majoring in wildlife conservation had seemed a noble cause, but Anh had gravely underestimated how much demand there was for people like her.  Just like she’d gravely underestimated how hard it would be to photograph a saola.
Apparently ‘critically endangered’ meant ‘rarer than a Meloetta in Hoenn’.  Anh sighed at the thought.  She missed Pokemon most of all, and had been craving to pick up her old Gameboy and play a new file for a little over three weeks now.  Sometimes she’d dreamed of playing, which only made things worse.
“Gettin’ tired, eh?”  That was the one thing she hated most about the photographer—how he occasionally punctuated sentences with that.  It wasn’t even a hard ‘ay’, like she’d heard Canadians say on television.  This was a dull, flat ‘uh’, as though he was asking her a question but didn’t have the passion to put any enthusiasm behind it.
“‘Bout time for a rest?”  Miles’ grin widened as he spoke, exposing a few missing teeth.
Anh sighed, plopping her bottom onto a rock.  “About time to give up, more like.”
He frowned.  “Miss Le, we’ve only jus’ got out here, eh?  Not much of a time for us to go quittin’ now.”  Despite his protest, he took a seat too, bringing out his camera, a Leica that had somehow escaped any of the dirt of their trek.  Anh had no idea how he kept the device immaculately clean.
Miles polished the camera meticulously as he continued to speak.  “‘Sides, it’s jus’ been...  Two months.”
“Miles.  It’s been three months.  We haven’t had shampoo for two.  I’m getting really sick of our rations, of which we only have a month’s supply.  I say we find a clear spot, call in the chopper, and just get the hell out of the Annamites.”  Anh sighed, rolling her sore shoulder.
“So you say we should jus’ give up, eh?  That your professional opinion talking?”
Were it not for her thirst, she’d have pegged her canteen at his head.  She allowed herself to finish its contents before responding.  “That’s absolutely what I’m saying.”
“Great!”  Anh blinked with surprise as Miles stood, aiming the lens of his camera at her.  “Though’ you’d never give up!”  He started fidgeting with the device, trying to catch her in all her muddy glory.
She waved him off.  “Miles, don’t.  I look disgusting.”  It was probably true, her hair had matted together, her tan skin was covered in insect bites and grime, even her clothes had more holes than she thought structurally possible.
“No, ’s cool, eh?  They says ‘don’t go comin’ back, less you have a pic of a saola, so that’s what I’m doin’.”
“What do you mean by that?”  Anh blinked.
The cameraman nodded by way of response, clicking the shutter of his tool.
Its sound was a little off.  Instead of the usual snap, it set off a high-pitched whine that raised the hairs on the back of Anh’s neck.  After a second, the noise abated.
“Miles, I think there’s something wrong with your camera.”  Anh sighed.  Looks like despite his care, something had gotten into the expensive device.
A lock of hair fell in her face.  She sighed, brushing it behind her head.  A second later, it returned with a few friends.  Anh glared, blowing at the hair irritably.  Then, she grabbed the tangled mess in her hand and pulled it back, intending to put it firmly behind her ear.
Only she didn’t have an ear anymore.  Anh blinked with surprise, letting go of her hair so she could pat the side of her head.  “M-Miles?”
“Yeah?”  He jogged over a few feet to catch her from another angle.
“Am I missing my ears, or am I going crazy?”  She raised up her other hand, patting both sides of her head.  Nothing but hair and smooth skin greeted her fingers.
Miles chuckled, snapping a few more pictures.  “Nah, they’re right where they should be.”  He patted the top of his head, oblivious to the brown palm print he’d left in his blonde hair.
Anh blinked with surprise, then she slowly raised one hand to the top of her head.  Her fingers brushed against something furry, and she yelped, pinching it.  To her surprise, she felt a spark of pain from it, whatever it was was a part of her body!
It twitched under her grasp, and Anh became acutely aware that she could hear her fingers brushing against whatever she had just grabbed.
“Miles, what the hell is going on?”
He clacked the camera a few more times as his reply.  Anh squealed as a massive headache made a violent entrance.  Her skull felt like it was pulling away from her body, two points centering their movement behind her temples.  She raised her hands to the offending sites, freezing as her fingers met bone.
It felt like she had a pair of horns growing from the back of her skull!  She patted them down repeatedly, trying to ignore the clacking of her rings against bone, picked up by her new sensitive ears.  They were short nubs, just a little behind her forehead.  What was happening to her?  Why was—
Anh’s thoughts came to a screeching halt.  She hadn’t worn rings since the first week of their trek.  She glanced down to her fingers, screaming as she saw they were now black.  As though they could feel her gaze upon them, her digits snapped together, hardening in place.  She could only watch as her hands balled up, slowly forming a pair of hooves.
Through this all, the damned camera kept clacking.  Anh glared accusingly at Miles.  He had to be the cause of this somehow.
He confirmed her suspicions a second later, not breaking his photographer’s stance.  “So, this company goes up and says, ‘Miles.  We know of your research.’”  He put on a fake Asian accent for her benefit.
Anh felt her hips collapse, and she windmilled her arms before falling on her new forehooves.  The leaves crunched beneath her, a too-loud sound that set her ears on edge
“‘You know we need picture of saola, to keep funding going.’”
The Vietnamese woman opened her mouth to speak, then had to grit her teeth as her neck lengthened, stretching away from her shoulders.  Her throat tingled, but that was nothing compared to the pain her jaw went through.
It felt like it had dislocated, suddenly growing much too large for the rest of her head.  Her mouth must have sensed this somehow, because her chin and nose pushed away from it.  Her nostrils flared as they slid towards the sides of her muzzle, and as Anh crossed her eyes, she was able to see them widening.
“And so, I say.  ‘You get me a woman.  I’m not into changing guys, okay?  Has to be a woman.  Set us out into the wild for a spell, and if we don’t find one of these ‘saolas’, and she gives up...  I make her one.”
Anh opened her mouth, to call him crazy, to beg him to change him back—she didn’t know which took priority.  Instead, only a deep bleat emerged from her throat.  The transforming woman blinked with surprise, then had to shut her eyes as they shifted to either side of her new head.
She didn’t close them because of the pain—this latest change was actually quite dull, as though she’d had a numbing agent injected.  She closed them because of the disorientation produced by the entire world around her panning out into a far wider view.
“So here we are, eh?  Don’ ask how—‘S a complicated serum involving frequency detection and all tha’, but here we are.  Wha’ a rush!”  She opened her eyes to find Miles beside her, his camera affixed to a tripod.  Its shutter snapped every few seconds, and she realized he had it on a timer.  “Well, for me, I mean.  For you, ‘s probably a rush, but innae differen’ way, eh?”
As he spoke his hands brushed against her sides, and she had to resist kicking him.  Instead, she focused on the itching sensation that was spreading across her face.  She shook her head, not even noticing how the action caused her human hair to fall from her scalp.  The breeze felt nice, helping to abate the itching that was driving her crazy.
It felt like a carpet of ants crawling across Anh’s scalp, and as it advanced from the back of her head into her field of vision, she could see a coat of brown fur making its way down her muzzle.
Anh felt a tug at her clothes, then a breeze, and tilted her neck back to find Miles had cut them off, tossing them into the foliage behind him.  She blinked, then glared at him accusingly.
“Don’ looki’ me like tha’!  You’re ge’in’ a coat of fur; you’ve no need for clothes!”  He scratched the back of her neck for emphasis.  With a start, she realized she felt his fingers through a thin coat of fuzz—she hadn’t even felt the itching there.
Miles must have noticed her ears perking in surprise.  “By now, most of the pain suppressant’s set in.  Body’ll change, but you should be nice and calm throughout it.  Don’t want you running away, eh?”  He rubbed the back of her ears as an explanation.
Anh wanted so dearly to disappoint him, to bolt at her first opportunity.  But Miles somehow knew how to calm her, and she ended up swaying back and forth gently beneath his nails’ massage.
Low grunts of pleasure came from her throat, even as her ribs cracked, her torso expanding to fit her new form.  She could feel her flank shudder, a sensation she’d never though herself capable of.
Anh’s backbone ached as it made its way from her body, and Miles directed some of his scratches there.  She thrust her bottom in the air as a short, deer-like tail sprouted from her backside, fluffing with a tuft of white fur.  She waggled it experimentally, finding the muscle with ease.
“All righ’.  I think you’re about done!”  Miles chirped, stopping his ministrations.  Anh blinked with surprise, looking back.  She hadn’t even felt her hooves change, much less each of her new legs.  She gazed around, admiring her new antelope-like body.
If Anh was honest, her form was prettier than she’d expected.  The majesty of an antelope, yet with the compact size of a goat.  She shook her backside to confirm the presence of small udders.  Maybe they could get some milk from her.
Boots crunched on leaves, and she snapped her head back up to find Miles walking back to his camera.
“Don’ go anywhere, eh?  Be a real pain to have to find you—‘less you like livin’ in the wild.”  He grunted, unscrewing his tripod.
Loathe though she was to admit it, he had a point.  He’d changed her into the bovine creature, so he’d naturally have a way out.  Right now, her best interests were staying with the geneticist.  Anh felt a mild pang of guilt that she’d doubted his work.  Then again, look at where his work got her.
Miles turned, snapping a few more shots of her.  “Righ’, we’re doing great.  Jus’ need you to do a few ‘natural’ poses, and we’ll be set.”
Anh blinked her large brown eyes twice, then shook her head.  She scuffed a Vietnamese dong into the ground, grunting as she pointed at the symbol.  Animal or not, she still had her intelligence, and also her priorities.
“Your pay?  Yeah, tha’ll still come.  I’m footin’ the bill anyways, the bonus from the Wildlife Conservatory’s jus’ icing.”  He waved her to the side, away from her marking.  “Can’ have tha’ in my pics, eh?”
Anh’s eyes widened, and she grunted with disbelief.  There was no way he had the money to take care of that massive paycheck.  She trotted to the side, but managed to arch her eyebrows skeptically.
Miles pouted as she looked him up and down, clearly taking in his perpetual state of disarray.
“Oh, come on!  I’m good for it!  ‘Sides, ‘s for your next two years as a saola.”  He snapped a shot of her reaction.  “Oh, tha’s perfect!  Real confused ‘n shocked, tha’ll be my poster for when I found you!”
Two years?  She flicked her ears in agitation.  If her horns were any longer, she’d consider trying to ram him—even if it left her as an animal.  She could make it in the wild... maybe.
“Hey.”  The geneticist snapped his fingers to get her attention.  “Tourism’s good, eh?  You ‘n me, we’ll get all the cash while you’re in ‘captivity’.”  Miles exaggerated the word for effect.  “Then, when they wan’ you released back in the wild, I change you back.”
Anh was torn.  On the one hand—hoof, she could do as he asked, be held captive for two years.  On the other...  She’d be captive in a strange body, unable to get changed back.
Suddenly captivity under human watch seemed a better option.  Plus, a zoo animal lived the spoiled life.  Even if she couldn’t play Pokemon, it shouldn’t be too hard to get a TV for days when the zoo had no visitors.  And even over two years, that salary was huge.
The saola nodded, having made up her mind.  She trotted her way over to some nearby foliage, finding a bush that smelled appetizing.  Anh started crunching at the leaves; then turned to Miles expectantly.  She flicked one of her ears, doing her best to arch her eyebrows.
He roared with laughter, taking a knee.  “Atta girl!  Now, we’ll one like tha’, then another with you kneelin’ all sleepy-like.  Make for a good pic for the kids, eh?”
She sighed.  Maybe eventually she’d be able to convey how much she hated that expression.  But for now, they had a job to do.