I could have answered him a moment before he asked the question, but now, my mind seemed utterly blank.

“Mr. Rawlins?”

My name. That might be my name. A lot of other things were trying to crowd back into my mind as well. “Yes. I mean, yes, Detective.”

“I asked if you could describe the perpetrator beyond his being feline, anything that struck you as unusual or different?”

“He was...” I paused again, shook my head to clear it. “I’m not being at all helpful; I’m sorry.”

“Shock, sir. It plays tricks on us all. Breathe evenly, give yourself a moment.”

I nodded, cleared my throat. “I didn’t even get an impression of species. Feline, yes; ears, tail... the tail was long, possibly spotted, although I didn’t see it well in the dark.” I’d been in an alleyway, after all. I could almost remember that much. I nodded some more. “Dark athletic jacket, solid color, black, maybe navy. Average build, maybe 180cm tall, although he was crouching, and I’m trying to adjust for that...”

“Good, good. Sounds like a lot of detail coming back to you.”

“Yes,” I murmured softly. I didn’t want to tell him how much was coming back to me, because what was returning was making no sense at all. How do I explain to a policeman that the person who robbed me took everything? Money, jewelry, identification, identity, body, mind, self... and left me his in his place?

I felt the bulldog’s forepaw on my shoulder, comforting, understanding. “You need some rest, sir. I’ll give you my card; you can call if anything more comes to you, and I’ll check in with you as soon as anything turns up. Would you like one of us to take you home?”

Doing my best not to flinch, I told him, “Thank you, Detective, but no; I think maybe the time to get there on my hindpaws would do me good. Might remember more.”

“Just as you wish, sir. Not far, is it?”

“Near enough. Again, thank you.”

I turned slowly away from him and began padding slowly toward the address that belonged to Mr. Rawlins. I’m Mr. Rawlins, and I’m going home, except I’m neither of those. How could that be true? “Me” is somewhere else, and all I remember is that I’m feline and about 180cm, although Mr. Rawlins is about 170cm, canine, and all of his memories started flooding in, trying to take me over, but some part of me, the feline, real me, was still out there somewhere, trying to be something for Mr. Rawlins.

I stopped, leaned against a very solid wall of someplace (library, I think; yes, it’s the library, Rawlins knows it, despite never going in), trying to resist the onslaught of the dog’s memories. They were so random, and I couldn’t make sense of what they were all about. I’ve heard the term “brainstorm,” and the image was made nearly literal. I used my (his?) forepaws to pat down trouser pockets; only some keys, and I (he?) knew the address for them. Going there was all I could think to do, or maybe it was him thinking… oh godsdammit, I had to think, whoever I was; I had to go hole up somewhere and think this out.

The dog’s gait was unfamiliar, his body large, and it felt clumsy. None of my feline grace, or even strength, was left me. The dog seemed old, tired, and his body was even more strange to me because of it. There is such a thing as “muscle memory,” and I let the body satisfy itself as much as I dared. There was still a Me in here, and I clung to its shreds even as this urban neighborhood began to feel familiar. The body seemed to want to head into a local watering hole, and I firmly vetoed the impulse; if there was a “home,” it might provide that quiet place that I needed.

Only a few blocks away from the bar, an apartment building held the right address. I mounted the stoop awkwardly, wanting to move more quickly than the dog’s body seemed willing to go. I quit trying to force it, finding myself at the front door, facing an electronic keypad. The right forepaw (I, the real Me, am left-pawed) and punched in a four-digit code that I barely acknowledged. The lock operated, I opened the door, and padded into a vestibule more deserving of the idea of “tenement” rather than “apartment building.”

Happily, the only odors present were from cooking and ordinary life, rather than from bodily wastes left by transients and poor plumbing. I’d only read of such places; that’s as near to them as I care to get. Stairs to the right, an elevator to the left. The body moved toward the elevator even though it probably could have taken the stairs. I made the guess that Rawlins was a wee tad lazy. In the car, the right forepaw pressed “3” carefully. There were only four floors to the building and (he knew) two apartments to each floor. I wished that the elevator would be quicker, but it really didn’t take long. Another vestibule waited, with 3F to the right, 3R to the left, which was my destination. The body again took over, right forepaw into the trouser pocket, the key retrieved, inserted, door opened… I was a passenger in a strange vehicle. I wondered if VR games felt like this.

I leaned against the closed, triple-locked door and felt his body relax while I took a look at the place. All in all, it could have been much worse. The last of the evening light filtered in through windows that had little view save the wall of a neighboring building, but it was something. Large living room, lived-in but not cluttered; I could tell where the kitchen and dining area would be, and there were two bedrooms and a bathroom beyond. An efficient floor plan with maybe 90+ square meters. Very comfortable for one furson, perhaps two cooperative housemates. I wasn’t sure that I wanted to know too much about how Rawlins got to be here, for fear of losing what tenuous grip I had on Myself.

Both I and this body wanted to sit down. The sofa was reasonably comfortable, and I had the impression that the body wanted to lay down on it, perhaps to take a nap. I exercised whatever control I had to stay seated, compromising by putting a throw pillow behind my head and leaning back. Closing my eyes, I tried to focus on what had happened. The body of Rawlins was now mine, and a big chunk of his mind was rattling around as if trying to take control of Me by sheer volume. I still had enough of Me to feel separate from Rawlins, but even ignoring (with great difficulty) that I had somehow been usurped from my own body and thrust into this one, I had no idea what to do. I wanted all of Me back, including my body, thank you very much, but how was I to do that?

I had a very nasty suspicion, but it wasn’t something I wanted to risk.

Before all else, I worked on trying to remember Me, a name, species (more specific than merely “feline”), address, work, family, friends, anything that I could hold on to. The mess that was Rawlins tried to slot things into those places, his family, his friends, and I fought it off. I wasn’t doing a very good job of it. Rawlins’ self was still flying around in a thousand pieces, not making any sense. What felt different was a sense of urgency, which is what I was fighting against; I wasn’t going to let him push me away out of mere panic.

“Freeze.”

Rawlins’ blood complied instantly, the rest of the body wisely following suit. All of those raging fragments of the dog’s memory tried to scream, and I turned a deaf inner ear to them. I managed to ease the eyelids open enough to see a large, hard-bodied Doberman, kitted out in tight-fitting, dark camo garb and aiming a gun at me. I was torn between shutting my lids again, to block out this horror, or opening them wide, to put my craven fear on full display. The fear won out.

“Where is it?”

“What?” I managed to squeak. “Where is what?”

“Don’t play games with me, mutt!” The gun moved closer to me, as if it would make a difference to the result. “Where’s the books?”

A strange electronic warbling sound accompanied the slow collapse of the Dobie to the floor, as if all of his muscles had jellied at the same time. Behind where the dog had stood was now a black sable aiming what looked like another gun, except very strangely formed: a short, slender muzzle, a grip for the forepaw but no clip. He wore a lightweight trench coat over casual yet somehow stylish shirt and trousers. He smiled at me and spoke softly.

“You seem to be in a spot of bother, Mr. Macias.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The sound of my name shot through me like a thunderbolt. “Macias!” I squeaked. “I’m Macias! I’m…” The rest of my name skittered away from me, and I grunted in frustration. I then realized that the sable’s gun was pointed toward me as well, and I stopped moving.

As if reading my thoughts, or at least my fear, the sable lowered his weapon, then put it into a shoulder holster. He smiled at me, not meanly. “My name is Hunter,” he said quickly, “and I’ve been following you since your talk with the police detective, a little while ago. You have a thousand and six questions, at the very least, and I will answer as many as possible… but not here. Once this gentlefur,” he gestured to the Dobie, “fails to report in promptly, others will start looking for him. We need to leave.”

I glanced at my assailant. “You killed him,” I said numbly.

“Not at all. He’s asleep. Won’t have even a hangover.” The mustelid patted his shoulder holster. “I prefer not to kill, when it’s avoidable. It usually is. Shall we get you out of here? No, wait…” He waved me toward the back of the apartment. “Waste not, want not.”

Getting up to follow him seemed difficult for this body, but the adrenaline pouring through its veins was helping. I found him in Rawlins’ bedroom, going through the closet. “What…?” Seeing him locate and pull out a canvas airline bag from the closet gave me the clue. I didn’t like the idea, and he responded to it without even a glance at me.

“These clothes fit that body; they appear to be clean. Get into the dresser.”

As the sable took a small selection of pants and shirts off of hangers, beginning swiftly to fold them into the duffle, I made myself rifle through the drawers for undergarments, also finding a few soft shirts and a pair of fleece pants. I set them on the bed, rightly guessing that Hunter would pack more efficiently than I could. He selected a few bits of everything, with a view to speed and low encumbrance. I had no idea why that notion popped into my head, but it made sense.

“Hall closet,” he said crisply.

I somehow knew that he was sending me for another jacket to supplement the one I was wearing. Rawlins’ body or self or whatever grabbed a lightweight outer jacket for rain; spring was getting warmer, no need for a heavy coat. Back in the bedroom, the sable looked on approvingly as I shucked out of the one I was wearing, handing it to him to pack while I put on the one from the closet. The action felt right, although I couldn’t say why. He zipped up the duffle and nodded to the bedroom window.

“You feel up to the fire escape?” When I hesitated, he nodded. “Inside stairs, out the back way; should work. I’ll lead.” Grabbing the duffel, he suited actions to words, assuming I’d follow.

Good assumption.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Our escape was happily unremarkable. Stairs are easier down than up; the back door into the alleyway held no surprise visitors; the street held enough others that it made any sort of ambush seem unlikely. Hunter was reluctant to talk during our trek, and that was probably a good idea. Despite my body being weaker, I was…

No. Rawlins’ body. I made myself, my Self, hang on to that. It felt more difficult than before, and I couldn’t focus on everything at once.

“Mr. Macias,” the sable said quietly.

I almost stumbled. The name gave me some focus again.

“Repeat your name, in your head. We have only a few more blocks to go, then I can be of more help.”

Breathing as carefully as I could, I held onto the name, every other pawstep, keeping the rhythm, Macias, Macias, Macias, Macias…

With a gentle tug on my arm, Hunter guided me into the entrance of a convenience store that had seen better days yet still managed to hang on in this urban neighborhood. The young human behind the counter looked barely old enough to qualify for the job. He glanced up from his phone and regarded us with faint suspicion. The sable smiled at him, saying, “Not a particularly glamorous job, is it?”

“What’s it to you?” the kid sneered.

“Nothing, friend,” soothed my rescuer. “We all have places to be, things to do. I wonder if you could help me with something. My companion here has had a bit of a shock; I thought perhaps we could find some remedy here. Where might you keep the first aid supplies?”

“Back of the store, last aisle, third shelf section.”

“Remarkable memory.”

“Done this a few times.”

Hunter nodded, again smiling. “Practice makes perfect. I’ll leave this with you for just a moment…” He set the duffel down at the kid’s feet.

Throughout this exchange, I kept a focus on my name, trying to convince myself that help was at paw. I was beginning to worry, as I sensed something working to take me over by sheer force of will, someone else’s will, Rawlins trying to take over, pushing, flooding, Macias being the sole plank of wood keeping me afloat, Macias, Macias…

A dreamlike feeling. Things happening. Moving this body, Rawlins’ body, through the store, down narrow aisles, the sable behind me, prodding, saying something I couldn’t hear through the deep waters in my head. His forepaw on my arm, moving me toward a fully-stocked shelf of canned goods, no this should be first aid, where is this, something else moving, and me moving, and Hunter moving, into a dark space, his forepaws on my head, this sable’s forepaws on my head, who is this furson, where was I —

“Nathaniel Adelbert Macias, can you hear me?”

Yes. Me. My name. My name. I could… almost…

“Keep moving. Count to ten, slowly, and keep moving.”

One. Two. Th—

“Aloud. Move this way.”

“One.” Dark corridor. Still moving. “Two.” Wall in front of me.

“Hunter; confirming Gemini, escalating, Code Blue.”

“Three.” The wall divided; moving into the space. “Four.”

Elevator; descending, quickly. “Five.” Further down; sable helping take off the jacket. “Six.” Descent slowing, stopping. “Seven.” Doors opening; moving forward. “Eight.”

“Over here.” New voice.

“Nine.” Pressed against a wall; tearing; shirt sleeve gone; something cold pressing, arm muscle, hissing, thud.

The next word out of my maw should have been ten, but it was a far cruder word, and it came out as a shout. Swimming sensations in my head caused me to swoon on my hindpaws; a chair appeared miraculously in time to catch me, as did the sable and his new companion.

“Pneumatic injections work,” Hunter noted, “but they don’t tickle.” He put a gentle forepaw to my shoulder. “You should start feeling better quickly.”

I didn’t answer, turning instead to look at his companion. He was middle-aged, full-sized, his complexion appearing to be what is called “ruddy,” his head capped reddish hair. He had kind eyes, for a human. I had enough of Me left to chastise myself for the observation; the prejudice had been instilled long ago, and there were plenty of experiences since that have given it the lie. Clearly, the man had helped me, and he seemed genuinely concerned for me.

“Explanations shortly,” he said softly. “Keep breathing. Yes, I’m a doctor. You’re in good hands… and paws, for that matter.”

“Political correctness, Andrew?”

“It’s called ‘inclusiveness,’ these days.” The human grinned. “Get with the times, Hunter.”

“Heaven forefend. I prefer something more noirish.”

“No gadgets?”

The sable paused, then nodded. “You got me.”

As the doctor chuckled amiably, Hunter turned back to me. “There are more comfortable places than this to hear answers to your questions. Do you feel able to stand, Nathaniel?”

Nathaniel Adelbert Macias. The name rang clearly in my head. For some reason, just the sound of my name, my name, made the difference. I nodded then, getting just a little help from the other two, and I gained my hindpaws. They released me when they were sure that I wouldn’t simply fall over and, with a measured pace, they led me down the dark hall, the doctor in front, Hunter behind. It wasn’t far; it was the dim lighting that made it seem sinister. At the end, the doctor paused to put his hand on the wall, not pressing, just holding, and shortly after came the click. Another door opened, soft light pouring through it, and we entered, taking a moment to let our eyes adjust. I took a few more, to try to understand what it was that I was seeing.

Three casually-clad fursons — well, a human female along with a tigress and a male sergal — stood or sat at consoles, wearing headsets and what appeared to be some kind of goggles. The consoles made little sense to me, either, as there appeared to be readouts that I baffled me. All three of them made motions with their hands/forepaws that I couldn’t understand either. After several seconds, the tigress made a sweeping gesture across the air, darkening her screens, and she turned to address us.

“Nakajima told us to expect you.”

“You were monitoring us anyway,” Hunter smiled. “And I thank you for it.”

I still couldn’t understand what was going on. Everyone spoke English just fine. Words, I got; understanding, no. Something was changing, because I felt the sensation of Rawlins in my mind, but it wasn’t trying to take over. There was Me here, Macias, and it was Me who was doing the thinking.

We were moving once again, down a better-lit hallway, wider, swathed in neutral colors that were functional yet not sterile white. I found myself wondering what sort of business would house offices underground, not to mention have pneumatic injection devices, some sort of monitoring control room…

“Please, Nathaniel.”

The doctor waved me into a small conference room containing large oblong table, functional yet comfortable-looking, low-backed office chairs around it, and a small wet bar to one side. There, a young, blonde-haired human female, slim, solid, also casually clad, was preparing a selection of mugs. She smiled at me. “Feeling up to a cuppa?” Her accent was some flavor of British, but I couldn’t be more specific than that.

“Have a seat, Nathaniel,” said the doctor. Turning to the woman, he said, “Tisane for me, at this time of evening.”

“Decaf coffee for me,” Hunter added, “despite it being a sacrilege to the bean. Bring the milk and sugar bowl; that might be enough buzz.” He set a forepaw to my shoulder again. “Something for you? Coffee? Tea? Before you suggest something stronger, we do have such tipples available nearby, but I do think you need a clear head.”

“Is there cocoa?” I definitely wanted cocoa, although I was finally being securely self-aware enough to realize how strange this body’s voice sounded to me.

“Good on ye,” the woman nodded smiling, setting to work on our orders.

We sat at the narrow end, with Hunter and the doctor across from me. The sable smiled, friendly, understanding, despite my not being able to understand the slightest bit of any of this. “Let me start with a stupid question: What do you know about yourself?”

“I know that I am Nathaniel Adelbert Macias. I know that I am somehow inside the body of someone named Rawlins. I am feline, but this body is canine. I remember trying to tell a police detective that I’d been robbed, injured, that everything had been stolen, including my body, but how could I tell him that?” I breathed as evenly as I could. “I was drowning in Rawlins’ thoughts until that injection. It feels like everything about him is just beyond some wall, and it’s still swirling, waiting…” I looked into the sable’s eyes. “Can you tell me what’s happened to me?”

“You have become an unwitting and involuntary participant in a very high-level game of espionage.” He raised a forepaw. “You are safe here, and you are not in any legal jeopardy. We can help you, and we will. First, we need to explain what’s happened, then we can outline what to do next.”

The woman brought the tray over to us, four steaming mugs set out as perfectly as any server could do. “It’s hot, mind,” she said. “Give it a bit before trying it.”

“Manners,” Hunter shook his head. “Mine, I mean. Nathaniel, this is Dr. Andrew Dyre, and our fine hostess is Kayleigh Porter, who is much more than a serving wench, although I tease her about it often.”

“Joke’s not so old it’s worth killin’ over.”

“Glad to hear it,” I muttered, very much taken aback.

“Speaking of manners,” Dyre observed dryly. “Don’t worry, Nathaniel; she’s not nearly so bloodthirsty as she appears. At least, not inside the headquarters.”

I think I smiled. I wasn’t sure.

“Nathaniel.” Hunter pulled my attention back to him. “What has happened to you is called ‘hijacking,’ appropriately enough. It’s a method of mind-swapping, or more accurately, mind-imprinting. The process isn’t efficient when attempted on the run like this. You were indeed assaulted, dragged into an alleyway, and the swap was made to happen.”

“Science fiction,” I said.

“Sci-fi’s got nowt on us,” Kayleigh grinned winningly.

“The specifics are tedious,” the doctor picked up the thread. “Worked properly, it can provide information to deep cover agents. The agent keeps his or her own identity fully but can tap into the other’s information, available as-needed. When the process is properly performed, donors of information don’t lose themselves; in computer terms, it’s like copying files onto another drive. There may be some brief disorientation in the donor, perhaps a few days, but there’s no actual loss.”

“In your case, someone tried to take as much of you as possible, literally creating a new identity for himself, new body and all.” Hunter held my gaze. “If we hadn’t gotten you here in time, the injection wouldn’t have worked, and Rawlins’ mind would have pushed you out entirely.”

“He’s still in here,” I said. “How can he still be all here, if he went into my body?”

“And now we welcome you into the spy game, friend.” Dyre offered his most sympathetic smile. “It’s impossible to fathom every aspect of yourself; you are the sum of every moment of your life. There are, however, ways to compartmentalize certain aspects of yourself. Imagine a compartment called ‘Spy,’ with all the components of your knowledge and training in that profession, everything you’ve learned during your mission, all you need to know to complete that mission. There might not be much of a ‘person’ left in that box, but it could still help you get the mission done.”

“He copied those files into me,” I tried, not even sure what I was saying.

“And ran off to leave Rawlins’ body, his physical identity, with you.” Kayleigh’s smile was rough, not sympathetic, but real. “If that body got killed, no matter to him. You’re the perfect decoy.”

I swallowed, remembering the visitor at Rawlins’ apartment. By the look in his eyes, Hunter remembered also.

“Yes, the Doberman was there to get information from you. Information that you didn’t have anymore; it went with whoever had hijacked Rawlins when he left with your body. If the Dobie hadn’t been able to get what he was after, he might well have killed you, to tie up a loose end.”

Shuddering, I tried to turn my attention to my cocoa. I raised it, sniffing carefully, discovering a richness that I’d not noticed before. I had the notion of the dog’s nose being more sensitive than my own, canine versus feline. The idea was insane, but so was everything else about this. The ceramic was warm against my lips, but not bad. I risked some of the fluid — still too hot to guzzle, but I got a taste of it, and a taste of chocolate cures many ills. Setting the mug back down, I looked to Kayleigh. “Thank you.”

“No worries,” she said. Her smile seemed nicer now.

Once more, I tried to get a grip on my situation. “You’re telling me that Rawlins is a spy?”

“Actually,” the sable seemed rueful, “he is in much the same boat as yourself. The object of our pursuit is the spy, who hijacked Rawlins in much the same way as he did you.”

Dyre noted, “In a medical and computer sense, he’s a virus, spreading himself from one host to the next.”

“You mean there are others?”

“We don’t know yet,” Hunter said. “That’s why we need your help.”

I took a deep breath, let it out forcefully. “What do I do?”

“For a moment, just listen.” He took a breath and dove in. “Nathaniel Adelbert Macias, 32, cheetah, single, graduate of Colorado State University, major in finance… sounding familiar?”

My mind, my mind, felt a huge jolt, as if suddenly lit up like fireworks at New Year. I couldn’t remember everything, but there was a sense of it, of me, of the shape of me, a few memories slotting into what was a vast empty space of uncertainty about everything. I felt my heart speeding up a little, my breath quickening. I looked to Hunter and nodded swiftly. “Me,” I said. “It’s me.”

“Nathaniel, you won’t get all of yourself back at once. Going through your information a little further will help you to feel less lost. Now, I want you to look at your forepaw.”

I did, momentarily taken aback by seeing the canine appendage, then remembered my predicament. I used it to reach for the mug of cocoa anyway, raising it to my lips, sipping carefully before setting the mug back down again.

“What’s his first name, anyway?” Dyre asked casually.

“Trevor,” I answered, then felt my eyes grow wide.

“You’ll notice that we waited for you to set your mug down first,” Kayleigh grinned.

I kept going. “His name is Trevor Rawlins, and he’s 57, got issues with his back, makes it more difficult to walk, and he… he…”

“Nathaniel.” Hunter got my attention again. “You can know him without losing yourself now. That’s how a deep cover operative does it. If I give you the name ‘Shana Massey,’ what do you know?”

“My boss, the General Manager at Avalon Bank. She’s…” I blinked. “My boss, I mean, mine, Nathaniel’s boss. Hired me in…” I shook my head. “I can’t remember.”

“You’ll remember more, over time; it will help us get you back to where you’re supposed to be.” He paused. “Getting there will require a somewhat… convoluted route.”

“What’s the catch?”

“Only that we need you to help us retrieve some information.”

I thought about what I’d been through in the past few hours. What the Dobie had said. Where’s the books? “Something Rawlins took.”

“Perhaps just what his body was involved in.” The sable’s whiskers twitched in a rueful smile. “We’re not as up to speed as we seem to be. Luck, more than anything else, led us to find you… or, more accurately, Rawlins. We were hoping to persuade him to help us with tracking down this information.”

Maybe he saw something in my face; it wasn’t my real face, but some expressions are universal across species. Hunter smiled softly at me.

“No, Nathaniel; not with threats, violence, or drugs. We’re a little more sophisticated than that. As it is, however, we’re going to have to improvise a bit. Our job is now both easier and more difficult, for all of us. I hope that you’ll understand why.” He leaned forward and spoke softly.

“We need you to be Trevor Rawlins.”

…to be continued