“I wouldn’t think so. No cars, or nosy doctors. Better yet, no military trying to round us up for test studies,” he said.
“What?” asked Ginny,
“I’ll tell you more in the car. Here comes that little docent again to tell us how he worked some piece of machinery for the fifth time,” said Patrick.
“How are you doing folks?” asked the docent who must have been in his eighties.
“Just fine. Almost done. Thank you for a lovely tour sir,” said Ginny.
“Well, glad to be of assistance. I grew up in these mountains and I like being able to share with people who come to the museum,” the docent said.
“Thank you again,” said Patrick. The two of them shook hands with the docent and then headed out the door. The docent waved from the doorway of the museum.
“Patrick, was there anything odd about that old man, or am I just going ditzy?” asked Ginny.
“No, nothing wrong with your senses. If I am correct, somewhere back about two generations there is a wolf in the woodpile. He’s a null. One of those non-shifting wolves. You know, like that cousin you told me about,” he said. “Probably an eighth shifter or less.”
“You know, you’re right. Poor old guy probably wonders why he was always stronger or faster than his peers,” said Ginny.
“Exactly. Genetics are interesting when it comes to a null. Wonder if Dr. Jeff keeps records?” mulled Patrick.
“No idea. Now what was this about military and test studies?” she asked as they headed over a pass to the next museum.
Patrick sighed. “I wasn’t always an economist. I enlisted when I was eighteen. Stooooopid idea! I made it through basic and then got asked if I wanted to do special ops. I agreed. The idea of being a Ranger sounded good. I started going through the training and about half way through, they send you out on a survival trip. A week in an area you aren’t familiar with and you have to get from point A to point B,” he said.
“Okay, so how was that a bad thing?” she asked.
“I came back eight pounds heavier,” he said.
“So? Why was that a problem?” she asked.
“Most guys come back starved. Ten pounds less, and looking like shit. So, they figured I cheated some how. They sent me back out again, and this time, I had a buddy. We had to survive together,” Patrick said. He turned onto a side street following the signs to the fort they were going to visit. He parked the car and turned to face Ginny.
“I take it you didn’t starve,” she said.
“No, but about an hour into the hike, the buddy, a sargent stopped me and said that we needed to talk,” said Patrick.
“Okay, quit with the suspense,” said Ginny.
“He looked at me and said, ‘Grunt, are you a shifter?’ I was rather startled and started to deny it. Then he growled at me sub-vocally and let his eyes shift from gray-green to yellow as I stood there staring at him. I answered ‘YES SIR’ about two seconds later,” said Patrick.
“Shit! That must have been one hell of a shock,” said Ginny.
“It was. We sat down and talked for most of the afternoon. He said he had thought I was a shifter, but coming back fat had been a big give-a-way. He got assigned to me and figured we’d better talk before the rest of the military found out,” he said.
“Before the rest found out?” asked Ginny.
“Yes. Apparently there is a whole sub-culture of shifters in the military. Most of them are special ops. We tend to survive better. Most try to avoid being discovered. Otherwise, there are those sections of the military that want to test us like we are guinea pigs. He’d been poked and prodded and had made it his mission to help shifters avoid detection. He said he had a 70% success rate,” said Patrick.
“Did you get out after that?” asked Ginny.
“No, passed the survival course and became a good troop. Learned to pass for human. Served eight years and then got out. Sarge had shown up at my door one evening. He was in civvies and had that haunted look to his face you see from people that have PTSD. He’d come to warn me that the military was now doing blood work to try and isolate shifters. He’d been in the ‘Land O Sand’ and had avoided it, but heard that those found were being sent to a base in Georgia for further tests. He’d declined his next chance to re-up and retired. He suggested that I do the same. I let him stay with me for a few weeks, while I checked things out,” he said.
“What did you find out?” asked Ginny. She had heard some odd stories from time to time but had dismissed them.
“Sarge was right. I got called out on a routine mission and came down on the wrong part of my foot. Twisted my ankle and nearly dislocated my knee. I ended up in the hospital. I thought I was having a lot more blood work than needed, and made a note of the techs. When Sarge came to see me, I gave him the names and he did some checking,” said Patrick who stopped to take a drink from his water bottle.
“And, what happened?” asked Ginny.
“Well, he and this doctor I’d never seen before came into my room the next afternoon. Asked all kinds of questions about pain levels and my knee. I thought things were a bit odd, but I wasn’t sure what was going on. I just kept answering questions. The doctor excused himself and Sarge watched to make sure no one was headed our way. Then he told me that the doctor wasn’t a shifter, but he was on our side. He pulled a bag out of his pocket and it was full of blood ampules. They were labeled with my name, rank and data,” said Patrick.
“Geeze!” said Ginny. “What happened?”
“Two days later, this general came in and told me that I was getting a medical discharge. Too much damage to my knee. I’d barely walk, and was of no use to my unit anymore. I signed some papers and less than forty-eight hours later, I was a civilian,” said Patrick.