Dee-Anne's Goat

Commission for TF Jennifer
Goat: Wikimedia

Dee-Anne hated animals. Ever since she was bitten by her parent’s parrot and attacked by a neighbourhood dog in the same day, she'd never trusted them. In the distant past, this would have meant she'd have lived her life without pets and no an would have cared. But after the Great Ecological Collapse, things had become very different. Three generations had given of themselves to regenerate the missing species of the past. Even in recent times, when the ecological collapse was a distant and receding memory, it was every citizen's duty to spend one stint of two years in the Bio-Diversity Corps.

When Dee-Anne received her summons to appear at the nearest BDC office, she panicked. She hated animals and was afraid of them. To become half animal herself terrified her. Taking her few belongings, and not even waiting to finish her final month of High School, she ran. She got on the first bus to anywhere. For twenty-five days, she eluded her imagined pursuers by sleeping in deserted buildings (there were still far too many of them) or abandoned vehicles. She expected to be caught at any moment but, strangely, she eventually concluded that no one was after her.

She made her way back into civilization gradually. There were none of the wanted posters her imagination had supplied. In fact, it seemed that they weren't even pursuing her. She assumed, because no names of wanted ABC fugitives were ever announced on TV or radio, that no one ever ducked their civic duty. Slowly, as further months passed, she concluded that the whole process wasn't as carefully regulated as she'd thought. They probably didn't even care about her.

It was hard to get anything other than menial positions though. Without High School, not much was available. Robots were cheap and reliable. Unskilled human help was of little use. Eventually, she got caught up with similarly disadvantaged people and began to feel their sense of being on the outside, without a chance. Street gangs, though not the problem they were in the early twenty first century, still existed. She made her way up the ranks within the Coldreavers by running packages at first. She didn't care what was in them only that the delivery fee was more than she could make as a menial in a day.

Within a year or so, she'd saved enough for a gun and ammunition and had learned how to shoot. This got her admitted to the Guards arm of the Coldreavers. She was on call to enforce the gang's edicts on the local population or bully other gangs when needed. Despite the crowd she was with, she tried to avoid doing anything more than bluster. Her black leather jacket and gun was usually all that was needed to cow someone. Whenever she confronted another gang, she was always in a huge group. The other gang would always give ground with little more than curses and threats. Or at least until that fateful night, three years after she'd joined the Guards.

This time, the forces were about even. The shouting and cursing quickly escalated. Guns were drawn, Dee-Anne included. Bullets flew and several on both sides fell. Flesh wounds for the most part but there were other casualties. Three Coldreavers and five of their rivals lay dead on the ground. One of the dead, unfortunately, carried a bullet from Dee-Anne's gun in her heart. The police arrived within the hour. Both sides had scattered but modern methods included reading the scanners that were a legacy of the Terrorist Years before the Great Collapse. It only took a few minutes to identify the gangs involved and the shooters. Robotic warders broke down the solid doorway of the gang's strong room within minutes. Four canisters of knockout gas made short work of the Coldreavers present. Much of the gang's leadership and about half the Guards found themselves waking up in a lock down unit.

The preliminary hearing was set for three days away and each captured member was grilled about their actions and associates. The Anti-Terror Laws of 2015 allows the government to interrogate by any means terrorists. Since belonging to a criminal organization had been made a terrorist activity in 2027, all that the preliminary hearing had to establish was that the gang was involved in terrorist activities. Extortion and threats were considered terrorism and so the gang members, in effect, had no civil rights. Everything could and was used against them. Truth drugs were the minimum of the tools used. Dee-Anne, still shocked by the fight and the deaths, collapsed entirely and spilled everything she knew. She didn't even need the effect of the truth drugs. She told them everything she knew or had done all the way back to her escape from BDC service.  Her testimony, as well as that of others, soon had the city's six gangs completely rounded up. This took several weeks and by that time, Dee-Anne found herself facing the judge a second time.

"Dee-Anne Villiers, how do you plead?"
"Guilty, Your Honour," she stated.
"Of all charges."
"Yes," she hung her head. "Yes."

The judge signalled the two attorneys forward for a hasty conference. After a few minutes, her attorney returned to his seat. The judge looked at Dee-Anne.

"This whole series of events started when you ran from your BDC stint. Is this so?"
"Yes, Your Honour."
"So, rather than face becoming part animal for a brief time as our law and custom requires, you ran?"
"Yes, Your Honour."
"Very well. There are mitigating circumstances and the prosecuting attorney has agreed to a minimal sentence of five years in one of the Production Facilities. We will post your name as available as soon as these proceedings are concluded. Is there anything else you would add Miss?"
"Nothing, Your Honour."

Dee-Anne put her head on her arms on the table in front of her. How had she gone so very wrong? Would it have been so bad? It was temporary and some people even enjoyed it enough to stay part of the BDC rather than return to society. The judge's gavel startled her and she rose with everyone else. Her robot warder, attached to her wrist by a solid metal clamp escorted her, not towards the cell block, but towards the normal exit. Dee-Anne was confused. Was she being released?

A large white BDC van was parked on the street outside the courthouse. She found herself stuffed unceremoniously into the van along with nine other women from her gang. All, like herself, had confessed and weren't anything more than gang members. It was rumoured that the leaders would get special treatment. The ride in the hot van soon had everyone's tempers frayed. No one thought of doing anything too excessive though. Beside each was a robot warder with a hypodermic in the clasp around each wrist.

The road abruptly changed from smooth to rough and finally the ride ended. The door abruptly opened and Dee-Anne could just make out the silhouette of someone in a white coat against the bright outside light.

"Okay animals, out!" a voice commanded.

There was a bit of grumbling but this was enforced by the tug of the warders As they pulled their charges from the van. Those that came willingly, ended up on their feet, others ended on all fours.

"On your feet!"

There was more grumbling but within a few minutes, the ten stood in a row before a large white building. They didn't have too long to wait as three other similar vans soon arrived and disgorged thirty other women. They were from a virtually all of the gangs and Dee-Anne knew that most had received the light sentence that she'd received. The warders soon had them lined up in four rows of ten each.

"You are here to pay your penalty by serving the society you have wronged. For the next five years, you will be part of the XTS139 facility that produces special milk for people with various allergies. As part of this, you will be adapted to increase your yield. You will now proceed through the doors ahead of you in single file. Inside, you will comply with every instruction given you. Failure to do so will result in harsher treatment and may result in reassignment to a less desirable facility."
"Bullshit, man," Ktinga, her gang mate shouted.

A sudden shock from her warder brought her to her knees.

"Silence, animals! Now march."

Dee-Anne followed Ktinga, who was nursing a painful arm muscle. Inside, they were distributed, one by one, to various examination rooms. Once the door closed, behind her, Dee-Anne, for the first time since her sentence was pronounced, met another human being.

"What ..." she began.
"Quiet, animal. You're here to serve society not ask questions. Now strip!"

Dee-Anne, even after years in a gang, was shy about her naked body and tried to protest. Her warder had other ideas. A half dozen shocks of ever increasing intensity soon convinced her the necessity of following orders. She was soon standing naked in front of the man who paid as little attention to her feminine form as a farmer would pay attention to a cow. He poked her, prodded her, took various samples and then told her to enter a large cabinet to one side.

"Now wait there," he stated coldly.
"But ..."

A shock at her wrist brought her down. It was several minutes before she regained her feet and staggered, with her wrist and arm painful, into the cabinet. The warder disconnected herself once she was inside and retreated back outside. She heard a series of machines move around the outside of the cabinet. Finally, she felt the sting of a needle in her buttocks.

"Ouch, dammit," she protested. "What the fuck are you doing to me?"

There was a pause and a second door opened. She found herself in a collection of similarly naked women in a large room. All looked suitably cowed and even a little terrified. Dee-Anne sought out the few women she recognized and was reasonably close friends with.

"What's going on?" she asked Ktinga.
"Damned if I know. Shit, my arm is still sore."
"Doc needs better bedside manner, for sure," added Geraldine to her left.
"Yours too? asked Dee-Anne. "It was like I was a piece of meat ..."
"More some kind of domestic animal more like it," Ktinga stated.
"I wonder what is going to happen next?" Dee-Anne asked.

No one had anything more than guesses but it was clear that Dee-Anne was going to do her BDC stint in prison instead of in a ecological recovery project. She wondered how they were going to milk her. After all, a woman didn't give that much milk and there was a large segment of the population, damaged by the collapse and the wars that followed, that couldn't tolerate any milk. For them, special milk had been developed that was similar to the only milk they could tolerate -- human milk.

Dee-Anne found out over the next few days what they meant by increasing production. She'd never been well-endowed by any means but over the next week she grew from a B cup to an enormous DD. It became painful to support the weight of her breasts and she took to doing the exercises enthusiastically when ordered to do so instead of ignoring the voice over the speaker. Over the protests of the others, she began to notice an easing in her back as the muscles strengthened.  The changes did not stop with increasing breast size. All the women soon began to notice the growth of whitish fur over their bodies. It was thicker on their legs and buttocks and only thinned one the arms and face. It was Dee-Anne who noticed the next change. Ktinga, her friend, was growing a tail -- a short stubby animal tail of some sort. The tail stayed fairly short but the women found, within a few days of its growth, that they could move and even wag it. The next change was less welcome. A patch on each woman's tummy began to grow. It was soon larger than her breasts and had developed four long teats -- an udder in short. Despite the size, it wasn't as large as a cow's udder though. No one thought much of it though since they'd all reconciled themselves to finishing the changes and serving their sentence.

Towards the middle of the third week, Dee-Anne discovered a pair of spots in front of her hips that were becoming painful. It was soon apparent that a pair of small legs were growing ahead of the udder. While these new legs were growing, her own legs began to change and deform until they were more like goat or sheep legs instead of human legs. The tips developed hooves and Dee-Anne found it easier to stand on all four with her legs and the new pair that had grown. Her body between these legs continued to grow and fatten. The final change was less welcome than any other. The final days in the facility distorted each woman's face and ears into something that was a cross between a goat and her own. Speech became more difficult as even their voice boxes and tongues began to change into a more capriform structure. By the end of the month, each of the woman was more goat than human. It had become increasingly hard to speak and many had given up speaking except when absolutely necessary.

Over the month, the diet they'd received had slowly changed. At the beginning it was more-or-less normal human fare. By the end of the month, there was no meat whatever. Grains, grasses and straw provided the bulk of the diet. The change had not gone unnoticed but, aside from a minor protest, had been taken as just one more part of the sentence. The majority of the women coerced the protesters into line rather than facing additional punishment.

"Line up, single file, at the south end of the building," the voice commanded over the loudspeaker.

The women trotted into file as commanded in near record time. A door opened and the women were herded into the adjacent building. It consisted of row upon row of pens. Each held one or two similarly modified women. As they approached a pen with a single occupant, the gate would open. It was apparent what was expected. The lead woman in the line would enter the pen and it closed behind her. It was soon Dee-Anne's turn.

"Dee-Anne," she croaked as pen clanked shut.
"Bleat!" the other replied.
"Ca't talk?" she asked.
"Not" was the reply.

Nothing else would elicit a response from the other woman and Dee-Anne soon gave up. Four years and 11 months were left to get to know the woman. The lights came on early the next morning. A mixture of chopped grain and water was deposited in a bucket. Dee-Anne had come to loathe the stuff but it was all there was. She carefully took handfuls of it to eat. The other woman merely inserted her head in the mess and ate it directly. Dee-Anne was shocked. How could anyone lose themselves that way? Eating like an animal?
Once the morning meal, such as it was, was finished, the pens opened. The other woman quickly joined the queue towards a pair of gates at the east end of the building. No one spoke much and Dee-Anne didn't see anyone she knew. Once through the gates, each was guided by robotic assistants to small stalls that quickly closed in, trapping them. Dee-Anne felt four pipes suck onto her teats and another pair onto her breasts. It was only a few moments before she felt her milk let down. She was left in her stall for twenty minutes until she was completely pumped dry. Then the robotic assistant returned as the sides moved to give her more room and the rear gate opened. Once more she was guided out of the stall and back to her pen. The other woman was already there, dreamily chewing some green stalks that had been left while they were gone. Dee-Anne couldn't make herself eat them directly though and used her hands to take her share of the treats.

This became the daily routine. Early morning feed, a morning milking, a green treat, half a day of boredom, an evening feed, an evening milking and sleep. Dee-Anne very quickly lost track of the days. It was with some surprise that the routine was interrupted weeks (or maybe it was months later) by the arrival of a man in a white coat. He entered the pen and performed a series of quick and efficient tests on her. She tried to protest when he took a blood sample from her ear but found she could do little more than bleat. She'd not used her voice in such a long time everything felt stiff. She screeched her protest though when she felt a long needle stab her hindquarters. She lashed out but missed the man, who was apparently used to this response.

"Can't have you all getting sick now, can we?" he said as he left the pen.

The years passed and soon Dee-Anne found herself liking the routine. She was being useful -- far more useful than she'd ever been in the gang. Though she could get her high school diploma now and go on to advanced training, she wasn't sure she wanted it. After all, she was saving lives. That was a noble calling. Why would she want anything else?  Around noon, a pair of men and a robot warder arrived outside the pen.

"Bridgette Xavier?" one of the man read from a form on a paper.
"Urgh" grunted the woman. So that was her name!
"You have served your sentence. Follow us."
"Uh uh," protested the woman.

The warder, though, had other ideas. It quickly clamped on Bridgette's wrist and pulled her from the pen. The completely dejected woman, head hung low, followed the warder out the door to the north that they'd entered through after their transformation. An hour or so later, a column of unfamiliar goat-women were escorted down the rows. As each approached a pen with a single occupant, the one at the head of the line entered the pen.

"Karen Hulls," the woman said.
"Bleagh," was all Dee-Anne could manage. She had tried to say her name but her voice refused to work.
"Plees tak," the woman pleaded.
"Cahnt" was all Dee-Anne could manage.

Soon life settled down in its routine again. Feeding and milking and vet visits. Dee-Anne completely lost track of time. Everything changed at noon though. Once again, a pair of men and a robot warder were standing outside her pen. Dee-Anne knew it was her turn. She'd have to go back out there where it was unsafe and dangerous. Back to being the lowest of the low. Here she was useful, here she was making a difference in the world.

"Dee-Anne Villiers?" one of the man read from a form.
"No!" she stated as clearly as she'd ever said the word. "No! No! No!"
"Your sentence is over. You must follow us."
"No! No!" Dee-Anne continued to protest.

Once again the warder intervened. As soon as Dee-Anne felt the cold metal around her wrist, she knew resistance was impossible. Dejectedly she followed the robot back to the door and transformation and the cruel outside.  There were a group of perhaps twenty others. Dee-Anne struggled to identify any of them. It took several minutes to identify Ktinga.

"Go?" she asked her as she approached.
"Es!" hissed Ktinga, clearly wanting to get out of the facility.
"Eh?" Dee-Anne wondered why Ktinga couldn't see the good she did here.
"Go!" insisted Ktinga.
"S'ay!" insisted Dee-Anne. "Eeyuusful"
"Nuts" insisted Ktinga turning her back on Dee-Anne.

Once by one they were led to individual rooms again.

"Stay?" asked Dee-Anne.
"You need to stay here, " the woman stated. "Until we get the nannites into you anyway."
"No! Stay her"
"Stay here? In production?" she was clearly shocked.
"Heeere" Dee-Anne agreed.
"Just a second," the woman quickly left the room. When she reentered the room, she was followed by the man who'd read from her form. "I think she wants to stay in Production."
"Do you really want to stay in Production?" he asked.

Dee-Anne nodded her head vigorously.

"You are absolutely certain in this?"

Again Dee-Anne nodded.

"Very well then. You will have to sign this form. I know this is difficult for you so we'll use your thumbprint instead. If you really want to stay in Production, press your thumb into this box."

Without hesitation, Dee-Anne pressed her thumb into the box. Now she would be useful, useful for the rest of her life.