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The Wolf Hunters

Episode

1

The Toll of a Slow War

Part 1

By

Lutrian

ver. 3.0

I sat on the bed of my quarters, and watched through the viewport, as the space liner slowly receded. The limb of the gas giant occupied the entire right half of the view, with its bands and swirls of clouds. I sighed. "At least something good has come out of this." I mused aloud. Daryl was a good kid. He did seem very lonely, and now he had a boyfriend, albeit a Zephenidian, but still. It was sad to see him go, but at least two people would be happy. With a green flash, and streak, the space liner tore apart the fabric of space, as it sped away at in a blur. I lay back on my bed. This was a difficult day. There was victory, then losing a crew member, then having a second get seriously hurt. Then the lost crew member turned up unharmed, but, now, had left for, hopefully, bigger and better things.

Bigger and better things. I'm probably the oldest crew member on the ship, though I'm just not obvious about it. I'm at least twice Captain Matt Benson's age, though I don't look it. It was all through the magic of regen, I guess. I stretched on the bed in my quarters, and tried to get some sleep.

* * * *

"Jake, you got to get out! Jake!" It was bad, really bad. The battle had gone from bad to worse. The freighter was heavily damaged, though for the moment, the attacking ships had been drawn away by other Wolf Hunter vessels. The remaining crew of the freighter had taken refuge in the ship's heavily damaged engineering deck. The freighter's damaged hyperdrive was interfering with my ability to get a clear teleport lock. To make matters worse, three of the larger Zephenidian vessels had broken formation and were circling back. They were now on an intercept course.

Trans Con was a large room at the aft-most section of the ship. The console where I sat was a squashed horseshoe-shape, with the large circular teleport pad, inset into an alcove, in front of me. To the right, was an open, round hatchway, where the service craft, Blade of Truth, was docked. From the hatchway, two crew members emerged, carrying a wounded man on a nul-grav gurney. I hated conducting rescues. They always turned out messy.

Jake's voice cracked from the consoles coms unit. "Art, can you get a lock."

I checked the screen on the console and used my finger to attempt to center the reticle. It flashed green. "Yes, got a lock."

"Bring them up!"

Seeing that Jake was not in the target area, I called out, "What about you? We need enough margin. There's at least one Morningstar closing on the freighter!"

"There may be more survivors."

"We can't afford maybes." I saw Jake's blip move away from the five people he had escorted from the interference of the damaged engine room. "God dammit! Jake, get back there. There's not enough margin. Get your fucking ass back!" After a lack of response, I realized I had to act. Teleporting a single person, with a tight field, used about half to two-thirds the power, as an entire group. If Jake was with the others, the power requirements to include Jake in the transport would barely register. With Jake having run off, the power to transport him separately, would make it impossible to jump to hyperspace, until the hyperdrive built up more charge. The decision had to be made. I reached my hand over the activation pad on the console, and after waiting a moment, I pressed it. The system came to life, as a hum filled the room. A ring of light formed around the pad, and spread into two diverging shimmering bands of blue white, which moved to the floor and ceiling of the alcove. As they converged, five shapes sparkled and took form as they shifted and moved about. Once they were solid, the bands converged and vanished, and the hum died out. Two men, and three woman, all appearing sweaty, dirty and disheveled, stood on the pad. One of the women sighed. "Thank god."

"Okay, clear the pad. Go out the door behind me!" I ordered. "They'll escort you to medical to treat you for radiation." As they moved off the teleport disk, I attempted to lock the system onto Jake's position, though he was still moving. "Jake! Hold tight! I can get you out of there in five minutes."

"I'm heading back down to engineering. I read a survivor or two near the starboard nacelle pylon!"

Checking my console's feed from the ship's sensors, I really didn't like what I saw. The hyperdrive had a large rupture of its containment vessel, near its aft end, but it was, fortunately, safely contained. The starboard sublight engine was seriously damaged and was spraying fusion plasma at the hull outside the engineering section. Though the hull hadn't breached yet, it was still severely compromised and would be unable to provide any shielding from the radiation. "You're going to be puking blood if you go back down there." Then there was the other problem. "The Morningstar will be in weapons range in two minutes. Morningstar_and a pair of _Killerdeaths, fuck. We can't hold them off!"

"What do I do?" cried Jake. "I can't let them die!"

"They'll probably already be dead by the time you get there, provided the hull doesn't rupture, first." I informed Jake. "Shit, ninety seconds!" I yelled through the com. I knew I shouldn't have teleported the others until Jake knew he was in trouble.

"Fuck, what do I do! Art, what do I fucking do!"

"Ah, ah," I said. "Ah, get to the nearest airlock and space yourself. We'll try to scoop you into one of our airlocks."

"Fuck no!" yelled Jake. "Fuck this. I'm not going to die in the vacuum of space. I, I, I'm not going to boil my guts. I'm going to the nearest transporter room. I think I can do it."

"Sixty seconds!" I yelled at the com. I checked the ship's schematics. "Trust me, you have a much better chance if you blow yourself out an airlock and let us play catch. The transporter room is one deck above you, and the hyperdrive is damaged. It's not going to be safe. You have forty-five seconds."

"Oh god!" Cried Jake, between pants, as he was obviously in a run. The sounds of ladder rungs rang through the comm unit. "I, I think I can make it!"

"Thirty seconds!" I yelled.

"Shit!" crackled the voice. A moment later, the sound of a door parting, could be heard through the com. "I'm here. Okay, what do I do. Can you bridge the systems?"

"Not enough time to set up," I said. "They're almost in weapons range."

"I've just disabled all the safeties. I'm locking on your pad! Drop your damper."

Captain Benson stormed through the door to the my left, and rushed to my console. I had just deactivated the teleport damper for Trans Con. "Tell him not the engage. They're going to target their hyperdrive." He pushed me aside, and peered at a screen.

"What are you doing here!" I yelled. "Shouldn't you be on the bridge?"

"There's no time," said the Captain. "Jake, do not engage!"

"I can do it!" crackled Jake through the com unit. "I got a lock on your pad. Three second delay."

"No Jake!" The captain peered at the sensor feed to the teleport console. A hum begin to sound, though it sounded somewhat distorted, as blue-white rings shimmered and formed uncertainly above the teleport pad. The captain looked up, "They fired at the freighter! Torpedoes incoming! Art, get down!"

Jake's form began to take shape on the pad, as I protested, "What?" as captain Benson struggled to pull me to the floor. Jake's form screamed, his voice strangely hollow, before he suddenly appeared to turn into green flame. As I was finally pulled to the floor, I heard a hideous whine, then a loud boom. Bits of some kind of material flew over my head, some of which fell as reddish-brown aerosolized blood, or tissue. "Fuck!" I screamed. I dreaded to poke my head over the console to look, but I knew I had to. I slowly rose to my feet. There was nothing on the pad, but a starburst pattern of rust-colored material, much of which streaked the back of the alcove, and the rest was spread over most of the floor, and the walls of Trans Con. There was nothing left of him. Captain Benson looked at a screen, then turned back to me. "The torpedo took out the entire engineering deck." He pressed a switch on the console's communications system and shouted, "Captain to bridge, get us the fuck out of here, now!"

* * * *

I awoke with a start, as a voice came from my quarter's intercom. "Arthur Harrison, please report to the bridge."

I sat up and spoke into the speaker grill, "I'll be there on the double!" I was not in the mood to report to duty. Jake's death still weighed heavily on me. It was my fault he died. I should have told the survivors to follow him, while I convinced him that the survivors near the nacelle pylon would die before he could make it down there. After donning my uniform, I took one quick glance around my quarters. My queen sized bed occupied the space beneath the large viewport, and a desk with a computer console was on the forward wall of the room. The room was fairly small, though comparable to the size of a typical smallish bedroom. On the forward wall, was the door to my bathroom. Once I was satisfied that I didn't look too shabby, I hurried out the door, and turned left. The doors of the bridge were just ahead, a definite perk for being a senior officer.

The bridge was a semi-circular room with a large viewport occupying the front curved wall, with three main stations, with seats spread out in front of the main screen. In the middle, in a raised swiveling chair, sat Captain Matthew Benson. He turned to me, and said, "You look like shit."

"Ah, it's nothing." I sad dismissively, as I took my seat at the navigation console, on the left side of the bridge. I wasn't comfortable when the subject of Jake's death came up. Maybe it was the fact I blamed myself. Or maybe it was the fact I had a bit of a crush on him, but never pursued him. At some point, I probably would have, had he not died. Then Daryl joined the crew. Daryl was definitely gay, and I had thought about pursuing him. But something seemed off about Daryl. He seemed kinda a loner, and didn't seem all that approachable at times. "So what's on our plate?"

"Well, the plan was to get us back into hyperspace, resume our patrol, stop at a dock for supplies, minor repairs, and maybe a little shore leave. Also, don't forget, tonight is movie night in the mess hall. Planning on putting on a screening of Heavy Metal. But."

Karen, who sat at the communications station on the right side of the bridge, turned and said, "We have a large ship, incoming. Mass, approximates a Zephenidian Killerdeath class vessel. They refuse to answer hails. They're about two hours from intercepting."

My eyes darted over my console, then looked at Karen. "Are we transmitting ID, or anything?"

"Negative," she responded. "I don't know how they know we're here, unless they're responding to the chatter from the Zephenidian ships we totaled. Maybe they've come to attempt salvage."

"Okay, we'll wait," Captain Benson ordered. "Karen, keep hailing them, and try to call for backup. Art, plot a course back to civilization, and prepare for emergency departure. We're going to wait for them to arrive, assess, and maybe engage. Shit, we need a gunner."

"Scot's going to be out for a few days at least, from what I've heard," I said. "If need be, I could man the weapons console."

"Negative," said captain Benson. "We need you to get us out of here, and you're the best pilot I've known. I need you to stay put, in case there's a determined enemy trying to drop us from hyperspace."

"Affirmative," I said, as I checked the status on my console. All the status lights on the engines, and the navigation computer were green. I brought up a map of the Chul'Za star system, with its eleven major planets, and its largish yellow-white spectral class F star. Bringing up the local stellar neighborhood, I plotted a course towards Alchoa, which was the nearest major colony. "Setting course for Alchoa II. Shit place for shore leave, though. Actually the orbital station is actually pretty nice. No brothels, though."

"You and your brothels," mumbled Karen.

The captain laughed. "There's got to be more to life, for you, then visiting brothels, while on planet leave."

Changing the subject, I said, "So I guess movie night is canceled. Sure I've seen Heavy Metal, but it's been a long time."

"Knowing you, you probably watched it at the movie theater right when it came out." The captain laughed again.

"Hey, I'm not that old. I mean, I did catch its 75th year anniversary screening, which happened a few years before the Lutrians showed up."

Karen looked up from her console. "We have backup, unfortunately they're about nine hours away, at least."

Captain Benson sighed. "We probably should get out of here, but."

Remembering the dream, I decided that I needed to talk about Jake. Hiding things, keeping my feelings bottled up, was definitely a bad habit. "Captain, I had a nightmare about Jake's death. I mean, we've lost the occasional crew member now and again. It's ah, I, ah, I kinda grew attached to Jake, if you know what I mean. And to see him die a pointless death. I mean, I made a decision that turned out bad."

"Stop blaming yourself, goddammit!" said the captain. "We all make mistakes. You face many equally valid decisions. Had you delayed bringing up the passengers, we could have botched the rescue and still lost Jake."

"Almost ninety years ago, everything just seemed so cool. So, whiz-bang. I mean, sexy space otters made contact with us, and we, with their help, blew up three-hundred Zephenidian ships into thousands of tons of space junk. We even turned all that junk into a kinda orbital tourist attraction and business center. Then there was all the new medical technology which basically allows us to live forever if we want to. It just doesn't do us a lick of good, when you get blown out a hull breach, or wind up gutted and served as the main course at a Zephenidian banquet, or when die in a malfunctioning transporter. We had the colony on T'kahtah get destroyed, and we had our organization practically turn on itself, not long ago. We have colonies out there that we can't hope to defend. Some we may not even know about." I sighed.

"We can do our best," said the captain. "That's all we can do."

* * * *

As the bridge crew continued to pass the time through conversation, I thought back to a time when I was a lot more idealistic. Okay, I had dropped out of college and worked a menial job at a mom-and-pop discount store in Patterson, New York. I had a small studio apartment not far from where I worked. Window shopping in Manhattan was a great pastime for me. There was loads to see, lots of stuff I'd never be able to afford on a retail worker's salary. Parking was always problematic, but I was persistent, and usually managed to find useful parking in the odd parking lot, or garage. I'd window-shop until sundown, then I'd return to my car, and cruise around, looking for prostitutes. I had no real love life, or sex life, outside hiring prostitutes, for that matter. After first contact with the Lutrians, the fear and risks of sexually transmitted diseases diminished, since medical technology was one of the few things the Lutrians shared with humanity at that time. Even after contact, most people had never seen a Lutrian, except on TV, and when they were seen, it was almost always in one of the larger cities, especially New York, or Washington DC. On a Friday, July 11th, 2064, what started as a typical and overly routine day for me, became a life changing event.

I had never seen a Lutrian before, not until about a year after the little brief war with the Zephenidians. It was common knowledge that Lutrians generally preferred to not wear any clothing, or when they have to, it was generally minimal. But to see one down here, in the middle of Manhattan, wearing a business suit, sans tie, crossing at the intersection of Fifth Avenue and 49th Street, that was a strange sight indeed. Despite having made contact with earth about three years before, most people still had never seen one in the flesh. Of course, Manhattan was about as good of a place to see a Lutrian, as any, those days. Like always, this intersection was teaming with people, though a giant bipedal otter easily stool out. I hung back and watched the creature cross at the light, its thick tapered tail covered in deep brown fur, hung from a tailored hole in its black dress pants. "Why even bother," I mumbled to myself, noticing just how awkward and unnatural that looked.

The creature abruptly stopped in mid stride, turned, and gazed in my direction, with its large almond-shaped eyes, and whiskered muzzle face. Its ears were small and rounded. After a moment, the creature walked back to the curb, and continued to gaze at me. Around its forehead was a headband, with a small device, just above and between its eyes, which I recalled as some kind of mental translator device. The creature spoke in its unintelligible otter sapiens speech, which my brain instantly interpreted as, "Human, I know how ridiculous I look in this thing, but as a Chakharan businessman, dealing with humans, I'm expected to wear this atrocious attire."

I was taken aback by this creature's frankness. "I, I meant no disrespect, I, ah."

"It's ironic how, when I come to your planet to conduct business, I'm expected to follow your customs, including wearing this," he paused for a moment, and appeared to grimace, "thing that makes my fur itch. Then when members of your species come to Tera Luna, or set foot on one of our ships, your people refuse to dress like us."

"I'm sorr-"

"You people are funny," he interrupted. "But maybe you're worth talking to. Would you accompany me?"

To say that I was nervous was an understatement, but I was also very flattered. Since I had merely been window-shopping the various overly expensive stores, and waiting for sundown so I could, hopefully, find a decent prostitute to take home, or to one of those sleazy hotels, I welcomed this diversion. "Sure. Where are you headed?"

He stepped to the light pole and tapped the crossing signal button, then turned to me again. "I'm returning to my ship. Need to find a place out of the crowds so I can be safely teleported."

The light changed. I walked with my strange otter-like companion, through the intersection, dodging the mass of people crossing from the other direction. "So it is true, that your people can beam themselves and--"

"I have a friend who turns this into a show. He clears an area on the sidewalk, then people donate money, basically he turns it into a street act. Yesterday, he collected over fifty dollars in your currency just before teleporting back to the ship. It's amazing how your people are willing to pay, even despite the fact that they could still watch it for free."

"That sounds like fun." I said. "Why don't you do that?"

"I'm a bit more discrete." he responded. "I typically use alleys, subway stations, large public toilets, parking lots, bank lobbies."

There was a question that begged to be asked. "So, what business brought you to my humble planet, today?"

He stopped abruptly, and slowly turned back to face me. "I don't know what I'm at liberty to tell you. Classified, government. It's why I looked for someone to accompany me. Those people are stuffy, and stupid."

"You should have eaten them."

The Lutrian chortled slightly. "I was that close to biting your president." He turned and began walking again.

I laughed. Around us, were nothing but tall bank buildings, as we approached Madison Avenue. "Why don't you catch a cab? Probably get you to a good spot a lot quicker."

"Your cabs are expensive, and filthy. And I don't carry much money in your local currency. Besides, it was stuffy talking to those politicians. I'd prefer to walk through your city, maybe find someone to talk to on the way, maybe someone to bring back to my ship for," he paused for a moment lost in thought. "Intimate interaction."

Startled, I stepped back, and stared at the Lutrian. "Those rumors about your species and ah, culture...."

"Don't worry," assured the Lutrian, "I'm not hiding anything. I'm extending the offer. If you want to return with me to my ship. Dinner, sex? Me, my crew?"

My mind reeled as I started to blurt out, "I'm not gay." but though he was male, Lutrian males did tend to appear far more feminine than human males, probably due to their slim builds, and their faces that didn't correspond to human gender expectations. Also, half the prostitutes I've picked up, had been transgendered. After the shock of the first one or two transgendered prostitutes, I began to accept them. Transgendered prostitutes were often much more fun and less inhibited than natural females. The Interspecies thing was something I found weird, but I felt strangely drawn to that idea. A tryst with a crew of otter aliens would probably be safer than my current plans for tonight, as well as a lot less expensive. "I, ah, was probably going to hang around here for a while, then cruise around for hookers. You know, I think I would like to accompany you. It's a date."

He grinned, then reached an arm towards me, which I recoiled from, "What's wrong?"

When he lowered his arm, I stepped towards him and quietly spoke, "I want to be discrete about this. Once we're on your ship, you can be all over me."

He nodded, "Understood." He gazed around, and motioned towards the entrance of an immense bank building. "This lobby will work. Let's be quick. They blame me for damaging their carpets."

I followed him through the large glass doors into an expansive lobby with numerous teller windows, and areas roped off to form queues. The carpeting was maroon with a basic tiled pattern. Turning my attention to the otter-alien, I noticed that he was speaking into a communicator which resembled a small mobile phone. "...lock into my current position and bring us aboard." After a pause, he said, "Yes, he's a cutie." A strange hum sounded as the bank lobby dissolved in a spread of blue-white luminance, as the realization grew in my mind that my adventure had just begun.

The ship was rather small, and had a crew of five, three males and two females. Most of the Lutrians who worked on or around earth, lived in spaceships of various sizes. About a hundred or so Lutrians, however, lived on a base buried under the surface of the far side of the moon, called Terra Luna.

Though the ship was not luxurious by any means, I still experienced the most incredible amount of hospitality that I had ever seen. Dinner consisted of salmon, pieces of a giant alien squid, and pasta made from a non-wheat grain from the Lutrians' home planet. When I came to the physical interaction, I did have some initial apprehension. After all, these creatures weren't from earth. They were a different species, and belong to a different culture. My friend, who had wasted no time shedding his business suit, worked with me to allay my fears and misgivings.

I materialized in the parking garage at around two in the morning. Once the blue-white rings of the teleporter's confinement field converged, and vanished, I strode to my car. I was rather sore all over. Looking into the mirror of my car, I could see some bruising around my neck from hickies, and love bites. My mouth felt a bit raw, from having made out with the entire crew. I unlocked the car door, and sat down in the driver's seat, and noticed that my crotch was also a bit raw from all the fellatio I had received. I had given as well, on at least two of the male crew, and one female. Shit, one of the females even pounced me, aggressively, and acted like she was raping me. For a furred, seemingly bestial species, their hygiene put most humans to shame. They were not the same as humans by any means, but the differences, after the initial adjustment, made this adventure so enjoyable. Starting the car's electric engine, which hummed to life, I slowly eased out of the parking space, and headed out towards the gate of the parking structure.

* * * *

"The vessel will enter the system in one minute!"

The captain's voice jarred me out of my daydream. I checked my console displays, and everything was nominal. Looking towards the weapon console, Carl Leifsson had taken over the station and was running a quick diagnostic. "Captain, keep in mind, I'm a bit rusty."

"You'll get the hang of it," said the captain. "Hopefully, we'll not have to engage them."

The minute ticked down, as I waited with a certain degree of apprehension. Carl's lack of familiarity with the weapon's console showed as he slowly pecked at the buttons. "Okay. Ship is entering the system, and is decelerating. They just entered borderspace. Scanning now. Not getting anything detailed. It's ah, ah, Killerdeath but the configuration looks a bit odd. It seems to have tiny sublight engines, almost inbuilt, not actual nacelles."

"Don't sweat it, Carl," said the captain. "You won't get much detail while they're still in borderspace."

"What, what the fuck," said Carl. I, I think they left borderspace for a moment, and I think they scanned us, and the area, but really quickly."

"Karen, try to raise them again," requested the Captain.

"Sabre of Justice calling unknown vessel, please identify yourself and state your intentions."

"Tah tarrrrk Vrarrrrrk" came a voice from the speaker.

"That's not Zephenidian." mumbled the Captain. "Carl, what's the status on the ship?"

"They're still in borderspace, traveling at point five c, and decelerating. They've veered off, and are moving towards the battle debris. Point three c. Point two, point one. Point o five. Point o two. They're braking and dropping out. Scanning. Ah, this is weird. It's a Killerdeath, but an odd configuration. I can't get a good scan on the weapons."

Captain Benson left his seat and hurried to the weapon's console. He peered over Carl's shoulders. "Very small, mostly internal, but very advanced, sublight engines. Low end Niquentorian plasma cannons. And, ah, oh fuck!"

"What's wrong, Captain," I asked.

"Their missile rack contains at least two borderspatial missiles. Shit! They're loaded with black market shit. I think it's a Motrician vessel."

Karen said, "I got the translator working."

A slightly electronic voice crackled over the com system. "I am captain Izsharrr of the vessel Kyrrrandarr's Claw, member of the Zynarrkus Mrr'Uk. We claim salvage rights over this wreckage."

Captain Benson returned to his seat and pressed a button on his armrest. "I am Captain Matthew Benson of the starship, Sabre of Justice. You do not have any valid claims, here."

"Captain," said the voice. "I have a proposition. Perhaps you may be able to aid us."

"They stopped scanning the wreckage, and they're changing course," said Carl. "Motricians? Shit! Those are worse than the Zephenidians."

"Will you allow us to come aboard, so we can discuss our proposition?" said the voice.

The Captain fidgeted nervously in his seat. "Affirmative," he said, apparently not to appear weak to these creatures.

"We'll be in transfer range in a few moments. We look forward to your audience." The com unit clicked off.

The captain rose from his seat. "What the fuck did I just get us into." he slowly said. "This is a first. Okay, Art, you accompany me, no one else. This is probably going to be very delicate."

Carl was looking around, then asked, "It's true that they're all female?"

I answered, "Ah, no. Well, they're probably all female on the ship. The clans, or as they call them, Mrr'Uks consist only of females, and immature males. When the males come of age, they're ejected, and become clanless. They usually join bachelor clans which are not recognized by the female dominated Mrr'Uks. The females use them as a source of semi-slave labor, as well as procreation."

"And that's why only me and Art will interact with them." the captain added. "If they believe you're disrespecting them, they'll either gut you with their claws, or eat your face." The captain turned towards the doorway of the bridge. "Okay, let's go. We don't want to keep them waiting."

Trans Con was at the opposite end of the long hallway. Like the bridge, it had a large door, which parted as we entered. To my right was another wide doorway leading to the mission staging and briefing room, and further ahead, was a wall covered with lockers. At the far end of the room was the large circular hatchway that led to the service craft, Blade of Truth. Ahead and to the left, was a shallow alcove with the five-meter wide teleport disk, or pad, with the transporter console in the center of the room. I walked to one of the unlocked lockers and opened it. Inside were two Mindlink translators, which consisted of a headband, and a belt-clipped control unit. I handed the captain one of the control units, and a headband. Donning the translator wasn't too complicated, since it merely involved clipping the control unit to the belt, and placing the headband around my head, making sure the little nobly part rested in the middle of my forehead. The Captain quickly donned his translator. Once the translators were properly donned, I switched on my control unit, then made my way to the transporter console.

The transporter console was shaped like a squashed narrow horseshoe, with the open end facing the main door. One chair allowed a single operator to sit at the console, though there was enough space inside the enclosed area for up to two additional assistants. I opted to operate the console while standing, with the captain standing to my left.

"I've not seen a Motrician before, ah, outside of movies." I mused.

"Neither have I. There is one Mrr'Uk that's considered somewhat benevolent, and sane, but this one is not it. Expect trouble." The captain pressed a button on the transporter console and said, "Captain to bridge, patch me through to the Motricians."

There was a click. "Captain Izsharrr grows impatient."

"We're ready," said the Captain. "Art, lower the damper."

I pressed the button, which lowered the teleport dampening field in Trans Con.

"You may come aboard."

There was a loud whine which grated on the ears, as spindles of orange flame swirled around on the disk, and a swirling green shimmer spread, and formed into two beings. The spindles and shimmer continued for a moment, then the shimmer faded, and the orange spindles shrank away, along with the noise.

Standing on the pad, were two large creatures who looked like humanoid lions. They each had a feline head, with large pointed ears, large green eyes, and a whiskered muzzle with a slight cleft on their upper lips. They both had large thick manes of hair flowing from their heads, down their backs and sides. The rest of their bodies were roughly humanoid, covered in deep orange-brown fur, with clawed hands, clawed feet, and long feline tails. They each wore knee-length brown pants with green trim, supported by a leather belt. Both wore scabbards attached to the belt on both hips, each with the hilt of some kind of dagger within easy reach. On each of their right hips, was also a holster, with the stock of a small pistol type weapon visible. They wore leather vests over their bodies, each with a large palm-sized medal in the center of their chests. Their medals were the same design, a kind of abstract pattern, which I guess was the seal of the Zynarrkus Mrr'Uk. Both wore numerous chains around their necks, made from silver, platinum, and gold, with many gemstones hanging from them. They stood over six feet tall, maybe slightly shorter than the typical Zephenidian, maybe about the height of a typical Lutrian. The one who wore the most chains, stepped forward. "I am captain Izsharrr." she motioned towards the other Motrician. "This is my first officer, Vishtarra. We must talk."

Captain Benson motioned towards the doors behind us.

I followed behind the pair of large cats, as the captain led them to the door, which slid open. Through the door was a lounge with a long rectangular table running the length of the room. In front of the table, and along the shorter sides, were long couch-like seats. On the far side of the table was a small computer console, and one chair. Behind the chair, with the computer console, was a large wall monitor. I took a seat at the end of the table, giving the Motricians ample space. The captain sat in the chair with the computer console. "Captain Izsharrr, please present your proposition."

"We are willing to give you two, extremely valuable and useful, borderspatial missiles in exchange for information."

"What information to you require?" asked Captain Benson.

"Two fugitives. Both Zephenidian. We wish to apprehend them, or acquire definitive proof of their demise."

"Okay," said Captain Benson. "You can search any of the wreckage. We won't inhibit you."

"The two Zephenidian fugitives we seek, are named Tanarus Ch'har, and Jurrukush Zrarf."

The first name didn't ring a bell, but the second one seemed strangely familiar."

"Jurrukush is easily recognized, because he's one of the few Zephenidians who has a tail. The other one is known to be Jurrukush's mate."

I kept my mouth shut, realizing who they were referring, to. Jurrukush was Daryl's new boyfriend, who had left with him on the starliner, which had departed the system, the previous night. These Motricians were obviously mercenaries, probably paid handsomely by the Establishment of Prukak, to take care of, who they saw, as potential threats, or subversives. There was some kind of weird politics involved. The Zephenidians in question had their own ship, and were obviously at the time, loyal to the Establishment. I've heard that the Establishment often ordered crews in low end, or outdated ships, to take on dangerous missions with the idea of having them fail while at the sane time, collecting intelligence. I suspected that the Motricians were hired because these Zephenidians might have succeeded in their mission, or dodged it altogether. Of course, knowing the Zephenidians, the Motricians might have been hired to kill Jurrukush because of his tail.

Captain Benson responded, "When we engage Zephenidians, we don't normally take prisoners. We don't get their names, or anything. We just blow them up, maybe salvage from their ships, investigate, then we leave. In our perspective, we're fighting a war against enemy incursions. We just protect our own, and that's it. I do think one of them ditched one of their bodies in one of the comets out at the edge of the system, but other than that, I don't know. We can't really help you."

"That is unfortunate," said the feline captain. "These missiles are worth a lot. Just one of these is worth more than your auxiliary craft."

There was a beep from a device, that the alien captain wore. She brought her wrist-mounted communicator to her mouth. An unintelligible voice sounded on the com unit. She growled, then lowered her arm. She got to her feet, and beckoned her assistant to stand. "We appreciate your time, but we think we found our quarry. We must depart." They turned and walked to the door, which slid open.

I got to my feet, and moved towards the door, as the loud harsh whine of the Motrician transporter began to sound. As I entered Tran Con, the spindles of orange flame, and green shimmer swirled just beyond the door. Within a moment, the spindles shrank away, and the whine subsided. "What the fuck is going on," I cursed. They didn't even bother to return to the pad, first, which is my mind, is very rude. A beep sounded from the transporter console.

Captain Benson hurried to the console and pressed a button. "Captain Benson here."

"The Motrician ship is jumping into hyperspace!" shouted Karen's voice. "What happened."

"I don't know, and I don't like it. Heading to the bridge, Benson out!"

"I hope they're not planning to go after the Stellar Wind." I said as I hurried after the captain, back through the main corridor to the bridge.

After running through the one-hundred or so meter long corridor, I emerged onto the bridge, with the captain. "Status," he said as he stood in front of his seat.

Carl said, "They're in borderspace, heading away."

Karen asked, "What the hell happened."

"The Motricians wanted Daryl's boyfriend. Art, get to your console and prepare for departure."

As I got sat at the navigation, I heard Carl say, "They just entered hyperspace. They're heading deeper into Federation space, and are accelerating."

"Where are they heading in relation to the starliner, The Steller Wind?" asked the captain.

Carl looked at his console and sighed. "They're in pursuit. They appear to be faster, and will overtake the starliner in about twelve hours, at their current speed. They're continuing to accelerate."

The captain looked worried, as he slowly sank into his seat. "Okay, Art, plot an intercept course. We can't let them get to the starliner. Even if some of you don't care about Jurrukush and whether he lives, these are Motricians, they'll destroy the starliner to achieve their objective. Let's go!"