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Zip!

ZIP!

Choom-choom-choom!

Beams of neon-green light lanced through the inky void of space and slammed into the freighter Reverie.

Once, twice.

Again and again.

Relentless!

Its shields shimmered, thrusters at full glow.

Reverie, trying to escape, attempted a slow, wide turn (chunky cargo ships weren’t exactly known for their maneuverability!).

One hostile pursued. Another blocked its path. And two more appeared on sensors, mere minutes away.

Inside, the bridge was a discordant symphony of chaos.

Klaxons blaring, bulkheads rattling.

Explosions!

The sudden ‘whoosh!’ of a coolant leak.

“Shields down to forty percent!” shouted Vesta, clutching to the helm console. The cream-colored lop bunny was in wide-eyed ‘fight or flight’ mode.

Another hit.

“Thirty-two!”

“Jale!” Captain Peregrine yelled from the center chair. The mouse’s whiskers were stiff with tension. “Any time, now … ”

“Twenty-nine!”

“I’m tryin’, I’m tryin’,” the wolverine insisted, running tactical. Reverie was equipped with two phase canons. One fore, one aft. Jale finally acquired a target lock. “Ha. Gotcha!”

He fired!

Tsewww! Tsewww!

The freighter’s red beams had little to no effect, mere pinpricks against their attackers.

“Uh, yeahhh,” the wolverine said. “No damage, Cap.”

“Torpedoes?”

“All out.”

Reverie had a ventral torpedo launcher, but they’d depleted their arsenal a few weeks ago (torpedoes were getting expensive these days!).

“Shields now at—"

“Incoming!” called Jale.

Reverie may have been out of torpedoes, but their mysterious assailants were not. The third and fourth hosties had arrived, and an emerald sphere side-slammed the freighter.

Ka-boom!

Vesta was tossed from her chair in a shower of sparks. On her back on the deck-plating, she groaned, her pretty fur singed. Rolling to fours, she tried to get up and faltered.

Peregrine immediately scurried to her aid.

“You hurt?” he asked, helping her up.

“Just … just winded. T-thanks.”

“You sure? Petra can take the helm,” the mouse insisted.

“I can?” the rat echoed, hearing her name.

“No! I … I can do it.” Vesta steadied herself and retook her station. What other choice did she have? She was the best pilot onboard, and they were in a life and death situation.

Peregrine returned to his chair, tapping at the controls on the armrest. He squinted at a readout. “Can we evade these guys at all?”

“They’re relentless, sir. So well coordinated. Every time I go for a gap, they slam the door shut.” Vesta, coughing, brushed her ears back as she tried to plot an escape course.

Peregrine, his beloved ship falling apart around him, raised a paw and gave a wild, bucktoothed smile. “I got it! We’ll—”

“It won’t work,” Vesta insisted (without turning around).

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

The bunny, paws dancing on her controls, treaded carefully and said (in a respectful tone), “Sir, I know it’s your favorite move, but—”

“I don’t have a favorite move,” the mouse insisted.

“You sorta do, Perry,” said Petra.

“Well, fine, so what?” he admitted. “If it works, it works.”

“He’s like that in bed, too,” the brown rat continued casually. The first officer also happened to be his mate. “Definitely has his ‘go-to’s’.”

“If my go-to is giving you orgasms, then you’re welcome.”

“Ooh, like what?” Jale asked eagerly.

“Well, he prefers to—"

“There’s only so many ways you can comfortably fight or fuck,” Peregrine insisted.

If Vesta’s ears had been ‘tall’ ears, they would’ve been twiddling to get every word of this.

“Just sayin’. Rats are more adventurous than mice.”

“Since when?”

Petra crossed her arms. “Since always. Everyone knows it.”

Peregrine looked to Jale.

The wolverine nodded.

“Is Reverie under attack?” the Captain asked. “Or is it me? Cause—"

“It won’t work,” Vesta promised, of Peregrine’s signature move. Getting them back on track. (Someone had to!) It was a strategy they’d pulled off half-a-dozen times. But, “Our shields need to be around two-thirds strength, or we’ll be destroyed in the collision.”

Because of Reverie’s thick hull plating, it could survive a direct impact with a stationary object. A small asteroid. Another ship. Peregrine loved to ram other ships with Reverie, leaving them reeling while Reverie jumped back to warp. They never saw it coming!

Without shields, though—

“I’m open for suggestions?” Peregrine said.

“Mebbe we should—"

More sparks!

More shaking!

More everything!

And, then …

Nothing.

“We’ve stopped moving,” Vesta whispered. “We’re … we’re surrounded.”

Ba-beep! Ba-beep!

Petra announced, “They’re hailing.”

“About time. I guess they’ve finally made their point?” Peregrine said wryly. Taking a deep breath, he stood up and groomed his whiskers, making himself presentable.

“They’re gonna be disappointed when they find out what we’re carryin’,” Petra said, of Reverie’s cargo.

That’s what they wanted, right?

There was no other reason to attack an unaffiliated freighter in open space.

Ba-beep! Ba-beep!

“Vesta, engines?”

“That last hit crippled us, sir. Thrusters … maybe? Impulse and warp are down.”

“Jale, tell Commer I’m gonna need warp as soon as possible. I don’t care what he has to jury-rig.”

“What’s the plan, sir?” Vesta asked, wondering what she should be ready for.

“I’m still figuring it out,” the mouse admitted.

Ba-beep! Ba-beep!

“Hailin’ again,” Petra said. “They’re gettin’ mad.”

Knowing full well, Peregrine walked the side of the bridge. He casually picked up a piece of debris and cleaned off a computer console.

When he was done, he inspected his claws and brushed the dust off his uniform.

Ba-beep! Ba-beep!

After a good minute, the piebald mouse lazily wandered back toward center-bridge and gave his mate a nod.

Petra opened the channel.

A mysterious, cloaked figure appeared in a darkened room. A fox? Coyote? Some predator with a pointy muzzle and angular ears who was trying to conceal their identity.

“Why have you kept us waiting?” the figure demanded in a threatening, masculine tone.

“Why the hell are you attacking us?” Peregrine shot back. The mouse squinted. “By the way, are you having lighting problems, because I can hardly see y—"

“We require your cargo.”

“Require? That’s a new one!” Peregrine looked to Petra. “Isn’t it?”

“Yup. We’ve gotten folks who ‘wanted’ it. ‘Needed’ it.” The rat started counting on her fingers.

Vesta piped in with, “The last guys were ‘interested’ in it.”

“Right, right.”

“Yes, they were very polite,” Peregrine recalled.

Murmurs and nods of agreement.

Losing patience, the fox/coyote said, “We require the cargo. Now.”

“Unfortunately, we aren’t carrying anything lootable.” Peregrine looked to Petra again. “Is lootable a word?”

“Why you askin’ me?” Petra said, before telling their attackers, “We got grain, fruit, an’ assorted foodstuffs. Take yer pick.”

“If you want to come over for a piece of cherry pie, you’re welcome! Otherwise, these goods are perishable, and we’re on a deadline.”

“Lies.”

“Alright, you caught me. We don’t actually have cherries. Apple, though? Peach?”

“Stop stalling. We know you have it.”

Not making it easy for them, the mouse quipped, “That’s what my mate tells me! In fact, we were just discussing that. Weren’t we, babe?”

“He does have it,” Petra told their attacker. “But I got more of it.”

“What is it, again?” Jale asked, getting confused.

“Fuckability.”

Losing patience, the cloaked figure insisted, “We will destroy you if you do not comply!”

“Really?” Peregrine echoed smartly, playing on a hunch. “Four heavily armed ships come after us and want something aboard Reverie so badly … mm, no, you’re not going to blow us up. Well.” A shrug. “Not until you’ve gutted our hold? And, sorry/not sorry, we’re not gonna let you do that.”

“Then we will do it by force.”

“Consider your invitation for pie revoked. Petra, get this fucker out of here.”

The rat did so.

“They’re powering up tractor beams,” Vesta announced.

“They have beams? Most pirates only got grapplers,” Jale mentioned.

“I don’t think these are pirates,” Peregrine said. “Pirates don’t communicate or negotiate. They just take.” Mostly to himself, the mouse asked, “What the hell is going on here?”

Ba-beep! Ba-beep!

“Sir,” Vesta said. “Proximity alarm.” She gulped. “Three more ships headed this way.”

The mouse twitched. He’d maintained a brave face so far, but it was getting harder by the second.

“Backup for our friends?”

The lop shook her head, ears flopping about. “No.” She looked over her shoulder with surprise. “Signatures are completely different!”

“The new ships are hailing us,” Petra said.

“Maybe they’re here to help?” Vesta said hopefully.

Willing to find out, Peregrine motioned for Petra to accept the call.

“This is freighter Reverie,” the mouse announced. “Who’s this?”

“We demand your cargo,” said a female caracal. Less secretive than the last caller, she was brightly lit and clearly surrounded by a crew of fellow predators.

“No hello, no introduction. Straight to ‘demand?’ You know what? I respect that,” the mouse told the cat, pointing at her.

“Very assertive,” Petra concurred.

“No more talking!” the feline hissed. “Jettison the cargo so we can retrieve it.”

“Well, I’m afraid we have a problem, because you see those other four ships? They want it, too. And they were here first. So, uh … I guess they have dibs?” Peregrine spread his paws and clicked his tongue against his buckteeth.

“I do not honor ‘dibs’,” the caracal said dismissively.

“Tell that to them.”

“You cannot give it to them!”

“I see, I see. But I can give it—if I had it, whatever it is, which I don’t—to you … sorry, I didn’t get your name?”

“Unimportant.”

“Aw. Darn. See, I don’t do business without a name! Liability reasons. I’m sure you understand!” Peregrine flipped the caracal off (with both paws), flashing a bucktoothed smile as Petra cut the channel.

“Sir, the ships are powering their weapons.”

“Our shields won’t hold much longer,” Petra said. “They’re at thirteen percent.”

“Unlucky for some,” Peregrine murmured.

“They’re firing!”

Everyone braced for impact.

None came.

On the viewscreen, it became obvious what was happening.

“Ha! They’re attackin’ each other!” Jale said, fists pumping.

“That’s what happens when predators won’t share their prey,” Petra said. Looking to Jale, she added, “No offense.”

The wolverine just grinned at her, all fangs.

“This isn’t a spectator sport I’m interested in watching. Let’s leave them to duke it out. Are engines up yet?” Peregrine opened a channel to engineering. “Commer?”

“Yup, got ‘em for ya,” the grizzly bear claimed.

“You’re a miracle worker.”

“Don’t I know it. But, Cap’n, these guys are faster. When they realize we’re runnin’, they’ll come after us.”

“We need someplace to hide.” The mouse looked to Petra. “Anything on scanners?”

“The nearest planet has several big moons,” the rat said, pulling up sensors. “With a head start, we could get there first. Once there, hide above the magnetic pole of one of ‘em. It would scatter our signal. They’d have trouble findin’ us.”

“Yeah, but not forever. How long can we evade them?”

“Hey.” She gave him a wink. “You wanted to be more adventuresome.”

“I did? I think that was you.”

“For your benefit.”

The seven ships still sniping at each other, Peregrine, smiling from his banter with the rat, told Vesta, “Take us to Petra’s coordinates. Let me know when they notice we’ve gone.”

“Aye.”

Reverie jumped to warp, the stars streaking on the viewer.

Peregrine told Vesta, “You have the bridge. Everyone else: to the cargo hold.” The mouse rubbed his cheeks, ropy tail curling questioningly. “We need to figure out what the hell we’re actually hauling.”

SIX HOURS EARLIER

Reverie was parked in the hangar of a trading depot (carved into the side of an asteroid), taking on new cargo after unloading their old.

Captain Peregrine was off ship, collecting payment.

In fact, most of the small, ragtag crew was absent. Enjoying themselves, no doubt.

Except for the two predators aboard.

“Guhhh! We always get stuck with the ‘muscle’ jobs. I wish I wasn’t so strong!”

“You realize the only reason you have a job as security chief is cause o’ that muscle?”

“Why’s junk gotta be so heavy, though?” Jale complained, stacking containers. The brown-and-black wolverine let out an exaggerated sigh after putting each one down.

“Cause it’s stuff,” Commer reasoned, shuffling past him with a well-sealed box. “Stuff is always heavy.”

“Heh heh. Oh, yeah? That’s what she said!” Jale snickered.

The grizzly bear set the box down and furrowed his brown brow. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Uh, yeah it does! You’re a bear.”

“Yeah … and?”

“You’re freakin’ heavy and Sesqui said so.” Sesqui, a chipmunk, was Reverie’s assistant engineer. Commer was the chief. They were also banging.

“Jale, that’s not how ya do it. You’re takin’ it too literal.”

“What if I like takin’ it literal?”

“That’s what she said,” the bear replied with a toothy grin, getting the wolverine back. “Ha!”

“Huh?”

“That’s the joke.”

Jale blinked. “What is?”

“It’s … oh, never mind,” the bear mumbled.

“Don’t gotta be mad that I’m funnier than you, Commer.”

“You know what’s not funny? Breaking our anti-grav carts,” the bear said, ambling back to the stacks of still-to-sort containers.

“If they can handle the weight o’ cargo, they shoulda been able to handle me!” Jale insisted.

“You slammed ‘em against the floor, the walls. Even the ceiling! How’d you manage that?”

“Anti-grav surfing can get pretty rough. Wipeouts are common.” The wolverine followed the bear. “You’d know if you tried it! I asked ya to.”

Commer sighed and rubbed the area between his eyes. "Jale. I ain't got parts to fix the anti-grav carts. Those things don't break often in normal usage, so I had no reason to keep spares."

"So?"

"So, if you break the anti-grav carts then we don't have anti-grav carts until they get fixed again. Which, to answer your original question, is why we gotta lug all this stuff they dropped off.”

Refusing to accept blame, the wolverine waved a paw and insisted, “You’re just tryin’ to change the subject. How I’m funnier than you.”

“If you’re so funny, why ain’t I laughin’?”

“Gut-busters, they call my jokes.”

“Nobody calls ‘em that.”

“I do, and I’m not nobody!”

“Well, I guess you backed your way into a point with that one,” Commer had to admit.

They went quiet for a moment.

“Hey, Commer.”

“What … ” The bear, clearly agitated, straightened a stack of containers, securing them with some straps.

“Don’t ya think this container is kinda weird? It’s not like the other ones. Has some weird writing on it … fancy words an’ numbers an’ shit.”

The bear didn’t answer. Or look. Just kept working.

“You ignorin’ me?”

“Tryin’ to.”

“How come?”

“Cause if you hadn’t damaged the carts, we’d be done by now, an’ I’d be hittin’ the bars on the depot or screwin’ my chippy … hell, prolly both! Instead of breakin’ my damn back.”

“What’s in all these anyways?” Jale wondered.

“Food.”

“For real?”

“I read the inventory when I signed for it. Go ahead. Open one an’ find out. Prolly chock full o’ veggies.”

Jale opened a container and blinked.

“Well?” Commer asked.

“Nah, man, it’s crackers.” Curious, the wolverine took one and popped the whole thing into his toothy maw.

Chomp-chomp!

“Mm. Hmm! Y’know, these are pretty good. Heh. It’s like—"

Omf, nomf!

“A buttery, nutty crunch. With a pinch o’ salt an’ pepper. Mmh! Savory!”

“No way you fuckin’ know what savory means.”

“Try some,” Jale insisted, speaking with a full mouth. Crumbs tumbled down his chin. He thrust a fistful of crackers at the bear.

Commer swatted them away. “I don’t like crackers unless they have honey in ‘em.”

“Yer loss.” A pause. “Hey. You think we’re carryin’ more than one kind, though?” Jale said, looking around at all the other containers. He licked his lips. “I’m down for all flavors. Heh, heh. That’s what she said!”

Commer rolled his eyes. “You’re not supposed to do it to yourself.”

“It’s just killin’ you that I’m full o’ laughs!”

“Yeah, it’s drivin’ me crackers,” the bear said, fetching another container.

“What do you think?” Yates asked.

The possum stopped at a tunic display, picking up a shirt and holding in front of herself. She did a little twirl. The girls were on their way to the repair shop. They were meeting Petra, who was getting their anti-grav carts fixed.

Sesqui made a face at the garish garment. “You’re screwing a wolverine, honey. You’ve got enough problems.”

“And a bear is any better?” Yates asked with a frown, putting the shirt back.

They kept walking.

“Bears are gregarious,” the spritely chipmunk claimed.

“What’s that mean?”

“You’re a doctor. You’re smart. You should know!”

“I’m a medic. You really think Peregrine could afford to hire a real doctor? For a rinky-dink freighter in the UT?” The possum looked around. “Wait. Where’s Vesta?” The bunny had been with them earlier.

“She’s the ‘odd one out’ on a seven-person ship,” Sesqui pointed out with a nudge. “What do you think she’s doing?”

Two levels down.

A private room.

Clothes on the floor.

“You’re a pilot, too? Hah, small universe.”

“Yup. On a freighter.” Vesta, on all fours (as her partner had guided her to), braced for what was coming. She’d seen how thick his dick was.

“Like, uh … cargo? Kinda? Stuff?” the red panda asked, sticking his tip inside the bunny and easing inside with a little huff. Within seconds, he was humping, drilling her from behind. No nice and easy. He needed this. “Ooohh.”

Vesta lurched forward with each ball-slapping thrust, her ears flopping, breasts bouncing. Her blue eyes rolled back.

“Y-yeah … yeah,” she eventually panted. “Cargo.” She gasped, reaching down between her body to feverishly play with her clit while the ringtail stuffed her silly. “Oh, oh … what about you?”

“Ferry … service. Inter … intra? Planetary,” the red panda said, struggling to speak. She felt so good. “Oh, fuck.” He rubbed her soft, warm back and grabbed her plush, cotton-tailed ass. “Mmm. I should give you a ride sometime.”

“If it’s anything like this, s-sign me … sign me up!”

The red panda (she hadn’t even gotten his name!) grinned at this, growling playfully and doubling down. “Oh, we’re not done yet.”

“Oh, gosh … ah! Ahh! A—”

“Ahh. Right,” Yates said, blushing faintly. The possum cleared her throat. She’d have to ask the bunny about it later. Vesta was never shy about sharing details.

“But gregarious means ‘sociable,’ easy to get along with,” Sesqui continued. “You have to admit: Commer is pretty easygoing.”

“Jale can take it easy. And he definitely goes!”

“That’s not the same thing, is it?”

“No.” A sigh. “But the sex is so good, Sesqui!”

“Compared to what?”

“Compared to no sex. Which is what I was getting before him,” Yates admitted. Switching gears, she insisted, “I mean, at least he’s not boring! If there’s one thing possums can’t tolerate, it’s boring.”

“Obviously.”

As the girls turned a corner, a blue bat bumped into Yates. Not making eye contact, he brushed past her and kept going without saying a word.

“Excuse you!” the possum yelled after him. To Sesqui, she added, “You’d think a telepath could’ve sensed me in the way?”

“That’s the key phrase. ‘In the way.’ Us ‘normies’ are just roadblocks to them.”

“But I thought their, uh, what’s it called?”

“Syndicate?”

“Yeah. I thought they were allies with the High Command now?”

“Only because their paws were forced. In the UT, they were always the big fish. But with the HC making serious inroads here, there’s suddenly someone way bigger. Syndicate tried to scare them off, and it didn’t work. So, now they’re playing nice. Around them. But they’ll still bully the rest of us. Not like the HC can or will enforce anything outside their jurisdiction.”

“Didn’t know you were so into politics,” the possum said, looking over her shoulder. The bat was gone. There’d been something strange about him …

“I’m an engineer. I like to know how things work! Ships, societies. It’s all part of a grand tapes—" The chipmunk pointed across the way. “Oh, nuts! They have the best maple treats. Come on.”

“Petra’s waiting for us.”

“It’ll only take a minute. Don’t worry! We’ll get some for her, too.”

PRESENT TIME

Petra (her maple candies unopened in her and Peregrine’s quarters) looked between Jale and Yates. “That’s all you remember? You sure?”

“Mmf, mmmhmm,” Jale went, inhaling more crackers.

Crunch-crunch!

“Jale, you’re getting crumbs all over me,” the possum complained.

“Heh, heh, then I’ll have to lick ‘em off.”

The possum giggled. “Stop it!”

“What if those were for something special? Like a wedding? Or some sacred ceremony?” Sesqui asked.

“The whole UT wants something in this bay. It’s not crackers,” Peregine insisted. “Focus. Jale?”

“Mmf?” The wolverine handed the mouse a cracker.

“No, I—oh, fine,” the captain said, rolling his eyes and nibbling on it. His expression lit up. “Hey! Not bad, actually.”

“Right?!”

“Perry,” Petra said dryly.

The mouse swallowed and tossed the rest of his cracker aside, grooming his whiskers while asking the wolverine, “You said you noticed an unusual container? You mentioned it to Commer?”

“Yeah, but he didn’t care.” The wolverine pouted. “Barely be takin’ me serious.”

“Barely or bear-ly?” Petra wondered.

“Both,” Commer insisted.

“Well, where is it?” Peregrine continued.

“Where’s what?” Jale said.

“The container.”

“In the bay.”

Sesqui blew out a breath, striped tail twitching. The petite chipmunk exchanged a look with Commer.

“Right.” The mouse looked around, spreading his arms. “But where?”

“Huh,” the wolverine said, looking around at the seemingly endless piles of storage containers. He stroked his chin.

Half an hour later, the crew, clustered together, stared in unison at the contents of Jale’s ‘unusual’ container. Inside were more crackers—“Jackpot, ha, ha!”—and a small metal box. And inside the box?

Petra broke the silence, the rat asking, “Well. What is it?”

“They attackin’ us the fuck for that?” Commer complained.

“Looks like a vial,” Peregrine observed.

“Is it blood?!” Jale asked. “It’s blood, isn’t it?”

“It’s blue, Jale.”

“Yates says blood can be blue! And she’s a doc!”

“Medic,” Sesqui corrected, giving the possum a smartass smile.

“Blood can be blue. When it’s not exposed to oxygen,” the possum defended, brushing past her mate to pick up the vial. She squinted. “It’s definitely not a body fluid. I wonder if it’s a pathogen?”

Everybody backed away, leaving Yates alone at the container.

“Gee, thanks! It’s probably not,” she insisted. “It would’ve been in some sort of stasis.” A worried pause. “Right?”

“Wish we had one o’ those eggy snow rabbits here to be a logical know-it-all,” Petra said.

“More like leggy,” Commer quipped.

“That’s what she said!” Jale reflexively added.

The girls all shot him a look.

The wolverine shirked.

“It’s played out, pal,” Commer told the wolverine.

“How ‘bout we focus and scan the vial?” Peregrine suggested. “Sometime this century? Please?”

“Yo,” Jale whispered to Commer. “Is Cap mad?”

“Yes, Jale, I’m pissed.”

“Mouse ears,” the wolverine lamented. “Every time.”

“My ship has been pummeled. We barely escaped. And my cargo hold is full of perishable foodstuffs that might not be delivered in time because we have a bounty on our heads for … who the fuck knows why?”

“We’ll just get new cargo!”

“Jale. What do you think happens when we don’t fulfill a delivery? I don’t get paid. And if I don’t get paid, what happens?”

“Uh … ”

“You don’t get paid.”

“Damn.” He thought about it. “That sucks.”

“Yeah, it does.”

Yates, running a basic scan on the liquid (they didn’t have the equipment for a complete analysis), said, “It’s registering as organic, though … I think it’s a growth compound? Maybe a fertilizer?”

“Ew, gross!”

“Jale … ”

“It’s not that kind of fertilizer. It’s … wow, the nutrient mix in this thing! And some chemicals I’ve never even encountered before. Has to be synthetic. You know what? If you used this? You could probably grow food in almost any soil on any planet in the UT, no matter how harsh the atmosphere … and be guaranteed a yield. Food shortages could be a thing of the past!”

A pause.

“Assuming, of course, the formula was shared equally with whoever wanted it. Instead of controlled by cartels … who then would consolidate the food supply, forcing everyone to go through them.” Yates’ voice got slower as she said this. “Oh. Okay.”

“I think we may have figured out why our ‘friends’ attacked us. But we still don’t know how they found out we had it. Or who put it here?”

“Wait, Yates, you said a bat bumped into you when you were comin’ to meet me on the depot?”

“Yeah? So?”

“This has Syndicate written all over it.” Petra squinted and nodded at Commer, snapping her furless fingers, ordering, “Check her pelt for trackers.”

“On it.”

“I’m not being tracked! Don’t you think I’d know?”

“Possums are full o’ ticks an’ stuff,” Commer said, powerful nose sniffing at Yates while he checked her fur. “How would you know the difference?”

“That’s slander! I’m as clean as anyone else!” Yates said. Hissing, she attempted to pull away from the bear. “If anyone’s gonna grope me, it’s Jale.”

“Yeah, paws off, she’s mine!”

They got into a tug of war with the possum, who made scraggly, toothy expressions.

“Just find the tracker,” Peregrine emphasized, “so we can deactivate—”

Chirrup!

“Captain?” Vesta said from the bridge.

“Got it!” Commer said. The bear studied the small, metallic chip. “It’s Syndicate tech, alright.” He grabbed a spanner and proceeded to neutralize the transmitter.

Peregrine sighed, looking to the ceiling. “Go ahead, Vesta. Let me guess. We’ve been discovered?”

“Yes,” the lop confirmed. “But not by who you think … ”

“Try me.”

A few minutes later, on Reverie’s bridge.

“Captain Peregrine, I presume? Ah, and you must be Commander Petra,” a periwinkle blue bat said on the main viewscreen. He bowed his big-eared head. “It’s a pleasure.”

“I get my pleasure in better ways than conversations with glorified mob bosses,” Peregrine replied.

Petra, standing beside her mate, added, “I can vouch for that.”

The two rodents bumped fists.

The bat retained his veneer of ‘politeness.’ “Nonetheless.”

The rat demanded, “How’d you get our names? Were you readin’ our minds on the station?”

“Hardly needed to. Your reputations precede you!”

“We s’posed to be flattered?”

“Who am I talking to, exactly?” Peregrine asked, taking the reigns from Petra.

“I’m Niko, of the Syndicate,” the bat said smoothly. He didn’t seem the least bit pressed or anxious like their attackers had been. “My wing-ship saw you were being harassed! We came to help.” Behind him, other bats (pink and blue) went about their duties.

“We’re fine, now, thanks,” Peregrine said. “Looks like you came all this way for nothing!”

“Surely, you require some repairs? From our scanners, you appeared to take quite a beating. Our resources are greater than yours. As is our ship.”

Niko’s tone was implicitly threatening. The wing-ship was, indeed, several times bigger (and more powerful) than Reverie.

“Let me guess,” Peregrine said. “You want to send a repair team over?”

“We would be very happy to!”

“And maybe, in the process, ‘accidentally’ use your telepathy to manipulate our minds and erase our short-term memories … and then steal our ‘special cargo’?”

“You make us sound like thugs, sir.” Niko frowned, touching a wingtip over his heart. “I resent that.”

“I’ve been in the UT my whole life. Me and my crew. We don’t trust telepaths.”

“An archaic, unfortunate—and may I say racist?—attitude that, ultimately, is the reason we need the Syndicate. To protect bats and our special interests.”

“A government isn’t always representative of its people. I’ve met good bats,” Peregrine promised. “But the bad ones? Always have one thing in common.” He let that hang. “Wonder if that’s a coincidence?”

“Telepathy is a right.”

“That not everyone has.”

“I didn’t come here for a moral debate.”

“Well, it’s the only thing you’re getting from me.”

The bat exhaled, spreading his wing-arms. “Good mouse, why are you parked above the pole of a lifeless moon? Oh, that’s right. To hide. Well, as we seem to have found you—”

“We deactivated the tracker you put on our possum.”

“A little too late, fortunately. Now, let’s end the charade.” The bat leaned forward. “Who do you think arranged for the formula to be on your ship in the first place?”

“Wait… the Syndicate?”

“Right on one!”

Peregrine blinked and then frowned in confusion. “Why?”

“Let’s just say it was … ‘acquired’ covertly.”

“Shocking. From whom?”

“A coalition of wealthy individuals who are even worse than pirates. Same goals but with actual smarts and resources. You’ve met them. They were the ones attacking you earlier. They would have used the formula to fleece the UT.”

“And you won’t do that?”

“The UT is our home,” the bat insisted nobly. “We want it to be a peaceful, prosperous place.”

“For everyone,” Peregrine added.

“Of course!”

“Mm.”

Petra couldn’t keep quiet. The rat scoffed and said, “I used to be under the Syndicate’s wing. Not by choice. It was only happy cause everyone was too scared to step out o’ line an’ pretend otherwise.”

“An unfortunate experience … that you had. That doesn’t mean it is shared.”

Niko took a breath, forced a fanged smile and continued, “Long story short, the party who had the formula was intent on remaining in the shadows. Their operation was compartmentalized, their benefactors heavily protected. The Syndicate resented that. We believe in open information.”

“I’ve noticed,” Peregrine said dryly.

“Even after we made the scientist see ‘reason,’ we knew their benefactors wouldn’t come after us directly. They feared us. But we very much wanted to expose them. When they thought you had the formula—”

“Why not just give us a fake?”

“The ruse had to be authentic to lure them out,” Niko claimed. “Besides, your ship doesn’t have the equipment or personnel to decipher the ingredients. We have them committed to memory. The risk was minimal.”

“Given your … menial defenses, they were more than willing to engage you. We were watching, waiting for them to gather in one place. And, thanks to you, our fellow wing-ships have subdued them. That’s right! All seven vessels that attacked you, brought to justice. Now, doesn’t that make you feel safer?”

“Justice?”

“They will be led to a Syndicate re-correction facility. Where they will lose their belligerent ways.”

“You mean they’re gonna be brainwashed.”

“They tried to kill you, mouse. Don’t tell me you feel sorry for them.”

Peregrine didn’t respond.

“But! I’ve monologued long enough.”

“You think?”

“We thank you for temporarily protecting the sample of the formula, but we would like it back now. Jettison the container it is being housed in. We won’t even have to board your craft! How about that? Then you can be on your way. Your cargo is perishable, is it not? I wouldn’t want you to miss your deadline.”

“How considerate of you.”

“Isn’t it?”

“And what if I want to keep this ‘formula?’ What if I want to, oh, give it to the High Command instead?”

Niko’s expression flattened. “That would be a most unfortunate turn of events.”

“Especially as I suspect they could easily decipher the ‘recipe’ and would proceed to hand it out for free to everyone who wanted it. Are you planning on doing that?”

Like a true politician, Niko gave a roundabout answer to Peregrine’s ‘yes or no.’

“So many planets have food scarcity in the UT. It’s simply tragic. How to solve it? A single source controlling—nay, bolstering!—that supply, overseeing a new era of agriculture, with this miracle formula? Is better for uniting the region than everyone … eh, trying their own silly thing. Don’t you see? We don’t need to be in competition with each other. We need to be united. Under one wing!”

In the back of the bridge, Jale muttered, “Thought he was done monologuin’.”

Peregrine heard that and tried not to smile. He told Niko, “You also stand to make a huge profit from this ‘venture.’ Or am I wrong?”

“We aren’t doing it for the wealth.”

“Oh, then I can keep it?”

The bat glowered and added, “But we are doing it.” He smiled again, cheerfully stating, “This conversation is over. You have rebuffed our friendly terms. Now, you have fifteen minutes to surrender the formula or we will take your ship—and your minds—by force.”

The channel was cut.

“What a blowhard,” Petra said.

“So, we’re the only thing preventing the Syndicate from gaining a monopoly on the UT food supply?” Vesta said, spinning her chair around to face the center of the bridge.

“For at least fifteen more minutes,” Peregrine confirmed.

“Why’s he bein’ so talky,” Jale asked from the back of the bridge. “Why don’t he just kill us an’ take it already? They’re strong enough to do it.” As a predator, that was common sense to him.

“You heard him. That’s not the Syndicate’s style,” Petra said. “Why get rid of useful bodies when they can brainwash you into doing whatever they want?”

“We need to get the vial to Redwing Station,” Peregrine decided. “If we can get it to Redwing, which is operated by the High Command—”

“Who the Syndicate has an alliance with,” Vesta remembered.

“Right. They can’t screw with them without severing their alliance. Once the HC has it, it’s over.”

“If we pull that off, I’d expect the Syndicate to make life difficult for us going forward. At least for a while. They’ve been known to hold a grudge,” Petra warned. “Do we want that? Askin’ rhetorically, cause fuck ‘em.”

“I’m pretty sure we’re all voting for the same way?” Peregrine said, looking around. “It’s either be brain-wiped or attempt to escape. We’ll worry about the fallout later.”

No one dissented.

“Options?” Peregrine asked next.

“I can send a coded signal to Redwing?” Vesta said. “Mask it as subspace static. With all the solar flares in this system right now, it shouldn’t be hard to disguise.”

“We need to get in touch with Arctic. They’re quick. And can easily take on multiple ships. They can rendezvous with us well before we reach the station.”

“But will they be able to understand the code? Redwing’s AI … uh, what’s it called?”

“Minnow?”

“Minuet,” Peregrine remembered.

“Yeah. She’ll pick it up in a second. Then she can alert Captain Aria and the Arctic.”

“Good thinking, Vesta. Do it.”

The cream-colored lop smiled and went to work.

“An’ how do we outrun Mr. Blue Skies? We’ll need to shake him to reach any rendezvous point,” Petra said.

“Yeah. That’s the tricky part. The wing-ship is faster, better armed. And hasn’t sustained any battle damage recently. And most of our tricks require full shields, which we still don’t have.” The piebald mouse gnawed on his lower lip, whiskers twitching.

“Heh heh heh,” Jale chuckled.

The rodents looked his way.

Clacking his razor-sharp claws against his control panel, the wolverine spread his muscular arms and said, “How ‘bout let’s give ‘em what they want?”

“The fifteen minutes is up,” Vesta announced, having sent the coded SOS. “Wingship is hailing.”

Niko reappeared on the viewer.

“Hello, again,” Peregrine greeted.

“Have you come to your senses, mouse? I hope?” the bat asked, skipping pleasantries.

Peregrine bowed. “In the light of our circumstances and your, uh, impeccable logic … yes, we do see your side.” He raised his big-eared head. “We’ll cooperate.” He raised a furless finger. “And you promise to let us go afterward?”

“The Syndicate always honors its agreements.”

Peregrine wanted to say, ‘When it doesn’t change your memory of what they were.’ But he bit it back. The piebald mouse looked to Petra and nodded.

The rat made a show of announcing, “We’ve secured all cargo in the bay except for the container the formula came in. Ventin’ it into space … now.”

A ‘decompression’ warning sounded.

“You aren’t to move until we’ve analyzed the formula to make sure it’s legitimate.”

“Of course.” Peregrine spread his paws and smiled. “I’d do the same thing.”

Niko grinned back. “Good! Standby.”

The channel cut, the viewer showing the wingship activating a tractor beam to pull the cargo container into its own hold.

“Now?” Jale asked eagerly.

“No, it’s too far away.”

Jale, getting antsy, waited five seconds. “How ‘bout now?”

“Wait for it … ”

The wolverine began to whine.

The tractor beam almost had the container into the wingship’s bay.

“Now!”

The wolverine cackled devilishly as he detonated the explosive device they’d put in the container.

It exploded, sending a shockwave of pale, wheat-y crackers into the void, crumbs forming a cloud of tasty shrapnel.

Simultaneously, a feedback loop traveled up through the tractor beam and short-circuited the emitter, sending the wing-ship tumbling from the kickback.

“Snack on that!” Jale yelled at the viewer. “Heh heh.”

Peregrine, knowing it was too early to celebrate, told Vesta, “Warp. Now. Redwing Station. Fast as you can.”

“Course already set. Engaging.”

Reverie zipped out of there in a flash of light.

Five, ten minutes.

Fifteen.

Still no pursuit.

“Maybe we damaged ‘em more than we thought?” Petra said hopefully.

Ba-beep, ba-beep!

Vesta’s nose twitched. “They’re finally on the move. And, yes, they’re definitely going faster.”

“How long ‘til they catch us?” Peregrine asked. They were in open space, now. There was no place to maneuver or hide. “Any response from Redwing?”

“You don’t want to know … and not yet,” the lop replied. “But it doesn’t mean they didn’t receive our message. The wing-ship is sending out a jamming signal to prevent us from contacting anyone. They probably aren’t aware we already did.”

Peregrine exhaled and slouched in his Captain’s chair. “Well. Let’s hope they don’t catch us. Cause I’m pretty sure the Syndicate’s offer of amnesty is off the table now.”

“You’re always puttin’ us in it, Perry,” Petra said, eyes glinting with mischief.

Peregrine looked over to her. “It’s your fault.”

“How do you reckon?”

“I used to be a typical, innocent mouse!”

Vesta giggled.

Petra wasn’t convinced.

“Your ratty ways rubbed off on me,” Peregrine said.

“They did, huh?”

“Yup.”

“When this is over, I’ll show you some rubbin’ off,” Petra insisted under her breath.

“I heard that.”

“You were s’posed to.”

Two hours later, Commer reported from engineering, “You’ve got all the speed I can give ya. Anything more, we’ll overload the core an’ end up in smaller pieces than those crackers.”

Vesta, blowing out a nervous breath, checked the sensors again. “Wingship’s almost on our tail. If they fire at us while we’re at warp? We might careen out of control. I don’t know if the structural integrity grid can handle that.”

“But if we drop to sub-light speed, that puts us farther away from Arctic.”

“If she’s even comin’,” Jale said.

Peregrine looked to Petra.

“I was under the Syndicate’s wing for too long. I ain’t goin’ back.”

The mouse nodded, telling Vesta, “Maintain course.”

A minute later, the wingship was in weapons range. Phase canons were useless at warp, but torpedoes? They were quite effective. And the wingship launched two of them. Pink/magenta balls of twinkling energy.

“Reinforce aft shields! Brace for—”

Reverie vibrated from the first impact. Then practically rattled apart from the second.

The sound of thunder, of metal twisting and creaking.

“Shields are down! They’re … the whole grid is fried,” Vesta declared, not knowing what to do with her paws. “One more shot will finish us.”

Over comms, Commer added to the ‘good news’ by shouting, “I’m losin’ engines down here!”

The stars returned to normal as Reverie fell out of warp, path wavering, leaking a plasma trail into space. The wingship decelerated right behind it.

“They’re preparin’ to launch a shuttle,” Petra said. A steely nod. “We’re gonna be boarded.”

“Heyoo!” Jale called.

Peregrine and Petra turned, the wolverine tossing them phase pistols.

“Set ‘em to kill,” Jale advised. “Bun. Catch.”

“We won’t get a shot off,” Vesta insisted, catching her weapon. “They’ll be in our heads before we can fire.”

“I got a thick skull.”

Peregrine withheld comment (as hard as that was), checking his weapon and opening his maw to give an inspiring, final speech when—

Ba-beep, ba-beep!

“Another ship … ” Vesta held her breath, practically doing a binky when she saw who it was. “It’s Arctic!”

“Ha!” Jale went.

The sleek, loping lines of the tactical striker, its engines and deflector glowing icy blue, eclipsed the Syndicate ship, rising from behind them like the sun at the end of an eclipse.

“They’re hailin’ the wingship,” Petra announced.

“Put both calls on the viewer,” Peregrine said.

Vesta, back at the helm, did so via split screen.

“This is Captain Aria of the HCS Arctic,” said an unflappable snow rabbit doe.

“Niko, of the Syndicate wingship—”

“You are aware, Niko, that you have just crossed over into the Redwing system?”

“What of it?”

“This area of the UT is under High Command jurisdiction.”

“The Syndicate has no qualms with the High Command. This freighter has stolen something of value from us. We are simply attempting to get it back.”

“I consider Reverie to be an allied vessel and therefore under my personal protection. I would hate for anything to happen to it. Now or in the future.” A pause, her gaze cool and icy. “If you wish to remain on peaceful terms with the High Command, you will not harm it. And you will make a graceful retreat.”

Niko grimaced before putting on a bowing, toothy smile (which did nothing to hide his seething anger at the situation), cutting the channel.

Vesta told Peregrine, “The wingship is turning around!”

The mouse could see that on the viewscreen. It went to warp, vanishing from sight.

“That was a close one. Even for us,” Jale said, collecting the phase pistols and putting them back in the aft storage locker.

Petra said, “Aria may have scared him from hurtin’ us directly, but Niko can still use his powers to convince someone else to do it for him.”

Jale promised, “I won’t let ‘em get us, Cap. It’ll be different next time.”

“I feel better already.”

There was a rare moment of quiet.

Looking to the mouse, Petra said, “I recognize that face.”

“Mm? What face?”

“That face.”

“My ‘happy to be alive’ face?”

“Oh, is that what we’re callin’ it?”

“We just won a huge battle!”

“By surviving until someone better could win it for us.”

“Still counts.”

Petra smirked. “An’ how do you plan on celebratin’?”

“Well,” the mouse drawled, making ‘bedroom eyes’ at the rat. “Now that you mention it, I seem to recall you promising to ru—"

Ba-beep, ba-beep!

“Aria’s hailing us,” Vesta announced.

“Heh. Of course.” Bottling his libido, the mouse said, “Put her through.”

“Captain,” the snow rabbit greeted with a polite nod. “It is agreeable to see you again.”

“Likewise!”

“We got to you as fast as we could. Minuet had no trouble detecting and deciphering your coded message. She said you were in possession of … a secret agricultural formula? That will bolster local food supplies?”

“Secret for now. Not for much longer, I hope. She’ll know what to do with it. I’ll leave to rest to Graham and Talkeetna.” He trusted them implicitly. Talkeetna was a former Reverie crewmember, his first officer before Petra joined. “We’ll transfer it to you.”

“You aren’t going to deliver it to Redwing yourselves?” Aria asked, quirking a brow.

“We have a hold full of perishable items. Gotta make a delivery first. Maybe we’ll swing by on the way back?” Peregrine said. He couldn’t promise it, though. Life in the UT was wild and unpredictable, as evidenced by today.

“Allow me to send Assumpta over with a repair team?” Aria offered, of her ‘assistant chief’ engineer (a snow leopard). “Your shields and engines are inoperable. Logically, it would be hard to make deliveries when you are immobile and defenseless.”

“Hmm. Yes, you do have a point,” Peregrine admitted. “Commer will probably tell me he’s ‘got it under control’, but … yeah, we could use some help! Thank you.”

“We’ll send a shuttle to your starboard docking port.” With that, Aria bowed her head and the channel was cut.

“I’ll go greet ‘em,” Petra said, leaving the bridge.

Peregrine, eying the rat’s ropy-tailed ass, contacted engineering. “Commer.”

“I got it under control, Cap’n,” the bear insisted, even before giving a status report.

“Yeah, about that … ”

It was nighttime aboard Reverie, the chronometer inching ever closer to midnight.

The freighter, on autopilot, was finally underway, on track to make its delivery with time to spare. (High Command engineers were unparalleled. And they were also free! Double win.)

Outside the Captain’s bedroom window, the stars streaked by. A beautiful, hypnotic sight. But the mouse was far too distracted to notice (let alone care).

"Ah. Ahh. What … what about my moves, now?” Peregrine bragged, shivering with delight as he pulled out of the rat. “Hmm?”

“Mmmm … well,” she said, on her back, bare breasts heaving, “They’re okay, I guess.”

“Okay? Guess?” the mouse echoed beside her. “That was dynamite.”

“An’ here I thought that was a cock between yer legs.” Her eyes appraised his still-erect shaft. At six inches long, over five around, the mouse packed an explosive payload himself.

“Heh. Petra.”

The rat grinned, turning toward him. Their tails snaked around each other. She drew invisible pictures in his chest-fur while he played with her breasts.

She suggested, “Maybe I need another demonstration?”

“Oh? You do, huh? That can be arranged.” He took a deep breath, whiskers twitching. “But, uh, give me a few minutes to recharge?”

“Mm-hmm,” the rat went, idly rolling to her back again, folding her paws behind her head. She sucked on one of Sesqui’s maple candies.

Peregrine, sitting up, put a paw on his belly. Tail untangling from hers. “I need a snack.” His eyes lit up. “Hey. Do we have any crackers?”