FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

It didn't take long for the ship to begin moving. Most of the crew generally paid me no mind, but Jori gave me the rundown on the ones she knew well.

The Nahrrimurn Family, mercenaries from the Republic to the west. Presiding over them is Neien, their elderly mother. Didn't conceive til she was almost 50 and as of now was in her seventh decade. Nobody ever heard her speak, save for her own children years prior.

Eldest is Sal, the cat I encountered in the showers. Fancies himself a marksman; doesn't seem like the kind of career to warrant that much muscle mass to me, but I imagine he must have found uses for it.

Youngest, and still older than myself, is Rohka. Hides himself in multiple long coats, and only speaks through a voice modulator. Rumored to have survived the brunt of a shrapnel bomb to the chest, even shrugging it off like it was nothing. Lithe, but prefers melee combat while his brother disrupts from afar.

Dahlia, the crew's head engineer. Honorably discharged from naval service after losing her right arm and leg, but she returned after designing herself suitable prosthetics, this time as a privateer. She was one of the few that greeted me personally. She seems kind.

Tsing, the captain; born, raised, and Aberrated in Dominion lands. A cheetah who looked to be mostly prosthetics at this point; long digitigrade stilts in place of her legs, and wide circular rims at the synthetic shoulder joints, feeding thick cables to two arms each. The less known about her, the better.

And then there was Nym, whom Yhana had mentioned by name before. In all my time people-watching with Jori, we never did see him. He seldom comes out of his quarters, and the rest of the crew prefers it that way. In actuality, he is the second son of the Empress, but he left his cushioned life voluntarily to pursue eternal youth, which he found in undeath. So he says, anyway. It's only been a few years so results might be a way off.

"What about yourself?" I eventually ask, "I know about Leonov, but I still haven't heard your story."

The human shrugs at that, taking a seat on the rail. Leonov looked like he wanted to follow suit, but hesitated, likely out of fear of bending the metal under his weight. "Well, mine's a revenge story," she begins. "I was young when it happened. After the Empress forbade the practice of medicine outside of the capital, the Prelature took it as a personal affront. The decree was made with the intention of removing them from our borders, but they didn't go peacefully. Their traveling once-healers stationed in my town attacked just about everyone they could find and watched them bleed out. They only spared me because I was a child. My mother and father didn't linger, and there was nobody to help them. Anyone with an arcane proficiency for healing was murdered quickly, just to make sure."

The expression on my face is one of shock and yet all Jori does is smile at me.

"That was a mistake," she continued. "You don't do something like that to me and expect me to forgive and forget. As long as this war is going on, I'm going to show them just how bad of a mistake it was."

"Jori..." I fumble to find words, hoping my tone is enough to convey my sympathy.

Her smile still doesn't waver. "It's fine, Merion. It's not like I'm alone anymore." She looks to her Aberration; he smushes his elongated leather face with his enormous, clawed hands, contorting the zigzag cut in the mask into a smile.

I can't help but softly chuckle at that. "I'm glad you have him. I guess they made another mistake, didn't they?"

"Yes, I suppose they did. Threw him away like nothing. But it's how I got my best friend in the whole world."

Leonov kneels to come face to face, nosing into her as if giving her a brief kiss on the cheek. He stands again, lifting her from the rails and allowing her to climb onto his back.

"I've killed enough time, I think," she says. "I should see if Dahlia needs help."

"Alright then. Thanks for introducing me to everyone. Well... even if it really was one-way, for the most part."

"Ah, don't you worry. You'll get your chance."

That time, it's my turn to shrug. "I could take or leave a couple of them, honestly."

Jori cackles at that. "And not a soul would blame you. Take care."

From my spot on the rail, I watch her and Leonov head to the hatch. I have to express, it's quite refreshing getting to know someone without having any weird strings attached.

"She is an interesting one."

I jolt a bit at the sudden speech from off to my left. Speaking of weird strings...

"Is there some way you can announce yourself, or... something?" I request not so gently, but as expected the kangaroo doll seems to deflect it.

"I spoke, that should suffice."

"I swear, I'm going to put a bell around your neck."

"That is undesirable. Do not."

"Ugh. It probably wouldn't do much good as it is." My ears twitch as my train of thought finds rails once again. "Hey, while I have you here, what exactly is the plan, once we arrive wherever it is we're going?"

"We are going to Iyakamraa. The Dominion capital on Paliputra," he explains. "We can hide there long. Until the time is right."

"Right for what?"

The doll pulls himself through the rails with total disregard for his spine, his spine in turn exhibiting total disregard for how bones work, before setting itself back in place with a sound I could live happily with never hearing again. "That is unimportant for now."

"Actually, I would like to know..." I assert, pulling myself off the rails as well to face him properly. "I can't just keep following you blindly."

"You are not following me. I am doing the following. I go where you go."

I roll my eyes a bit. "Right, right. So nice of you to join me in Yhana's stomach all day, then."

"Yhana is 'who', not 'where'. I have my limits too," he reasons.

"Mm, sure, s-- We're missing the point here. What am I supposed to do in Iyakamraa?"

"I have a contact there."

I wait several moments, expecting Suraokh to continue. I feel a slight twinge of irritation; that's the second time today I've fallen for this. "...Well, what's the significance of this contact?"

"She knows what to do."

"But... you know what to do too, don't you?"

"I do not know this. This is why we go."

The sound that exits me is one that might have been destined to be a Derisive Laugh, but on its way out the door got stuck listening to the good news of the day from Empty-Mouthed Spit-Take and its neonate friend, That Sound A Horse Makes Sometimes.

"So, we're just bumbling along and hoping that whatever this is just works out?"

"That about describes it, yes."

"Forgive me, but I'm still just a mite worried about what all this means, considering so far we've, you know, done some messing around in ancient ruins and stole power from gods. Having done all that I'm just a little bit apprehensive about what might be next on our agenda."

"The hard part is over."

"...It is?"

"No more pain or injury. Provided the plan is followed."

"We don't have a plan."

"Our contact has a plan."

"Well, what am I getting out of this?"

"I am glad you asked. A transaction will be made. Your assistance, our contact's resources. Want to leave Paliputra behind?"

I pause at the proposition. "You mean I could actually get offworld?"

"Yes, you and your family. If they are still alive. Perhaps they could be located?" Suraokh attempts a smile, but his is decidedly less charming than Leonov's.

My suspicion is far from gone, but anything even remotely like frustration vanishes at the suggestion. "And you're sure this contact is actually going to assist us?"

"They have the means to. I am a good negotiator."

I had to concede that. He was already winning me over, and that's not an easy feat. "Fine. I'll stay on board for now. But I'd still like to hear these details from whoever's got the plan, when we get to it."

"Oh, I promise you will."

Interesting that he can treat "oh" as a proper word in his count of five. As I ponder that, it helps me remember something. "Weren't you on your way to the surgeon to see about a new lexicon module?"

"I go where you go," the doll reiterates. "Come with me, would you?"

The frustration returns. Looks like Jori was right; I'd get my chance to meet everyone. I guess I'm starting with the surgeon.

Again, I feel like a trespasser on the laminated wood below deck. If the engineering crew comes through here, I wonder how they keep it so clean. I suppose I shouldn't worry about sullying it so much; it must be easy to maintain, with that in mind. As I traipse through, I find the door of Nym Tsereiro Nayre marked clearly. Beyond it, loud, old music; a song I recognized, but distorted by volume and the limitations of the machine from which it played. Skeptical that I'll be heard, I raise a fist to knock on the door, but before I can even make contact, the door swings open.

A lanky, shirtless fox pokes his head out, lenses supported on controllable cords extending from his silvery spinal apparatus, positioning them in front of his face like spectacles. His face is adorned with ire at first, but he practically lights up at seeing Suraokh, throwing the door wide open and motioning us to join him in the room. There were words too, but they were completely drowned out by the sound of drums and a rather impressive aetherphone solo.

He continued to speak, but my puzzled look and Suraokh's visible discomfort clued him in that perhaps the environ wasn't quite right for it. Hastily, he turned the music down on the large, wooden-framed speaker in the back corner of the room, until barely a whisper and a characteristic ringing in our collective ears remained.

"Yhana's new plaything, I take it," Nym repeats for I don't know, the third time, perhaps.

"I'd prefer not to be labeled as such, but yes," I confess.

"And this would be your... what role does this one fill?" he asks moving dangerously close to Suraokh, inspecting every seam.

"Travel companion," I say simply.

"Interesting choice..." He stands again, backing up just far enough to extend his hand in an invitation to clasp wrists with the doll. "A pleasure, truly."

"Lexicon modules. Are they here?" Suraokh inquires, completely ignoring the hand.

Nym withdraws, appearing genuinely sad at the rejection. "Ah, yes, yes. Always glad to assist a fellow Aberration, especially one so... gracefully sewn."

The fox moves to a chest in the back, picking up a leather apron off the workbench built against the adjacent wall, tying it on and adjusting the seam of his fur-lined trousers. Decency didn't seem to be his strong suit; one could hardly tell he was nobility. Swearing quietly in Ssemba as he rummaged through the chest, he emits a soft squeal of victory as he plucks a cube-shaped contraption from its depths. A literal voice-box.

"Come closer, would you?" he instructs as he moves to the workbench, pushing tools and papers aplenty aside in favor of a small stand with several dials.

"Who, me?" I ask, tentatively approaching.

"Both of you. Never got your names, by the way."

"Merion," I respond.

"You may call me Suraokh," Suraokh permits.

"That just sounds like a mouth sound to me," Nym mutters. "Did you name him?"

"It is," Suraokh confirms, seemingly and hopefully unoffended, "he did not."

The fox shrugs a bit before flipping a few switches on the stand, eliciting a lasting, monotone "aaaaa" from the box, tweaking its pitch and inflection with the dials before looking to the kangaroo again.

"How did I do? Does it sound enough like you?"

Suraokh and I seem to be in agreement, as he nods in a rare display of body language. "It will more than suffice."

"Great!" Nym claps his hands together, rubbing them in a manner akin to a fly cleaning itself. "Let's open you up then."

"I am apprehensive about this," Suraokh says. "I will install it myself."

"Oh... Are you quite certain? I promise you I'm as good as they co--"

"I will install it myself," he asserts one last time. This time, he extends his hands, not for formality, but to take the lexicon module. Nym begrudgingly hands it over, but seems otherwise content to watch Suraokh work on himself.

The kangaroo unzips one of the compartments on the side of his chest, feeling around before removing another piece, cylindrical and slightly rusted; presumably his old module. The box goes in next, and he unzips the other side to reach into himself and place wires where they are needed. At this point, both Nym and I are holding our breath with anticipation.

"Oh, that's quite a bit better," Suroakh sighs, zipping himself back up. It's almost uncanny, not only hearing him break his pattern, but speak in a manner other than deadpan serious. "Nym, may I have that for a moment? I wish to thank you properly."

He points to a small opaque tank with unlit diodes running up its side, which the fox slowly hands to him. Gripping the electrode at the top, Suraokh shuts his fabric eyelids, and a ripple travels across his sky-gray fur. Seconds later, a single diode turns on, but it's enough to send the surgeon springing to his feet, wringing his hands again.

"You really are something special, aren't you?" he grins, taking the tank back gingerly.

"What, what did he do?" I ask, slightly puzzled.

"I produced a little over 200000 lachryma worth of physically stable radiance. In effect, I synthesized a tiny fraction of a Shade tear," the doll explains.

"And made me the richest person on this ship," Nym beams, hugging the container. "Ah, I wonder what I'll do with this..."

"And you can just do that on a whim?" I ask, eyes on the tank.

"To an extent. A rare ability, and one which has served me well."

I must admit, I'm rather impressed. At least I know money won't be an issue as long as I'm with him. Or all-purpose energy, for that matter. Aether is tricky to work with; flux readers can extract it from the Void for a few moments at a time, it's where they get their temporal control from, but the stable stuff is even more potent. ...And radioactive. To call it stable is a relative term, that said.

"You've got a fine... travel companion," the surgeon praises. "How did you happen across him?"

"It's a long story," I say. About five chapters long, in fact. Too much for me to want to recap again. "In short, he found me and took a liking to me."

"You're a fortunate soul, you are."

"Ah, I wouldn't say that. One thing just happened to go my way."

"One thing is all it takes sometimes, Reaper."

I fidget nervously. It's going to get tiresome to have to keep making excuses for that. "Am I really a Reaper if I haven't gotten a task yet?"

"Mm, perhaps not," he concedes. "Your exact nature is of little consequence to me."

"I prefer it that way."

"Fewer questions, yes? Oh... I suppose I made that into a question just then, didn't I?" He pauses on that, before chuckling, clearly amused by himself. "Oh, somebody stop me."

Part reflex, part courtesy, I laugh a bit as well. "Despite how the rest of the crew painted you, you're not so bad."

"I like my space. They leave me alone unless they have injuries to be treated."

"Honestly, I expected something a little more..." I trail off, trying to find the words.

"I understand." The fox leans back in his swiveling chair, propping his feet on the pristine slab in the middle of the room. I didn't notice before, but his legs are digitigrade. Even more striking are the rails implanted into them, circular rims held in a manner that seemed to indicate they could be deployed to allow skating.

After a long stretch, he lets out a pacified groan and continues his response. "Undead doctor, bad reputation, you might envision something a little bit bloodier. I can tell you from experience, there are filthier jobs than this."

"I don't doubt it. Far as I can tell, Jori works with flesh as well."

"And quite well, might I add," Nym praises. "She is one of the few people on this ship I wish I didn't put off."

"She didn't seem to dislike you when she was talking with me. All she said was that you're eccentric."

The fox cackles at that, cutting himself short with a cough and a couple of taps to his chest. "Well, I can't say she's wrong. You heard the story, no doubt; left my life of power and comfort behind to well... work on myself. I've made headway, I'd say."

He spreads his arms out in a lazy stretch; his chest and abdomen don't have many changes to them, but his throat is guarded by a polymer cover in the front, seamless with his flesh.

"What purpose does that serve?" I ask, pointing to it.

"Chemical weapons," he replies. "Ports in my spine let me load up on various fluids, which I then aerosolize. Makes me useful in enclosed spaces, so I've no doubt they'll call me out on our salvage trip here in a bit."

"Salvage trip?"

"Oh, nobody mentioned it to you? Our navy ran a Prelature battleship aground and blasted it good. We'll be stopping by to pick through whatever's left for valuables."

"That could be dangerous, if anybody is still there. Or if they've already sent reinforcements."

"Hence they send us. Ambushes are kind of our thing. If you're worried for yourself and your friend here, don't be. We're not new to this."

"Mm, if you're sure," I concede. "Everyone does seem pretty tough around here."

Another laugh, this time it's softer as he leans forward to prop his elbows on his thighs. "Oh yes. Captain's the toughest of them all, but for your sake I'd keep out of her way."

"What's her story anyway? Jori seemed to avoid saying too much."

"That's the thing. Can't tell you what we don't know. All we're certain of is that she's been undead for a while, and you won't find anyone more loyal to the nation than her. And I say that as son of the Empress."

"Sounds like there are worse people to be taking orders from."

"Oh, surely. She's a wild card is all, but not bad."

Almost as if summoned, who I would have to assume is the aforementioned wild card clears her throat through the loudspeakers throughout the ship. "All personnel, you have half an hour to prepare to board. If you expect to claim anything for yourselves, I expect you to be ready well in advance."

There's an almost unnatural pause between each of her words, almost like the verbal equivalent of writing one letter per box on a legal document.

"Already? We got here fast," I remark.

"Enemy lines are close now," Nym says with a shrug. He stands up, and begins to sort through his equipment. "Just be glad there's a journey at all, at this point."

"Right. So what should I do while the rest of you are... pillaging?"

"We're technically not supposed to call it that." He sets down some sort of large gun on the operating bench.

"What would you prefer I call it then?" I ask, looking over the weapon. I've never seen one quite like it; the whole make is very broad and I can't imagine what it uses for ammunition.

"Pillaging. Guidelines are for bureaucrats," Nym chuckles again; I don't imagine he gets bored often. "Though that doesn't answer your question. You can just sit tight here with Mom Nahrrimurn, keep her and the security systems company."

"Right. She sounds nice enough, from what little I've heard."

"Sweet as can be! She absolutely will spend the whole time grooming that mess on your head though."

I reflexively touch the thick mane that runs between my ears and down the back of my neck. "Is it that bad?"

"It's.... in style somewhere on this planet, I'm sure. But it matters little; she just has a thing about cleaning people up." Nym finishes fastening minimal leather armor to his midsection, leaving his shoulders and upwards unguarded. The piece has several pockets loaded with canisters and syringes, so it's likely more for storage than protection.

"There are worse fates, I suppose. Changing the subject, what's that do?" I ask, pointing to the gun.

"Oh, a bit of everything. It's been a pet project of mine for a while now, only became the second most expensive thing I own after your companion's donation to the cause of keeping my pockets lined. Come to think of it I probably should keep quiet about that..."

"I would advise it," Suraokh affirms.

I follow the fox out, who, with a single motion of his hand, causes several locks to engage on the other side of his door.

"Important to keep prying eyes out, you understand," he says, indicating what I assume must be Yhana with a sideways gesture of his head in the direction of her quarters.

"Fair enough. I think I'm going to go pry about those prying eyes myself," I state.

"Take care. I'll be loitering about the top deck until we get there, if you need me."

He passes me as we walk in the same direction, heading to the hatch, while I stop at Yhana's door. I hesitate before knocking, looking to Suraokh.

"You've got me this time, right?" I ask.

He says something but I'm not sure what it was; fear grips me as the door swings open quickly and Yhana leans out, the speed of it all causing me to jump.

"This time what?" she asks.

"Nothing! Why are you wearing a cape?" I ask quickly. If I had yet to mention she was wearing a cape along with her sleek body armor, there it is.

"It makes me feel tough," the taller jackal says, striking a pose and causing the scarlet raiment to flutter. "Plus, I can throw it on my enemies and stab them while they're wrapped up in it."

"How often does that plan work?"

"Every time."

"Go through a lot of capes that way?"

"Oh yeah. It's not financially tenable at all but I stand by it."

There's an uneasy silence, but I break it with a shrug. "Well, whatever works."

"Feels good to be understood," she says, dragging me close for an impromptu hug.

"...Why are we hugging?"

"In case one of us dies while I'm gone. Suraokh, do you want one too?"

"Touch me, and I will end you where you stand," he declines flatly.

"...Not a hugger. Right." She lets off of me, sliding past. "Well, make yourself at home. Mom Nahrrimurn will be around if you need anything."

"Not that she'll do anything but brush my hair," I interject.

"Ah, so you've heard. I'll leave you to it, then. I've got books, so if you get bored, you can... you can read Jesh Akhurai, yes?"

"Jesh and Ku," I reply.

"Cool. Be gentle with them." And with that, she heads upstairs among the uneven line of other privateers leaving their quarters.

Not entirely trusting of her invitation, I enter the room, finding the hammock set up for me. Though wary, I end up casting aside any inhibition and allow myself to rest. I haven't been able to get cozy for a while now, so I'll enjoy it while it lasts. I set my weapon aside, and saunter towards the hammock slowly, reaching it just the time to feel something strike the ship's hull from below, transferring my momentum into the wall. I clutch my newly bruised head, my focus returning slowly and locking firmly onto the sound of alarms screeching throughout the ship.

Trouble isn't done with me yet after all.