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2021's Christmas Story sees Casey and Dev on a special mission

It's a Very Casey Christmas Story, although she doesn't manage to shoot her eye out? But still: she gets to play dress-up, gets to be the Right Stuff doing the Right Thing, and gets some quality coyote time. So. Thanks to Spudz for his help fixing some plot holes, to Luperkaios for continued Jackal Consultancy, and to every one of you for being so incredibly wonderful. Merry Christmas, everyone!

Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute--as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.

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"The Most Famous Jackal of All," by Rob Baird

He didn't know where Casey had gotten the dress, only that it looked stunning indeed on the jackal. The sheer, slinky fabric clung to her lean body as naturally as if it was one of the tailored, custom-fitted flightsuits elite racing pilots wore, and no less expensive.

She moved with the same careful precision, too. Born to it, evidently. He almost never saw her in anything but her own flightsuit--or else nothing at all--but the deep green complimented her fur perfectly, and the cut showed off so much of her charcoal-furred back that what was left to the imagination was almost better than if she had been naked.

It was a good effect, and by itself justified their evening, so far as he was concerned.

Devin, for his part, found his shirt and a clean pair of pants at one of the thrift stores. And then, facing the jackal's glare, he'd gone and found slacks that actually matched the shirt in question. As far as he was concerned, they only needed to clean up enough.

Port Neshoba did not require much cleaning-up to be sufficient, even for a jackal and a coyote. As evidence, the party was described as having a dress code, and a cover charge, but it had let the two of them in. He didn't recognize the other guests: the elite of Port Neshoba, which likely meant organized crime.

Casey, who had drifted off, returned with two glasses of champagne. She pressed one into the coyote's paw, and then narrowed her eyes at him. "Where is she?" Her sister Tory was intended to be their contact; they had no further details about the job she'd promised.

"I don't know. Why would I know? You're the one she called."

He kept watching, looking out at the crowd. Tory wouldn't have set them up, of course, but on the other hand it wasn't impossible that someone else had learned about it and torpedoed the deal. He and Casey were still on the outs with the Keth Deruj, after all, and those gangsters would definitely take the opportunity...

But it didn't seem like that kind of party. It was holiday themed; glittering lights had been strung across the windows, which themselves projected an incongruous holographic image of falling snow and pine trees. It did not snow in Port Neshoba. It rained, sure, but the rain was warm and--like most of the city--unkind.

"Canapé, sir?" Dev turned to find one of the hosts, holding out a plate of something decorated with sprigs of herb and pomegranate seed to evoke, he assumed, the image of holly. The coyote took one. "And for you?"

Casey helped herself, too, and stared the back of the fox's head down as he made his way off. "You get a 'sir,' huh? Normally I'm the one who classes us up."

"You still do."

"Only by comparison." It was only when she took the canapé from him that Devin realized she'd already finished her own. "Oh, don't give me that. I was joking, coyote; you look good."

"So do you, believe me."

"I'm not just here to be eye-candy," she teased. "I--"

"Mom? Mom?" Casey twisted around, peering at the child who had appeared and was now tugging on her tail. The child's muzzle lifted; her head tilted. "Mommy? You're not..."

"No. I would've remembered that, I think."

The girl looked like she could've been a jackal, or at least had jackal in her: sharp eyes despite her youth, and great big ears, and a general air of trouble. Casey was regarding the interloper warily. Dev knelt down, and gently pried the very-definitely-a-jackal's tail free. "You're looking for your mom?"

Her ears went back. "You're not papa, either."

"No. But I bet we can find your folks, right? What do they look like?"

The girl pointed towards Casey. Casey frowned, and started looking around for one of the party's hosts. "We have places to be, Dev. This is a side quest." When Dev didn't make to stand up, she shook her head and went chasing after the fox.

"And your dad?" he prompted, while they waited for her to come back.

"Papa doesn't wear that." Her fingers plucked the wrist of his shirt. "He has nice clothes."

"Gee, thanks. I'll ask him for pointers. Tell you what, though, we need to find him first. Does he have a name?" Silence. "Okay, how about you? Do you have a name?"

"Kamala," she finally told him, although he could not extract further information from her beyond that her parents were, respectively, named 'papa' and 'mom.'

"Well. I'm Devin. The lady over there is Casey. We'll help you."

"This is not a child-friendly party," Casey declared on her return. "So she's not on the guest-list, and they don't know whose she is."

"Security footage?"

"This is not a surveillance-friendly party, either. They suggested we take her to the cops. I got the impression they would like her to not be here."

"You trust the cops?" he asked. Casey sighed, and he turned back to Kamala. "How'd you get in here, anyway? You're, uh--you're not in trouble. It's not that, I promise."

"Robots," the girl said, at last. "It smelled nice, the food. So I got in like a robot."

"The service drones," Devin guessed. "Side entrance, I suppose. Well, that's a start. You got in like a robot?" She reached into her pocket and pulled out a transponder chip--one of the ones, no doubt, the delivery bots used to gain entry.

"Clever." Her voice was still flat, but he sensed Casey was beginning to warm up to the girl. "Let's get this over with quick, then. To the loading dock, Dev?"

Outside, the night air was sultry, and the contrast to the music and fir trees of the party more marked. The handful of workers at the cargo entrance said they hadn't seen anyone--not Kamala, and not her parents. The trio made their way down the adjoining alley, which the kid at least seemed to find familiar.

Nothing. Half an hour later, Kamala stopped moving. She stared at Dev, her ears wilting, and sniffled unsteadily. "Hey. Hey, hey." The coyote knelt again. "It's gonna be okay." That got him a shake of her head. "It is so. You can trust me. Things work out for coyotes."

"Well..."

"They do, Case. You need to take a break, Kamala?" She nodded, although he could all but feel Casey's concern for getting back to why they were on Port Neshoba in the first place. He split the difference, and the girl accepted his offer of carrying her. She didn't weigh much, thankfully--he guessed she couldn't have been much older than four. "If you want, I can keep looking; you head back and see where Tory's gotten herself off to."

"I don't 'want.' Splitting up is a bad idea." She started walking back towards the main road. "Free-range jackal is a bad idea, too. You must be a handful for your parents, Kamala."

There was no answer. The girl's eyes were closed. Dev lowered his voice. "You think she's a jackal?"

"She looks like me as a kid, sure. I didn't learn to steal security transponders off robots when I was that young, though. I guess the youth these days are even more wild and lawless. I hope her parents know she's missing."

"So do I. If we have to go to the authorities..."

He let that hang; the two of them generally avoided such entanglement. Casey went further: "they won't. You think someone with a kid who knows how to hack robots spends a lot of time on the straight and narrow?"

"Adoption it is, then, I guess." The jackal rolled her eyes. "Maybe we can find a middle ground. What about that?" They'd rounded the corner and were back on the same street as the party's entrance. Someone was waiting beneath a streetlight, glancing about expectantly. "They could be a jackal, right?"

"I dunno. They look more..."

"Look more what? Case?"

"Oh, God," she muttered under her breath as they drew nearer. The figure was turned around, but on closer inspection their curves--accented by a red outfit, with white-furred trim--were obviously feminine, their bushy tail was obviously jackal after all, and the overall effect obviously said plenty. "Hey. Tory."

She spun, and pounced towards the pair with her arms out. "Casey! It's good to see you!" Her sister was shorter, softer, and significantly more bubbly. He'd never been able to figure out how much of that came from her less rough-edged upbringing and how much was an affectation coming from her occupation as a hostess. This explained the getup, at least--she had a red cap, too, playfully be-pompomed--and how she'd gotten them into the event.

The upbringing, by contrast, explained Casey's cool relationship with the younger Carr. "Nice duds. You're working?"

"And getting in the spirit! Hey, Dev. You're accessorizing, too, I see."

"She's lost. Snuck in to the party somehow, I guess. That's where we've been. What about your contact?"

"No clue. Look, he's always been reliable before. I don't know what's going on. He doesn't have a comm ID or anything I can use to get in touch with him--normally we just set a meeting point. I... I'm sorry, guys."

"Maybe he'll show up," Casey suggested.

"Maybe. If not, uh, it's not all bad. I mean, at least you're here, right? We can go back to the party and hang out. I can clock out for a bit. And then I'd get to spend some time with you!"

"We need to find the kid's parents first."

"Right... well... well. We can get dinner and strategize?" Tory asked hopefully. "I want to catch up with you. It's been months, y'know?"

Casey frowned. "Was there actually a job in the first place, Tory?"

"There was, I swear. Casey, c'mon--there was!" she insisted heatedly. "I really do. You think I'd be dressed like this for no reason?"

"Yes. Hey." Dev, who wasn't following the subtext of the conversation, had reached over and flipped the pompom on Tory's hat. "Don't encourage her, coyote."

But it had been for Kamala's benefit. The girl repeated his action, toying with the hat tiredly. She was, finally, getting heavy; when he knelt down, Tory joined him, and let the kid lean against her, glancing back up at her sister. "Maybe I would've a little, okay. But I swear he's real."

Before Casey could answer, a voice called up from down the street. "Tory Carr, right?"

Three figures were walking towards them. The largest caught the light first: an older, white-muzzled grizzly bear, heavily built and imposing despite the age-blunted softness of his features. The other two were canine, with perked ears and a stride shorter and less solid than the bear.

He had been the one to speak, and continued as Devin--and, given her narrowed eyes, Casey--began to understand exactly what had transpired, and the degree of coincidence involved. "It is you. I'm sorry it took me so long to get over here... I was walking over and this coupled asked if I was going to the party, because they--"

"Eleanor Kamala Freeman, what are you doing?" one of the other figures demanded--relief kept the anger from really biting, although she was close enough for Dev to see that she had jackal-sharp teeth her daughter would be proud to grow into. "Where have you been? We've been looking for hours."

Kamala had abandoned Tory to run over to her mother, who scooped the girl up into a hug. "Um. Exploring. Had some cookies..."

"At the party? I told you we weren't allowed there. How did you even get in? We were worried sick, honey."

Ears splayed, she produced the transponder. "Robot."

"You took that off a robot? That was very naughty of you," her mother chided.

"Casey said I was clever."

The jackal coughed. "There was context. I, um. I'm Casey Carr. This is Devin."

The couple introduced themselves as Paula and Marco, and the bear as Batya Kolyada. Kolyada pointed back up the street, to the mass transit stop, and suggested a walk. This, it seemed, was for the benefit of him, Tory, and Casey. Paula and her daughter followed at some distance; Dev, even further back.

"First time here?" Marco asked. "You're not dressed like a local."

"Meeting someone--uh, Mr. Kolyada--at that party. I lived here for a few years, though. You?"

"Same."

"Port Neshoba... not to pry, but... it ain't exactly a good place to raise a family even if you can keep 'em indoors. Or on a leash."

The man shook his head ruefully. "You think I don't know that? It's where the work is, though. I'm a load-suit maintenance technician." He opened his jacket to show the badge above his left breast. "Kelovari Limited. At least it keeps a roof over our heads."

"They tell you they might let you move to another planet with enough time in service?" The look he got told him all he needed. "They're lying. You'll never be worth the relocation fees. You have TCEC certification?"

"Level II, yeah."

"You should, ah... go to the Anomaly, down at the harbor, and talk to the owner. Parker. Tell him I suggested you chat with Karo."

"Who's Parker? Friend of yours?"

"Yeah. How I finally got off this rock." That oversimplified the story a bit, but not too far beyond the truth. And Parker would help, if Dev's name entered into it. And Marco, from the relief on his face, seemed to understand that.

When the tram showed up, dingy and late, Kolyada gave the wayward jackal child a hug that set her tail to wagging, shook Marco's paw, and saw the family on their way. Something had changed hands, Dev thought. Then Marco brushed the tram door, and the coyote realized it must've been a fare card.

"Some night," Batya said. He'd had his eyes on Dev, who felt the bear knew he'd been watching what transpired. "It's good that we found you. They were considering speaking to the authorities, but I told them to have faith--some kindly stranger would help."

"They're here illegally?" Casey guessed.

"The attention wouldn't have been good, let's put it that way. Their situation is... marginal. Better than the one they came from. I suspect it will improve." Again he was looking at Devin, who kept quiet. "But for now, at least they'll get home safe. Shall we be on to business?"

"Please."

Batya Kolyada smiled at Casey. "Alright: I need a pilot. Your sister here told me you were fast and good. 'The best,' in her words. One of those, I've seen now."

"She probably meant I was a good pilot. Not a good person."

Tory shook her head. "It's both! You can trust them."

"I take that as proven." His grin was oddly mirthful, as though he was teasing the siblings yet entirely serious about his judgment. Or, perhaps, that his judgment itself was so affable that it seemed weightless.

It felt the same way as having Kolyada staring at him: Dev thought that he was being judged, and for once in his life--even as a coyote--the vulnerability did not unnerve him. The old man's sincerity kept any suspicion at bay.

Now, for instance, he chuckled rather than letting the statement hang. "In any case: what I need at present is the 'fast' part. I have a delivery that needs to be made by tomorrow afternoon. It's going to Ireshago."

"What is it?"

"Raw materials for a factory there--severe weather has disrupted their operations. They're against a deadline, so I am, too. So are you, if you take it."

"What's the offer?"

"Whatever you want. Anything your heart desires, within reason."

"Ten thousand credits?" Casey was shooting high, but Kolyada simply shrugged. "Alright. It's an in-system jump, too--good excuse to stretch the ship's legs. Is the cargo waiting at the port?"

"Yes. It's ready now."

"Right now?" Tory splayed her ears. "Because I should get back to work pretty soon. Do you--are you going with them, Mr. Kolyada? Do you need to come back here?"

"I'll go with them, yes: the factory is difficult to find. Perhaps impossible, without my codes for the navigation beacon. And I imagine I'll stay, to help with production. But the trip isn't very far, so these two won't have to be gone very long. I'm sure Ms. Carr wouldn't want that dress to go unused."

The jackal's look, by contrast, said very clearly: don't push it.

Loading their freighter only took an hour, by which point Casey had the course plotted. According to her, the full trip was only five hours past that, from takeoff to landing, even considering the hyperspace speed restrictions within star systems. They barely had a chance to get their flight plan approved, although he did note that Casey found the time to put her flightsuit back on.

Kolyada rode with them up front, rather than finding a cabin for the short journey. He was a little cagey about Ireshago, if not enough to really brook suspicion. Dev didn't recall Ireshago being inhabited, although a few factories and mining claims were to be expected--any world that could support life was bound to have a few of those.

But not many, which explained Kolyada's difficulty in finding someone willing to make the trip on short notice. He swore the cargo was important, despite its low declared value. The explosive and radiation detectors were calibrated to trace amounts, and both stayed silent, so it probably wasn't weapons.

And Kolyada hadn't said the cargo wasn't to be inspected, but Dev left well-enough alone: considering the deadline and the lack of red flags, it wasn't worth opening the containers. Important to him, the coyote finally concluded. It was important to him, and he had the money to make sure it got there.

That was fine by him: quick, safe jobs were the best kind. There would be more work in Port Neshoba, if Casey was willing to return; if not... nah. Cross that bridge later, the coyote told himself. He imagined she would be. "Pretty close to our ETA now, Casey. You want me to start getting ready?"

"Yep, might as well. How's our landing checklist?"

"Everything looks good. Cargo's secured. Engines are okay. All systems are 'go,' jackal."

"'Go jackal'?"

"That's not what I--" But she'd already dropped them out of hyperspace, slotting the Long Tall Sally neatly into orbit while their navigational computer adjusted itself to the local gravity well. "Well. Anyway, we have a signal from the factory."

"Yeah. Yeah," she said again, the word dragging out as she toyed with one of the control panels. "Fuck me. You didn't tell me it was so far away from the equator. It's practically polar."

Casey had turned around to glare at Kolyada; the bear met her gaze evenly. "Is that a problem?"

"Only if you care about orbital mechanics. Our inclination is completely screwy. We put 'fuel' in the contract, right, Dev?"

"Pretty sure we didn't. At least we'll be lighter coming back up, though."

"For what that's worth," the jackal muttered. The freighter's oversized sublight engines offered plenty of thrust for the maneuver; they wouldn't be inconvenienced. "Ireshago Orbital, this is the Long Tall Sally, requesting approach clearance."

"Nobody home." Dev checked the database, and shook his head. "Huh. There never is. Looks like Ireshago is uncontrolled space. That factory isn't going to have a guidance system, I'm betting."

"No," Kolyada confirmed. "They'll be able to provide a directional beacon, though, for you to home in on. I told you we needed a skilled pilot."

"Better and better. Well, we'll make this quick. Dev, you have that beacon?"

The coyote frowned. Nothing appeared to be broadcasting on the frequency the bear had given him. "No. I don't think so. Or..." No, there did seem to be, but the signal was weak and badly scattered by interference. "Give me a bit."

"Is there a problem?"

"No, Mr. Kolyada. Not exactly. I was just expecting an actual nav beacon. This is..." He applied as many filters as he dared, until finally he could tell a bit more about the transmitter's characteristics. "It's not for starships like us. Drones, I think--ten-kilometer range, maybe?"

"Will you be able to manage?"

It was phrased as a question. Again it carried some hint of judgment; again Devin found himself unbothered by the possibility. "Yes. Kind of." Batya and Casey both let him work in silence for a minute. "Okay, Casey. Here's the deal: our guest wasn't wrong about the weather, so look out for that. Heavy precipitation, all the way down."

"Stand by the icing systems, I guess. But, like, we'll be a couple thousand degrees for a while, coyote. You know how deorbiting works."

Particularly when she was doing it, yes, he did. "Yeah. But, the terminal guidance has a phase modulation that's too scattered right now. I can give you coarse steering for now, but that's it. Nothing more precise until we're below the storm layer."

Casey gave them a laugh that was either resigned or deeply troubling. "I love it. Well, I think we'll have enough fuel. Ready, coyote?"

Based on the bear's warning, and now with first-hand evidence, Dev had gone through a list of everything he expected Casey to ask him for. She'd want the shields at maximum strength. She'd want reserve power available for the structural integrity generator, in case they came in too hard. There was, he thought, an outside chance she'd want the inertial dampeners reinforced in the cargo hold, if she was really worried.

Or reckless.

He knew how jackals worked, anyway. "Ready for it, Case. Expect strong wind shear and limited visibility. The guidance beacon is attenuating so badly I can't really estimate it, but that factory is going to be socked in."

"Well, they asked for us, didn't they? Guess we know why!" Casey took her paws off the control column, twisted around to flash a grin at Batya Kolyada, and patted the bear on the knee. "We'll be fine. Strap in, Batyushka. Devvy--shields up."

"Deflectors at maximum. Should keep the weather at bay."

For a minute or so, the coyote's luck held. The temperatures rose dramatically as they burned off their speed to atmospheric friction, but at altitude there wasn't enough air for 'weather,' per se. The lower they settled, the more pronounced it became. "What were you saying?"

"'Should.' That's what I said."

The Long Tall Sally hit a crosswind gust that punched at 50 meters per second and made every bit of its velocity count. The ship dropped a full kilometer, then met updrafts solid as a sandbar. "Fuck me. 'Should' is doing a lot of work there, coyote!"

"I know, I know!"

They lurched heavily, tossed back upwards by a storm with no respect for the freighter's mass. Casey pushed the nose over, and Dev heard the roar of the engines as the jackal rammed them through the offending layer of atmosphere. "Emergency power to structural integrity."

"Done."

Alarms were beginning to flash on Dev's engineering console, anyway. They were perhaps a quarter of the way through their descent, the atmosphere was getting thicker, and the storm intended to exact its toll. Batya, the coyote saw, was gripping his armrests tightly.

"Auxiliary power's holding," he said, to calm the bear's nerves. "But this turbulence is only going to become more intense. What're your thoughts, Case?"

"Sooner we're on the ground, the better. That's what I think--what's that sound?"

"Cargo hold warning." Specifically, the inertial anomaly monitors didn't like the stresses her maneuvering subjected the containers to. "Not enough to warp the deck plates... yet. I think."

"Can we..." She paused, long muzzle set, paws tight on the controls to work them through another bout of ominous shuddering. "Can you reinforce the hold dampeners?"

"Yeah. You know the drill, right?"

"Means if they fail, they fail big." She let go of the throttle to give him a thumbs-up. "Go us. Do it, 'yote."

"One moment... good." With two-thirds of the flight path to go, he was out of tricks. And this, with a jackal at the helm, was a dangerous place to be. Particularly when her heads-up display abruptly darkened. "Hey..."

"Hey," she echoed. "We've lost the beacon. Get it back, Dev."

A systems diagnostic showed no errors. "It's not us, Casey. They're off the air. I still have some EM readings from the complex, but... you want to abort?"

"If it's necessary," Batya spoke up, "my clients will understand."

The jackal glanced behind her, as if reminded that they weren't alone. "It's just a storm. And we promised. Dev, I need more power to the maneuvering thrusters."

"You can't. We're past what the stabilizing system can manage as it is. Any more, and they might accidentally command a hull overstress."

"Yeah."

"Particularly at this altitude."

"Yeah," she said again. "I'm gonna have to fly it manually. Gimme the power and I'll shut the stabilizers off. Shoulda done that to start with."

He did not need to tell her it was risky, and she would not have cared. Devin bypassed the safeties designed to keep individuals like them from self-immolation, and watched the fuel flow meters warily. "You've got everything the reactor will give me. Be careful."

Her answer was a grunt. Her paw brushed one of the control panels, and if he'd doubted the safeties were truly bypassed alarms blared immediately, trying to convince the pair to think twice. She tested the controls with a gut-wrenching swerve of the freighter.

"Careful!" he shouted again.

Another thumbs-up. Her foot kicked twice. The alarms went quiet. Then, as the ship's nose dropped and a jolt of acceleration shoved them forward, they were replaced by a scream that he thought--judging from her grin--sounded like Casey, until the sound of guitars disabused him. "Hey! Coyote!"

"Jackal!"

"The hammer of the gods, Devvy!"

That was definitely Casey, who--fighting an arctic blizzard for highly unclear reasons and with increasingly dubious outcomes, was back in her element at last. The hammer of the gods, a voice echoed her as if cued, will drive our ship to new land. They were accelerating into the heart of the storm.

It was, at least, better than the turbulence as far as their cargo was concerned--she was blowing through that, and the force of their thrusters was a known quantity. The Long Tall Sally had dropped to twelve kilometers of altitude, and the complex sank below their horizon. "Valhalla, I am coming! Hey, that's good! Coyote--bearing?"

"You're still on course. Watch your descent rate." He had the suspicion she was trying to beat the screaming man on the speakers, and his guitars, to the finish line. "Caution--shear, eleven o'clock."

The freighter's nose swung off-angle, and they skipped off the knot of tormented air hard. Batya grunted, and Dev's teeth slammed together, short of his tongue by millimeters. "More precise, please?"

"Slow down and I'll see what I can do."

"Mmf. No dice. Can I get thermal on the viewscreen?"

Once, it had been difficult to think out of the box when Casey asked him for things like that, because it was often under circumstances best described as extremely stressful. But they'd been together too long; the coyote frowned thoughtfully, and went to work. "Here. 3D plot; logarithmic distance. Sensors are good out to about fifteen kilometers. That's enough?"

"Plenty."

Her big ears were forward, swiveling and twitching. He saw immediately why she'd asked. She was using the air temperature to find the individual, swirling currents--looking for where the gradients indicated rougher air, and ducking them around it. The ride smoothed out. "The factory's now ten degrees starboard. Thirty klicks."

"Still no beacon. Think they wanted us to show off. Oops--hold on!" She jerked them up, flashing another raft of inertial alarms across Dev's console, and took the opportunity to point them back in the right direction. "Sorry about that."

"You're fine, Case."

"Better than 'fine,'" Batya muttered. "They said you were good, but..."

"Wait until we're landed. It's on my nose, Devvy? You're sure?"

"I'm sure. Twenty k. You can start braking."

The guitars had begun to fade, anyway. Casey slowed the ship down, leaning forward and staring through the cockpit as new instruments replaced them. "The visibility is just... awful. This is why people hate planets, 'yote."

"'People,' or you?"

--With stars to fill my dream, the radio filled in while she considered the question. I am a traveler of both time and space--"Smart people, like me. How far?"

"Fifteen." And now they caught updrafts, whipped towards them by the wind hitting cliffs hidden by the driving snow. "Ten. We're still high, though."

"Yeah. This last bit will be a little rough."

Instead of asking for clarification, he set his jaw and watched the system readouts. Casey wanted to minimize their time close to the ground; they reached the landing zone two kilometers over it, and it was only then that she descended. Straight down, into winds that fought them so hard neither he nor Kolyada realized they were on the ground until after the jackal had let go of her controls.

"We made it, right? Fore and aft g-clamps are locked and stable. RCS and thrusters are idle. Kill the shields and let's shut off the reactor, 'yote."

The Long Tall Sally was, gravity clamps or no, still rocking too much for his comfort. "Hold up."

She was already halfway out of her seat, and stayed perched there. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Don't shut down quite yet. I need to check these numbers." A high, staccato series of beeps added backup to the coyote's sense of caution. "Oof, that's not good."

"What's that?"

"Inertial alarms. Again. We're coupled to the ground," he explained. "The cargo has its own inertial reference from the ship dampeners. They're not playing nice."

"Like... within tolerances? Unsafe?"

"There's 'okay for a jackal' unsafe and then there's 'I won't sign off on this' unsafe." Experience had taught Devin to be highly wary of unsecured cargo, and without knowing how much worse the storm might get he didn't trust the load factors being reported. "I don't think we can sit here."

"No?"

"No."

Casey looked him over. Her right ear flicked. Then she nodded, and swiveled her lithe body back into the pilot's seat. "Alright. Let's run the takeoff checklist, 'yote."

Batya cleared his throat. "If it's the cargo, I can get it offloaded--round up some of the locals to move it in. It's just that with the comms out, your payment will have to wait."

"So will our departure, playin' it safe," the jackal pointed out. "If the hold was empty, we'd be okay, Dev? I'm fine staying here until the storm clears, if you two are."

Dev shrugged. "Sure. Let's go get that done, Mr. Kolyada?"

"Of course. Let me call the ground crew."

He waited by the aft cargo door for Batya to join him, scanning through the cargo logs. The containers had taken a beating, just like the rest of the ship. One of them might have been damaged. Biological signatures? The note gave no further details, and then Batya trundled up, clad in a heavy parka with its hood obscuring his face.

"We'll need that?"

"You won't." The bear chuckled, patting his shoulder. "You can stay here. Just get them clear of the ramp."

Dev opened the internal door to the bay, fearing the worst. Their cargo had stayed put, though. For the most part: stress had gashed one open. Its contents were still inside. "What kind of factory are--uh--I mean. Sorry about the damage. We didn't ask what you were carrying. It's fine."

"No damage that matters," Batya reassured him. "You got me here. And the cargo is still usable. Ready to lower the ramp?"

As soon as he hit the button to do so, Dev realized he was not, in fact, ready at all. Bitter wind stole his breath and singed the edges of his ears, blasting through the coyote's fur as though he was completely bare-skinned.

Batya was already at work unlocking the containers from the deck plating and rolling them down the ramp to the snow-covered landing pad, where a crew of similarly suited stevedores waited. Dev couldn't raise his voice enough to be heard over the storm. Instead he joined the bear in clearing the bay--the sooner that was done, the sooner he could be warm again.

He had no idea where the factory was. Empty antigravity sleds appeared as if from nowhere; laden, they disappeared into the snow no more than five meters past the glare of the ship's interior lights struggling through the blizzard.

It couldn't have taken more than ten minutes, most of which he spent in the bay itself, guiding their cargo to where Batya and his workers could take it down the loading ramp. Even sheltered from the worst of the storm, though, his ears ached and his fingers hurt by the end of it.

He couldn't hear what Batya said after the bear waved in parting. He closed the loading ramp and slumped, letting the hold come back up to a reasonable temperature. When he was, he judged, sufficiently recovered, he went to find Casey. "All done. Still have all my fingers, too. I guess we're just sitting tight until Kolyada pays us?"

"I guess. Storm needs to clear out."

"Mm. What are we going to do until it does?"

She double-checked to make sure the ship was sufficiently powered off, and stepped up to the coyote with a grin. "You're really asking?"

"Flying does put you in a mood, doesn't it?" Her arms were circling his neck, guiding him to the kiss that followed. "Not that I'm complaining..."

That resulted in a wider grin, and another kiss until they were both out of breath and her snicker was ragged. "And we didn't get the chance back on Neshoba. Me with that nice dress and everything... I know you appreciate my fashion sense."

Thinking about the way she'd looked in the dress had the coyote growling. "Jackal dress-up is one of my favorite hobbies." Of course she looked just fine in the flightsuit, too, and he didn't feel as bad about digging claws in when he groped her. "Kolyada was right... be a shame if you only wore it the once..."

The way he squeezed her rump weakened Casey's stance for a moment; she bit her lip and had to concentrate. "Is it dress-up if you only care about taking the clothes off the jackal, Dev?"

"True. Maybe later. We should find someplace to wait out the storm. Hide out in bed. Keep warm..."

"Here's fine. Faster, anyway. Nice view."

She'd tilted her head to the cockpit glass, with the snowfall only intensifying. "The nicer views are closer than that. C'mon. Now that you've mentioned it, I want to get out of these clothes."

Casey shrugged--though, when she started padding away, and he patted her rear, she wiggled it playfully. Their cabin wasn't more than a few steps from the cockpit, anyway. And the bed would be more comfortable. And--"all the way in?" she asked him with a coy smirk.

They were already at their destination, and with a wave of the coyote's paw the door slid open. "That's the idea. You're the one who told me no tying in the cockpit, aren't you?"

She stuck out her tongue; the directive hadn't lasted very long, and she'd never really seen fit to enforce it. "You just want an excuse to cuddle. Softy."

"Watch it." Not all of him was soft--he pinned her briefly to the wall, letting her feel that when he ground against her. His claw found the clasp of her flightsuit. "Stop being impossible and get this off."

"Me? Impossible? That seems more like a coyote kind of--"

"Off." He bit at her ear, and tugged the clasp again. "Now."

She grinned--and it was a very jackal grin--but stopped arguing. Slim fingers traced over the fabric, and it peeled open obligingly beneath her touch. She tugged her arms free, and by that point the coyote's own were already back around her, running through her thick pelt.

Pushing her backwards, if a little inadvertently: she stumbled and fell back onto the bunk, dragging the coyote down with her. Having the jackal pinned wasn't exactly a problem, of course. Having the suit only halfway off, however, slightly inconvenienced both of them.

Casey shoved the coyote away, long enough to get the rest of her clothes off, and then let go. The sinewy jackal could be plenty strong, when she wanted--but she was also calculating, and when Dev pinned her again it put their muzzles in usefully close contact.

She rolled, dragging him onto the bed with her; he batted, pushing at his jeans in no small amount of frustration until they finally gave way. Casey was atop him, then, her lips pressed to his and her hips grinding down against the coyote's now-exposed crotch. His tip prodded her firmly; the shock of it had them both gasping.

The jackal rallied--rocked down more deliberately, now, so he slipped partway inside. And, with the tense coyote feeling that slick warmth starting to part around him, she narrowed her eyes and pulled back from the kiss. "Actually..."

"What?"

"I did all the work earlier." She bit his nose, rolling against him in a teasing circle that nudged his cock half a centimeter further inside, if that. Just enough to feel it. "Your turn, now. Earn your keep."

"What do you think unloading the cargo bay was?"

Casey shrugged. "What. Tired you out?"

"I didn't say that. I said--"

"I mean, if you've already unloaded enough for one day..."

He felt her hips start to raise up, growled, and spun the jackal. Glaring down at her, he repaid the nip. "You're being impossible, Case."

"Yeah, and you--" She sucked her breath in, instead, as his smooth thrust took her, sinking the coyote's cock all the way to the hilt. Her eyes had closed, and her muzzle quivered in a quiet gasp. Finally she looked up at him, grinning. "And you love it, coyote."

Guilty as charged. He didn't feel like giving her the satisfaction of that admission, though. Not when it was so much easier to demonstrate: slow strokes at first, savoring the heat of her wet folds as they parted around him. Sliding back, nearly as far as he could, and then driving forward until he was buried deep, feeling the jackal grind her hips needfully against his own.

That wasn't his cue to pick up the pace, exactly, but when he did Casey's claws raked him, his fur bunching up between her gripping paws. Her head fell back for him to nip at her throat, punctuating the bites with erratic growls as his bucking hips plunged him into the jackal's cunt.

She answered his growling in hoarse gasps, and yelps that quickly grew louder and more insistent. A sharp lunge, hard enough to lift her hips partway up and properly drive home how solidly he'd taken her, forced the yelping up and into an open, pleasure-racked wail.

Of course, the advantage of the weather was that nobody could hear it. Nobody could hear a damn thing more than five meters outside the hull. A few more of those thrusts and she was howling. Not so much squirming under him as thrashing, arching and grinding in a way that not only brought his attention to the precipitous swelling of his cock but also stripped away any desire to hold himself back.

When he woke, he'd feel the claw-marks the jackal left. Nose buried in the crook of her neck, his ears were close enough to the jackal's muzzle that she was liable to leave them ringing. No matter. He gripped her shoulders for leverage and fucked her until her giddy cry told him he didn't have to worry about pulling out anymore.

There was still a little bit of play, a tiny amount of movement that shrank with every heartbeat that forced his knot thicker and thicker in her. She was squeezing right at the base of it now--he groaned, fighting off his imminent loss of control, trying to reach his peak in the jackal with some degree of intent beyond carnal lust.

That wouldn't do. Hot breath washed his ear. "Gonna be a good boy now?" The guttural growl that answered her was decidedly not consciously intended. Neither was the heavy, hard insistence in how he pushed into her. She bit down when he tried to tug back, futile as it was, and didn't hide the hoarse desire in her whisper. "Gonna fill me? Gonna claim your bitch, coyote?"

"Casey!" he choked the snarl out just on the far side of intelligibility, and as her gasps of encouragement filtered through the frayed edges of his restraint he bucked until instinct drove him to a halt in a hot, gratifying rush. Frozen, his paws a death-grip on her shoulders, the coyote gave her his answer in the rhythmic throb of his cock while he flooded the jackal with his cum.

There was another yelp, and straining of her muscles as she pressed up against the coyote pinning her, clenching down wetly around his length. When the two synced, briefly, it only seemed to magnify the twitch, and the intensity of the spurt that followed, planting his seed deep.

His climax tapered before hers, though; Dev was collapsed on her chest, panting into the sheets for a good spell before the jackal decided she was done enough to stop squirming. At that point he'd emptied every drop in her he had, he figured, and then some. He was completely drained, letting her shoulders go and wrapping his arms around her instead.

They lay together like that for some minutes--his shaft had stopped even dry twitching, although if he shifted more than the slightest amount he could still feel the wet slickness he'd pumped into her. Good coyote, or something like that. She didn't protest when, finally, he rolled onto his side and pulled her with him.

She did, even, take the first opportunity for a kiss. Then she narrowed her glinting eyes at him, and showed teeth in her wide grin. "Told you it was just an excuse for cuddling."

"Yeah. And you love it," he teased back. "Not stopping me, are you? Fortunately, I happen to like nice girls."

"I'm a nice girl." She pressed her lips to his at the accusation, hiding a fond jackal smirk, and wiggled closer. "But you're even better, so it works out. That dress... mmf."

"Glad you liked it. How long you figure we're gonna be stuck here?"

"A few hours seems likely. That was a pretty intense storm."

"Mm-hm. Second-most fun thing I've done today."

He snickered, kissing her again. "High praise, jackal."

"I like where flattery gets me. I mean... need to get you ready to go again somehow." Sharp claws worked through his fur, kneading the coyote's rear. "No damage to the ship, right? From the storm? Or the cargo?"

"One of the containers split, but... no damage. You know what we were carrying?"

"No. What?"

"Flour. Sugar, too, I think. Vanilla. It hit the bio-filters, but I didn't pry too much."

Casey's head cocked inquisitively. "It's, what... a bakery? They're making bread or something?"

"Maybe. Cakes? Cookies? If it's all hush-hush, they must be really good. Like those frosted ones you--"

"Stop." She poked his side. "You're gonna make me hungry."

"Sorry."

She grumbled. "I dunno. This was weird, coyote. I guess we'll find out when the weather clears. I kinda feel like I trust Kolyada? Even though I don't know why."

Devin felt the same way. He figured it was the way Batya had introduced himself--his obvious rapport with the family, and his good-natured interaction with Tory. He couldn't bring himself to think the factory was illicit, or that the bear was some kind of underworld figure, despite everything.

Not that it mattered, anymore. The hard work--fun, in Jackal--was already done. They just needed to settle up and be on their way. Before that, he could steal a relaxing spell with Casey: smooth her fur down until the grumbling stopped, though she'd never admit she liked the attention, not exactly. The closest she came was pulling the covers over them, and using it as an excuse to keep herself tight to the coyote.

He drifted off without knowing how tired he'd become, and woke without knowing how long he'd slept. Casey was on her side; she'd taken some of the blanket with her, and when he prodded her shoulder the jackal simply grumbled. Dev carefully extricated himself, and called up the environmental monitors on the computer. Things had calmed down outside: still cold, but the winds had died down and the grey light was unfiltered by clouds.

By the time he pulled his clothes on, Casey was awake enough to be sitting upright, squinting at him. "We can take off? I'm ready to ditch this rock."

"We can take off. I'll go see about--"

One of the proximity alarms interrupted him. This was a soft chime, though: someone was at a hatches, requesting entry. Given that Dev was the only one presentable, he made his way forward and opened the door.

Nothing. Nobody greeted him. There was no movement, except the rising plume of condensation from his breath, glinting with the reflection of the ship's lights. Nothing broke the flat white of new snow--save for a box, lying on the ground. "Hello?"

Was he expecting an answer? In any case, none came. He extended the boarding ramp, which came to rest just before the box, pushing through snow the scouring winds had still left knee-deep. Whoever put it there--there were no bootprints--had done so recently enough that nothing had accumulated.

Inside he found two small envelopes, one addressed to each of them, and another box that felt oddly warm to the touch. Your payment, as promised, had been written on each envelope. The lettering had been done by hand: deceptively precise for Batya Kolyada, though he couldn't think of anyone else it might've been. Dev scanned the horizon for any sign of the man, then shook his head and returned to the warmth of the freighter.

Casey was in the cockpit, with a shirt tugged hastily on and her pants still unfastened. She was looking over the cockpit readouts, and clearly perplexed by what she found. "Hey. Dev?"

"Case? Picked up our payment."

"Uh-huh." Casey took the envelope with her name on it, and set it aside. "You met up with Batya?"

"No. They must've sent a drone out."

"You'd think," she said. "I mean, I'd certainly think so."

He knew her more than well enough to pick up when there was something odd in the jackal's tone. "What's going on?"

"Where'd they send it from, coyote? The factory complex?" She'd called up the ship's sensors, which had mapped the area around their landing site extensively. Extensively enough, definitely, that he could see what was troubling the jackal: nothing. Nothing at all. "Zilch on passive. No response to any hails, either. No sign of the beacon."

"Let me run a sensor diagnostic. Maybe..." Maybe the storm threw things off--most of their data would've been from the approach, and badly scattered by falling snow. "Maybe..." he muttered it again as he ran through the diagnostics, somehow already knowing that they would show nothing at all the matter with the Long Tall Sally.

The coyote had set the box down at his engineering station. While he waited for the diagnostics to finish, he slit his envelope open with a claw. The contents were too light to be a data chip that might have some bank account information on it--as with looking for a fault in the sensors, he was already resigning himself to the likelihood that they wouldn't be getting paid.

Inside was a piece of paper: heavy, and of good quality. On it, in the same floral script as adorned the envelope, was written: turn around. Dev cocked his head, and flipped the paper over curiously. That side was blank. Turn around.

He did. Casey was looking at him. She was holding an open envelope in one paw, and a length of red ribbon in the other. "What was in yours?" she asked. She had to come closer in order to read what was written. "'Turn around.' Which you just did, I guess. And..."

"Well. You were there," he teased. "Did you get anything else?"

"No." From behind him, he heard the computer's soft chime: no faults in the ship. Casey stared at the ribbon, and then back at the coyote. "Ah, fuck it."

She looped the ribbon around his neck, and her fingers worked busily beneath his muzzle, where he couldn't see them. "Jackal?" he prompted. She glared at him, said nothing, and kept going.

When she finally stepped back, he turned to catch his reflection in the console monitor. She'd turned the ribbon into a serviceable bow, and after giving him a few seconds to appraise it she huffed. "'Anything your heart desires, within reason.' Right? Do what you were told: turn around."

As soon as he was facing the jackal again, though, she grabbed the ribbon and tugged him close, lifting her muzzle with a pilot's precise aim to draw the coyote into a kiss. The glare, he realized, was for effect. The kiss was not; he pulled her in close, and held Casey tightly to him until they were out of breath.

"I think we might've been tricked, coyote," she finally said. "I'm not sure who did it. Or why. But I think... hm."

"Yeah?" He let go of her, and she promptly used the ribbon to disabuse him of the idea. This time, when their lips met, her carnelian eyes closed. If she intended to savor it, he had no intention of passing up the opportunity. "I guess... we had fun, right?"

"Interesting flying," she agreed. "Good company. What's the other thing in the box?"

It was not, obviously, going to be money. The container wasn't well-insulated; the cookies inside, it followed, had to have been fresh. Casey took one, shook her head, and slipped free of the coyote to take the pilot's seat. "Should I start our departure checklists, then, Case?"

"While the weather's decent, yeah. Huh. Pretty good cookie. I don't think I'd say it was my heart's desire, but--eh? No? Hey. C'mon. Don't be like that." He looked over to see her tap at one of the gauges with her claw, and then switch to hitting it with the flat of her palm. "Devvy, can you check the fuel levels? I know we burned plenty on that deorbit."

But the ship was telling him they were at 100%. "The reading's correct. At least... yeah. Yeah, the CG plot has us full. Checkin' the logs, it looks like we spent a couple hundred kilograms on the descent, and then... half an hour ago, somebody topped us off. The fill sensor indicates it's normal DA-7 fuel. No problems with the reactor..."

She ran the throttle up, then back down. Then, satisfied it was safe, up again, and the Long Tall Sally lifted her nose towards the dim sky. Without a hint of complaint from the still air, the ship climbed, with her pilot unusually quiet. Finally, 50 kilometers aloft, she cleared her throat. "This, uh. This was weird, right, Dev?"

"Right."

"We're not gonna tell anyone about it. Right?"

"Right."

"Merry Christmas or something, I guess. Right?"

"Yeah. If it's the right time of year."

"I think so." She went silent again, ear flicking occasionally. "Okay. What I don't get, though, is like... I mean. I love you, Dev."

She was in one of the rare, contemplative moods where he didn't think she was likely to suddenly floor the throttle. He undid his harness and took the copilot's seat next to her, instead. "Love you, too, Case. What don't you get?"

The freighter banked gently, and she eased off the thrusters. Through the canopy glass, he could see the northern continent in stark relief. Craggy, steep mountains cut through the snowy wilderness; ice floes, white and sharp as shattered glass, adorned a deep blue sea.

There was no sign that the planet was inhabited. Something about the landscape, framed under the rippling shimmer of brilliant aurora, made the notion seem almost absurd. It was too beautiful for that--so beautiful it seemed almost profane to think of mere mortals being privileged to see it, let alone a pair of tricksters. And yet.

She held out a paw. He took it; squeezed. She grinned, twisting from her seat to kiss the coyote's nose before settling down again. "So, like. Okay. Maybe 'whatever you want' was dangerous for us, if we already had... that. Each-other. The ribbon was a nice touch."

"I can't really see to undo it, but I'll take your word."

"I'll unwrap you later. My point is... Tory brokered this, right? What did she get? What does she want? I don't think it's money. I don't think Kolyada paid her."

"Probably not. You know what she wants, though. She said it: she wanted to spend time with you."

Casey gave him an odd, sideways glance. "Fuck. You're right, aren't you?"

"Well. Coyotes..."

"Yeah, that was my hope. But I think you probably are right. Fuck. And we could get back to Neshoba pretty quick, couldn't we? Fuck. Make dinner, for sure. Put that dress on again. You didn't set this up, did you? You two are weird like that."

"Yeah, and you love it. But no, I didn't. I'm as confused as you."

"You don't think she set this up, do you?"

"No."

She scowled, without much success. "Me either. Fuck. Coyote!"

"What? I'm not the better angel of your nature here, Case."

"Don't tell Tory that. But get back to your station. Got a jump to--no."

"No?"

Casey reached for the ribbon, pulled hard, and stole another kiss from the coyote. "There. Now I've got a jump to plot. Let's go."