FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Tiki's nose twitched as his heart pounded. The small canister, pressed uncomfortably to his chest, was just big enough that he couldn't hide it in his paws. Regardless, he held it tightly, closed his eyes and hoped that his ammonium smell had been scrubbed out enough with the carbon rub through his fur.

He noted his breathing was too fast. His deep intakes of air made his chest ache as the ammonium empowered his lungs. The filtration and supplement device made a low hiss as it worked to pump and fill the precise balance of oxygen, nitrogen and ammonium compounds so that his body would stop screaming for air, just as his body needed. He had to forcibly slow down the gulps of air in an effort to calm down his heart. The soft hiss slowed down and became an inaudible hum.

Paw-steps whiffed nearby as the drawn-out yelling and squabbling of the odd ringel language punctuated the arrival of the enemy. He didn't know why they bothered to wear jewellery. The loud clinking noises accompanied by their obtuse vocabulary gave away all information about them if you listened carefully enough. Though their feet were light, the clinking metal made him overreact to the basic creaking of the ship, keeping him on edge more often than he'd like.

His quiet and steadied breaths drew no attention as they ran on by the grate he had stuffed himself into. He couldn't see if they flashed a light down to search for his reflective eyes, or for the canister. He had to forgo that luxury of knowledge for now. He waited patiently while the ringel crew searched fruitlessly for him.

Where he hid in the vent had been a mediocre hiding place at best. A ringel could have fit in there no problems. For Tiki, his blue and darker stripes of his pelt pressed into every corner, pushing the limits of how much his geordian body could twist into the small space. It wasn't painful, but it was uncomfortable. His literal bones just didn't fit into the space and try as he might, his hips and shoulders were the tiniest bit too wide to fit into the gap. It bruised and chafed to the point where it threatened to bleed.

Had he been home, this kind of gap was just where his little kits would hide. He could envision it now, in his home, with his mate, sarcastically bickering as to who would be the monster to grab them into bed. He'd eventually concede with no small amount of delight, and get up to stomp around the rooms. All the while, he would pretend he couldn't see their bright eyes peeking out from beneath tiny little corners, hoping to see where he would stomp off to.

He would forever miss those times, and the kisses to both his cubs. He also missed the little tickle of whiskers as he pressed his lips to his mate for the last hour of the day before cuddling up to her at night.

He didn't cry, tears were not wasted. He knew that once he got on the ship, there was nobody coming to rescue him. He had just enough tools to get him in alive, and the canister out of the ship intact. Everything else was optional. He chanced a look at the triple-rep memory drive, ensuring it was still stuffed and packed in the canister to hopefully survive the impact. The moment it could tell it was out of an artificial gravity field, it would immediately start projecting data in a broadcast, which would double as its beacon. Encrypted of course.

He hugged the canister as if it were his own daughter, and kissed it, "Last mission, Pa'nia. Then daddy won't be back, be a good sister like you promised."

He heard no more movement from outside the grate and took the opportunity to wiggle out. The tight and cramped corners of the vent were bruising his hips and shoulders. As much as he would have liked at least even a single rag or cloth around him, it was imperative that he carry as little as possible. Nobody wore clothes anyway, there had never been a need.

Briefly, he realised that his body scraped too much against the vent. If he started to bleed, the ammonia compounds that resided in his blood could be detected with a simple sniff. Ringel breathed primarily oxygen compounds, meaning the strong, irritating smell would not go unnoticed. Since he wore a filtration mask, he'd never be able to smell anything, be it gas, bleeding or ozone of a failing electronic device.

With a quiet sigh, he tapped the side of his mask to find out how much time he had left. 2 hours until his ammonia would run out. That was considerably less than he had hoped. Perhaps running to avoid the ringel before hiding was a mistake. He should have found the first place he could crush himself into. That would have been the smarter thing to do.

However, the opportunity to swipe an unlocked communicator had been invaluable. He managed to take some of the necessary codes to open doors as well as cabinets filled with tools. The medical supplies he pilfered allowed him to tie a makeshift tourniquet onto his leg that still burned fiercely as it aggressively disagreed with the alien antibacterial.

His most delightful find was a weapon locker, with its respective pulse rifle. It just small enough for him to carry one-handed, though still a little unwieldy. He pondered on the recoil of the weapon but didn't dare test a shot lest he give away his position.

What had been more important was finding he could access the dock and respective airlock nearby. An unsecured access point let him download a map to his strand before they detected his intrusion.

After taking a dreadful half-hour wait in the tight confines out of utter precaution, he readied his resolve to put himself into active danger again. Getting out of the vent would be easier than getting in, but the adrenaline had emptied out of his system, and he felt slightly exhausted. Regardless, his training, his dedication to his clan, and his resolve to see the suicide mission through helped him reach out and pull himself closer to the grate.

He waited until he was sure he could hear no noise, no sound, no clinking of jewellery. Then carefully, his paw gently pried away mesh as he pushed through, struggling gentle grunts as he scraped and dragged his hips out of the tight area. He checked his body for aches and pains, pulling out the gauze just in case he needed to apply some. Nothing but light bruising, no puncture of the skin except for his existing wound on his leg.

He spun to his back paws with a wince, ears alert for any sound. As quietly he could, he gently ran across the empty hallway, hoping that he would hear a ringel far before he ran into them. He slipped the canister into the satchel, holding it above his hips so it wouldn't clank and bang against his body or his tail as it swirled to counterbalance his actions.

His ear twitched when he heard a sound, spinning around to look into the inky depths that stretched the silent corridors. His eyes contracted to slits as he tried to see anything that might spot him. His claws gently reached into the satchel, bringing out the sleek, automated weapon that fit snugly into his paw. He flicked the safety off and raised it ever so careful at a suspicious shadow. It readied with a soft, red glow and a high-pitched whine that he was fairly sure a ringel could hear, right until it went beyond even Tiki's hearing range.

The shadow didn't move. Was it even something he needed to be aware of? How loud would a pulse shot be? Would it clang off the metal walls and structures or punch through them? He knew it could punch through the metal of a wall, with enough energy to gut someone on the other side. He wasn't sure how well it would do against structural titanium alloys. It would definitely make a noise of some kind.

He heard a clink. A soft one. It was the tentative tap of metal on metal. Tiki turned, raising the gun in a quick and precise action, aiming it down where he looked. Nothing? Where was it coming from? He was sure it wasn't just the ship creaking. Another noise! He twisted around, ducking to a crouched, kneeling position while his eyes and ears flicked around, trying to find the offender.

A heavy creature landed on him, yelling in geordian, "Got you!"

The language surprised him, and the heavy crunch hurt. His chest crushed into his knee, the bones twisting and contorting underneath him as he tried to withstand the heavy impact. Air whooshed out of his lungs and he struggled to breathe. This creature was larger than a ringel, larger than two, perhaps. Definitely heavier than two of them piled on top of him. He tried to roll over to alleviate the pressure. The creature upon him held far too much inertia, and he could feel the twist of his head as his whole body crushed into the ground from its large paw.

The hiss of his filtration device flared up loudly, sucking in air and Tiki could see a hefty graze on his visor. He felt the tear on his leg aching and fresh blood oozing from the wound, as it twisted too far even for him. He could feel the strain going up to his knee.

Thick, beefy arms slammed on his head, resulting in a heavy 'clack' sound as the plastic struck the metal. The visor took the brunt of the damage as his head rattled within, protected against the impact. Still, that was his lifeline, and he hadn't made it out of the ship yet. He tensed up on the ground and his training kicked in, hand still holding the gun, he twisted it at an unearthly angle behind him, and fired.

The shot was loud and intense. His chest felt like he had been thrown on the ground despite having never left contact. The recoil sent stabbing sensations up his arm, and the shock of it surely had sprained anything in contact with the weapon. The creature landed on him again, but this wasn't the active, frantic movement of a struggle. This was dead weight. It landed right on the gun, digging into his paw and back, jarring it and making Tiki grimace and gasp in pain.

Warm liquid poured on the back of Tiki as he panted and tried to wriggle out from under the body. He huffed, surprised by the close call and grateful for his survival. He checked the creature. To his surprise, it was not a geordian.

He wasn't sure what it was, but from what he could see left of the head, it was most certainly not rounded features. The ears were triangular and fanned out a little to the side, so not a geroo's either. The tail was shorter than a ringel... than a geordian, than... most species actually. He never saw a race with a tail that only went to their legs apart from the Anup, and this was certainly far too small for one.

Its fur pattern was also foreign to him. Dark brown spots in irregular shapes, on top of a brown and yellow pelt. The blood was red, and that's about all he could make out from it. It was far bigger than any ringel, and possibly larger than any geroo or geordian he'd seen in his life. It didn't have the mane of a lio either, just a tuft that flowed down from what was left of the head, down to the back. He couldn't recall seeing this creature and didn't have any clue as to what it was.

Still, it knew geordian, and caught him off guard. Alone. Without a weapon. That was brave, if a bit stupid. He rationalised that if he had no weapon, he'd probably do the same thing, and would have died just like it did.

"Rest, your duty served. Be it the wrong side, you managed to catch me off guard. You are a great warrior, and may we see each other in another reincarnation." Tiki said a few more brief words in prayer, but he could not dwell on too long. He had to leave. He stood, his firing arm weak and unable to hold this gun properly. His leg then fell under him, blinding pain radiated from his knee. This wasn't good. He must have over twisted it or pulled it out in the scuffle.

He reached in his bag and took a few limited vials of medical care he had, but there was no external wound. He was no medical expert, but he might have to numb the knee to keep going. He was slightly concerned he wouldn't do well with the medicinal supplies he too, but the greater fear was not making it out of the ship. He quickly tied a bandage around it firmly, hoping it would hold him in place until he got out. He stabbed a ringel anaesthetic to help him. He only needed it for a few hours, after that, it didn't matter, even if it did kill him.

He carefully got to his legs and hobbled away from the bloody mess. There was too much of it to consider trying to wipe it away. The warm, red liquid that dripped down his back onto his tail made him grimace. That was not a nice thought, and the comfort of warm showers in his home was an unnecessary but cherished thought at this time.

His movements were much slower now. The step, hobble, step, hobble movement slowed him down and he was very grateful that he had not seemed to alert anyone as he rounded a corner.

He tapped his visor to bring up a map, locating a nearby route that would lead to the airlock of interest, to a dock outside. There were still notifications of time left in his ammonia pump, as well as the typical heart rate, blood pressure and time vying for attention. A warning flashed up to alert him that he was running out of ammonia, and tried to switch to saving mode by cutting the ammonium to 40%. In any other type of mission, he would have opted to conserve resources. This time, he overrode the warning, needing every ounce of ammonium to help focus.

He pulled out his strand, looking at it. The dim light was enough for him to see the cracked screen and warped metal. When had that happened? Was it when he fell down the central shaft? Was it when he rammed into the office room, screaming at the ringel to enter in the codes? Perhaps when that spotted creature landed on him?

He started to worry whether the codes he had swiped would still work on his strand. The short-range communication protocols the ringel used were not unique and easily replicated. His strand would perfectly emulate a communicator if all the right information had been stored on it. The clear concern was whether the device would still work.

He sighed. Another thing that won't matter soon. He followed the map he had, carefully, to let his leg not take too much strain. He wanted to exit out of the airlock. H had memorised the configuration of minimal ringel equipment to know which wires to destroy. Most equipment that faced outside the ship had to be powered on to open, forcing it shut when an unexpected failure occurred. Having it work the other way would be a disaster.

Tiki knew how to work most of a ringel's airlock without deactivating the power and causing the auto-lock feature that would trap him on the ship. This was for a clean escape, of course. If he couldn't find such a way to get out, then a dirty way was perfectly acceptable. The only thing that mattered, was for the canister to leave the ship, unimpeded. All for the clan.

His head peered around the corner, where he spotted two ringel in the brightly lit corridor. Without breaking his gaze, he stood out and raised the gun to fire. A cavernous hole appeared in the closest one as rings fell and clattered to the floor with the slumping body. His hand spasmed in pain, and even though he held it steady with his offhand, the second shot flew wide allowing a counter fire.

His chest burned. The chemicals pumped into his body had already kicked in, but this was far more intense than any local anaesthetic could stop. His bad paw dropped the gun into his left, and he aimed again. His left hand seared in pain as half of it disappeared in a brief red glow as the wound only partly cauterised and bled. He gritted his teeth and pulled back around the corner he just emerged from. Holding tight on his remaining half paw, he stifled a scream of anguish. Tears flowed down his face as he bit furiously into his lip, drawing blood within his filtration unit.

His paws trembled. This was not good. His left paw ached in blinding pain and no doubt stunk of burnt blood and metal. He shook, trying to steel himself, reaching for his dagger at his hip. He could barely hold it as it shook, held weakly in his paw.

When the ringel turned around the corner, he thrust it up beneath their jaw, jigging it a few times to make sure he got a few stabs, then clumsily attacked the throat. The whole area had become an unforgiving mess of blood in seconds as Tiki slashed until the body moved no more.

Tiki leaned back up against the wall for a short breather, but the ringel would have no doubt called for reinforcements. He crawled over the body, snitching the new gun and struggling to breathe. His own blood continued dripping from his wounds in a winding trail to the airlock in pink, button sized drops. He was so close now. The control hatch to the docking chamber literally lay in his paws.

He stood, struggling to keep his mind into gear. The pain had stopped now, so something else was making him dizzy. He jabbed his remaining paw, wincing as it fumbled numbly on the touch screen, leaving a faintly pink smear of blood. He tried to tap his strand on the console to let him access it, but it failed. As expected. He tediously typed in the ringel code for access, and had to do it twice to let the lock open.

The weakening geordian slowly twisted the wheel to open the hatch and stumble through, closing it after him. Now, he was on the inside, the internal control hatch in front of him. His eyes drifted to the inside console, eyes losing the ability to track objects in front of him.

He couldn't concentrate. The words on the screen lost their cohesion and he couldn't tell one symbol from another. He slammed his bleeding mess of a paw, letting stars explode into his eyes and he grimaced in pain. His eyes opened wide and he stared at the console, digging through the menu options to disable the check for a docked vehicle on the outside. Success! Warning icons raised everywhere on the screen and he closed each one before yanking the lever to cycle the lock.

It didn't move. No familiar clunking sound or shift in air or pressure. The lever wouldn't hold and he fought his concentration to figure out what he had done wrong. He stabbed at the device, pulling apart the console to expose the wires. there, he snipped the ones he needed to, one by one.

He had to do this. He had to persevere. His family and his clan were relying on him. His eyes were starting to lose focus. Distracedly, he noticed warning signals jumped up in his face not only on the console screen hanging loosely by wires, but also in his visor. His O2 and NH4 levels dropped below permissible standards. A heavy wheeze from his mask tried to compensate and the geordian panted, leaving fog on the inside, as well as specks of his own blood from his bleeding lip.

It still didn't unlock. Tiki knew he forgot something, but as he stared at the console, his brain fogged up, what did this mean again? How did he read the ringel language? He jabbed a few more buttons, slipping as his blood soaked paws made it worse. Then he found it. The override setting. He took off the few more warnings as he accepted all considerations for his safety, then re-cycled the lock.

It was cold, he thought. The pressure vanished and he felt his body ache, bloat and blister as blood started pouring out of his wounds. His ears popping and aching violently as they quickly perforated. The world started to ring like a speaker had been set next to a microphone and never stopped. His hand reached to open the wheel, and with the last of his strength, he twisted it and it opened up.

He leaned over the edge, then fell out, floating in and out of consciousness. He stared down towards the blue planet as he attempted the deadliest orbital dive he had ever known. But... he was free. His clan would find his body and the canister. That is all that he needed. He let the cold take him as he fell to the planet. He hugged it to his chest, "I love you Pa'nia, take care of your mother."

It took half an hour, but Clepoontu finally managed to fix the console and override the hatch to the airlock. Zaigru looked disgusted at the mess about him, face and ears adorned with bright and intense jewellery that dazzled and clinked wherever he walked. Everything the geordian had done left a real mess. At least they didn't have to do a walk outside the ship, that would have taken far longer and the cloaking would have to be disabled. He did not want that.

"Hurry up, hurry up," the ringel growled impatiently. Six crew dead, and the exotic one had a hole blown through the face. Not a chance of recloning that one. He was expensive too, all custom slave trade was.

Zaigru twisted the hatch, and it released. Inside, she saw the geordian, holding a silver ball, panting hard through the filtration mask that whirred loudly. Blood pooled around him in a pinkish hue, similar to some of the heavy-duty cleaning fluids the ringel used.

"He didn't make it," Clepoontu said, surprised, "I thought he'd have escaped. He got so close."

The dark ringel tiptoed across the floor, avoiding as much of the blood as possible as he peered at the damaged console, "Awww fuck, that'll take me a week to fix. Look! He just stabbed it! The screen doesn't even work anymore." he jabbed angrily at the slick pink mess on the screen, then pulled a face, "Ack! Ew!"

Zaigru looked at the shallow breathing of the geordian, "Unzyykies, Greru, take him, clean him up. We lost our fisi, so the geordian will have to do. Quickly. He's lost a lot of blood, I'm surprised he could even use the terminal in his state."

She reached over to pull the silver, blood-streaked ball from the geordian's paws. She turned it over and opened up, looking at the data chip with a nasty snarl on her jewellery-littered face, "I'm going to figure out what he stole from us. And whose balls I need to cut off."