FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Bron strode purposefully across the tarmac, rifle slung on his back and duffle bag held firmly in his left hand. About fifty yards from the terminal building sat a sleek star-liner. A ramp was extended from the underside. A cargo container rested next to the ramp, beside which stood one of the liner's crewmembers. When he reached it he came to attention and saluted the uniformed figure. "First Sergeant Bronson Val'kiera, Company F, 2nd Battalion, 276th Combat Regiment, reporting for transport home."

The red-furred vixen smiled politely as she gave him a quick once-over. "No need to salute, sergeant. This is a civilian transport. We keep things a bit more relaxed around here." She checked-off his name on her manifest then pointed the stylus at the cargo container. "Please secure your weapons and duffle in there. You're allowed one carry-on item."

The gray furred wolf dropped his salute and unslung his rifle. He double-checked the breech to ensure it was unloaded, then slid it into a security locker within the container. His pistol, k-bar and survival knife followed. He'd surrendered his ammunition to the company ordinance sergeant earlier that morning. They'd have more need of it than he.

He secured the heavy duty locker door and removed its key card, sliding it into his shirt pocket, then placed his duffle on the floor of the container. He opened it, pulled a smaller bag from the top of the duffle, Closing it again he turned and faced the vixen. "That's everything," he said grinning.

"Thank-you, sergeant," she replied, handing him his boarding pass. You have berth 21C. We lift in ten minutes. Please find your compartment promptly."

Bron climbed the ramp and worked his way forward through the cargo area to the passenger section of the ship. Once there, a steward helped him find his berthing assignment. He slid his boarding card into the door lock. There was a soft click and the small door slid open to reveal a cramped, but comfortably decorated cabin.

Along the forward bulkhead were a series of cabinet doors of varying sizes and shapes. The opposite bulkhead contained a long, plush leather couch. A number of belts and straps could be found along its length. These allowed the passengers to secure themselves for landing, launch and in-flight maneuvering. Stowing his carry-on bag, Bron settled onto the couch and strapped himself in.

Less than ten hours ago he'd been on the line, drilling a batch of new lieutenants on the realities of war. If they listened to their top kicks, he'd cautioned them, they'd live to see home. The wolf was sure that at least a third of them wouldn't. Halfway through his briefing the colonel had entered. He watched quietly as Bron finished his speech, then congratulated the sergeant in front of everyone, announcing that the wolf had completed his tour of duty and was being sent home. The colonel pinned a medal on him and handed him over to the regimental adjutant. In short order he was showered, issued a brand new uniform, handed copies of his pay voucher, medical and personnel files, and flown to Mak-Taw City Airfield. Somewhere along the way he thought he'd eaten, but couldn't be sure. The unreality of the whole thing had not yet faded.

The ship's public address system came to life and a small monitor across from him activated An impossibly beautiful, computer generated stewardess began making a series of announcements..

"Welcome ladies and gentlemen aboard Trans-System Star Lines flight 733, bound for New Auckland, Earth. Our estimated flight time will be 72 hours. We will be in sub-space transition for approximately 63.5 hours of this time. Please follow all safety guidelines posted throughout the ship and reprinted in our flight brochure. If you have any questions feel free to consult with one of our Flight Attendants."

Bron looked around and spotted the electronic brochure in a small wall pocket next to the door. He reached over and grabbed it, switching it on. It displayed a fairly standard list of dos and don'ts as well as a series of amenities offered during the flight. As he finished reading he felt a slight vibration. Looking toward the compartment window he saw the spaceport disappear and the landscape stretch itself toward the horizon. In a matter of minutes the deep azure of the sky darkened to an inky blackness.

Once more the PA system came to life. "Ladies and gentlemen we have cleared the upper atmosphere and are now accelerating for jump. You are welcome to move about the passenger areas. For those interested, drinks are available in the forward lounge. For your comfort shipboard gravity has been set at two-thirds that of Earth standard. We will be initiating sub-space transition in 5.2 hours. Thank you."

The wolf unbuckled himself, replaced the brochure, and left his compartment.

He easily found the passenger lounge and settled into a thickly padded lounge chair. The steward took his order, returning in a remarkably short time with both his drinks. Bron downed the whiskey in one gulp, savoring the sharp tang of wood smoke and the mild burn in his throat. He sipped the beer more slowly, glancing around the lounge.

Two or three couples were huddled in front of a view port, watching as the planet shrank behind them. An middle-aged badger sat in a corner, wire framed glasses perched on his shout, thumbing through an old fashioned book. Its binding suggested it was part of a larger, rather expensive collection. Bron squinted, trying to read the cover, but couldn't.

The lounge slowly filled until every seat was occupied save the one next to him. Passengers came and went, but seemed to prefer standing rather than sit in close proximity to a soldier. The wolf didn't care. It gave him more room to stretch out. He finished his first drink and had ordered a second when a shapely pair of legs stopped next to him. "Excuse me, but is that seat taken?" The voice was as soft and smooth as velvet, and it drew Bron's attention upward.

The first thing he saw was her face. Wide, expressive, golden eyes were set into a cloud of white fur. A small tuft of white hair was draped loosely across one of the eyes, the rest framed her face and reached down as far as her shoulders. Her muzzle was small, almost bordering on dainty, but perfect for the slightly rounded nose pad on the end. Her ears were tall and tipped with ebon fur, hinting at her combined heritage of fennec and arctic fox. All of this, naturally enough, rested on a shapely body that hugged her blouse and skirt in all the right places.

Bron stood and bowed his head slightly. "No, ma'am, it's not," he replied, gallantly offering her his hand. She smiled, taking it briefly as she sat. She folded her long, bushy tail behind her, letting it slip delicately through the tail hole in the cushion. It too was white with a black tip. Her movements were as cultured and fluid as her voice. Undoubtedly the result of a very expensive education.

The wolf returned to his seat and signaled the steward who was promptly by their side. "Please take the lady's order and put it on my tab." The vixen smiled graciously and ordered a white wine. The steward vanished, reappearing moments later with the drink and a small basket of soft, freshly baked breadsticks.

"You should try these," she offered, tearing one in half and offering it to Bron. "They're quite good and go well with almost anything." He took the breadstick and bit carefully into it, savoring the buttery flavor.

"You're right," he replied simply. She watched him as he slowly chewed. He didn't rush, enjoying the simple treat as if it were something to be cherished. That, she found intriguing.

The vixen guessed he was between 5'6" and 5'8", about half a head taller than she was, not counting her ears. His arms looked well sculpted, though a trifle thin, as if he had lost weight recently. She wondered if the rest of his body was equally as toned. He was covered with dark-gray fur except for a patch of white that ran under his chin and down his neck. She noticed the fur, though spotlessly clean, was not well trimmed. Well, what did she expect? It wasn't as if the military had a cadre of high class curriers at their beck and call.

"Are you on your way home, or to a new posting?"

"Both." he answered, glancing over at her, yet trying not to look as if he were studying her figure.

"Where about?"

"Parkson," he replied after a brief hesitation.

"I've heard the name before." the vixen said. "I don't know where or in connection to what." She took a small sip of her wine.

"I just finished a 24 month combat duty rotation. Now I get to go home for a while and become a staff puke..." His ears suddenly blushed. "That's right genius," he thought to himself. "Impress the lady with a little course language."

She immediately noticed the blush and smiled. "Don't worry soldier. It's nothing compared to what I've heard or used myself in school."

"Thank you, ma'am," he replied gratefully.

"My name is Clarissa, and your..?"

"Bronson. Bronson Val'kiera, late of the 276th, but you may call me Bron."

"Very well, Bron, and you may call me Claire."

"Claire. That's beautiful. Do you have a last name to go with it?"

"I do," she smiled again, coyly, "but it's so dripping with lineage I'm sure that if I invoked it we'd both drown."

Bron chuckled. "Well if that's the case, I believe Claire will do nicely."

They talked for hours. First about casual subjects, then more personal interests. She discovered he was a career soldier with fifteen years under his pelt. He in turn found out she'd recently completed her graduate studies and was now traveling around the Commonwealth gathering data for a doctoral thesis on colonial culturalism. She had spent several weeks at Mak-Taw City researching what life was like living at the edge of a war zone. Once into discussing her thesis she became quiet enthusiastic. He let her talk, listening attentively even as he silently drank in her beauty,

"What I find most incredible is the simplicity that life is reduced to under this kind of pressure. Everything is reduced to its basic level. Good, evil, black, white... there are very few shades of gray."

"That's because life and death are the ultimate contrasts," Bron said. "Especially in war. If you want to live... to survive... you don't have time for shades of gray. You don't have the luxury of doubt."

"Is that how you deal with fighting in an unpopular war? You ignore the political issues?"

"I only focus on what's important," the wolf said.

"And what's that?" Claire asked gently, placing her hand on his wrist."

He paused for a long moment before replying. "The soldier next to you in the trench. You fight for him or her. You fight to do your duty and keep your squad mates alive one more day. You fight so the civilians under your care can live and work and love without having to face the horrors of war. You fight, and pray that someday, someone, somewhere will say thanks."

The vixen sat for a moment, absorbing what he had said. She felt as if there was something more behind Bron's simple philosophy, but she couldn't quantify it. It wasn't like the raw data she'd been compiling. It was more...undefined, a quality that couldn't be put into words. She liked him. His soul ran deeper than she had expected. He was a soldier, true, but...

"Hey Babe! Watta fine lookin' fem like you doin' wit army trash like him?" Claire's head jerked up at the sudden, unwelcome intrusion. A tall, muscular canine wearing a black shirt and gray slacks stood over her. A matching gray jacket was tucked under one arm and he had a very expensive gold chain around his neck. With him stood an even larger equine and a smaller, but wiry coyote. They were all well dressed and looked like athletes. It was also obvious from their manner they were completely drunk.

"Wattsamatter?" the canine continued. "He got you too scared to talk wit us?"

Claire quietly folded her hands in her lap and looked up at him, her voice still soft and smooth, but now with a quality of coldness in it. "If you don't mind, I was having a conversation with this gentleman here and would appreciate it if you'd go elsewhere"

"Gentleman?" the canine spat. "Wot gentleman. All I see is a baby killer." Claire winced at the comment. Bron showed no outward reaction at all, but the vixen suddenly felt all the warmth leave his eyes. His gaze became icy and his manner became like iron.

The wolf slowly stood, taking up a parade rest stance, hands folded behind his back, feet apart. He shot a glance toward the bartender who was already talking to someone on the intercom. He focused on the three figures in front of him, centering his attention on the canine. "The lady asked you to leave," he said quietly. "I recommend you do as she asks."

Anger flashed across the drunk's face. "You suggest? Well, I s'ggest you min'd you own business!" The canine reached across and took the vixen by her wrist. "Cum on mizz! You can talk wit us!"

Thinking about it later, it seemed to Claire that everything happened at once. Bron's hand shot out and grabbed the canine's wrist, twisting enough to force him down on one knee. The drunk released Claire and yelped in surprise and pain. The large equine next to him reacted by taking a roundhouse swing at the wolf. Bron ducked under the blow and drove the heel of his other hand into the equine's solar plexus, doubling him over and knocking the wind out of him.

Bron turned, looking for the third drunk when a bottle smashed into the back of his head. It shattered into a hundred pieces, splashing alcohol everywhere. The wolf cursed. For a brief moment he could see nothing but stars. Instinctively he ducked again, letting go of the canine's wrist. The coyote's second blow missed. Bron's vision cleared.

He spun, blocking the coyote as he lunged forward with the broken bottle. He grabbed the drunk's wrist and twisted hard. There was a sickening snap and the bully howled in pain, dropping his makeshift weapon. The howl was cut short as Bron smashed his forearm into the coyote's snout. He staggered backwards, tumbling over a foot stool to lie unconscious on the lounge deck.

The wolf turned back to see the first drunk was on his feet again. In his hand he held a wicked looking switchblade knife. From his stance, Bron could instantly see he knew how to use it.

"You fuckin' bastard..." cursed the canine. "I'm gonna cut your fuckin' heart out and eat it!" He took a step forward, preparing to lunge.

There was a sudden, heavy THWAK, like someone pounding steak with a mallet. The canine's eyes crossed, he let out a strangled, whimpering squeek, then he folded in on himself, collapsing to the deck. The knife bounced across the carpet to rest at Bron's feet.

The wolf looked passed the canine to see Claire. Rising from her chair, she had skillfully planted a kick between the drunk's legs, nailing him in the crotch from behind. Her clothes were splashed with whiskey from the bottle that had been broken over Bron's head.

"Look what those twits did to my skirt!"

The wolf smiled, warmth returning to his eyes. "Nice move. You learn that in college?"

"Anatomy 101," she responded. "It was part of my core curriculum." She returned his smile, but it faded when she noticed the bloodstain on his collar. "Oh..! You're bleeding!"

Bron reached behind him and felt the back of his head, even as Claire moved around to inspect the injury. A small shard of glass was stuck in his neck near the base of his skull. He grabbed hold of it with his thumb and forefinger, tugging gently.

"No! Don't pull on it. You'll only make it bleed more." Her words came too late. The shard popped out and, as she feared, Bron's cut began bleeding freely. The vixen grabbed a nearby bar towel and pressed it firmly against the back of his head. "Hold this," she ordered. The wolf did as instructed.

To one side, the equine started to sit-up. Claire could feel Bron tensing. She looked at the drunk. "Don't you move!" she hissed. She picked up the switchblade and brandished it for emphasis. "You take even one wrong step and I'll personally cut your tripes off!" The equine weakly waved his hands. He'd had more than enough.

The ship's security detachment arrived in short order and began to sort things out. The three drunks were hauled off to the infirmary then, once cleared by the ship's doctor, they were tossed unceremoniously into the brig. Statements were taken from everyone present and the First Officer, a tall, slim black-furred panther came by personally to apologize to Bron and Claire for the incident.

Claire insisted in escorting the wolf down to the ship's infirmary. It only took one of the nurses a few minutes to apply an antiseptic and laser stitch the wound closed. The vixen watched quietly as the sergeant removed his tunic so the nurse could tend the cut more efficiently. Clare noted that though his fur might be a bit scruffy, his muscle tone was excellent. She couldn't help but notice he was sporting a well developed six pack. Few males she had been with were as well sculpted and she quietly wondered if his fur was course or soft..

Bron sat stoically throughout the procedure, never flinching even once, which surprised the nurse, considering how deep the cut was. It was almost as if he were detached from his body. When she finished, she handed the wolf a white bathrobe to wear and offered to send the bloodstained tunic down to the ship's laundry for cleaning. Bron thanked her

"I don't know about you," the vixen said as they left the infirmary, "but after that ruckus I'm hungry. Would you like to join me for a light supper?"

"Certainly," Bron replied, "if you'd first allow me to change into something a little more appropriate."

The vixen laughed. "I think we both need a bit of tidying up. Shall we meet at the dining room in say, 30 minutes?"

"Agreed," the wolf responded. Claire leaned over and gave him a small peck on the cheek.

"See you there," she said, as they each went their separate ways. As she strolled away Bron couldn't help but admire the coquettish syncopation of both her tail and derriere. The wolf felt his check ruff, which tingled slightly after the kiss and smiled, heading towards his own compartment.

Halfway back to his cabin Bron suddenly felt a frighteningly familiar coldness wash over him. His hands started to tremble and he felt dizzy. He stopped and leaned against the passageway's bulkhead, tucking both his hands into his armpits. He began breathing deeply, in through his nose pad, out through his mouth. Controlled, regular, rhythmic...just like the pill pushers back at the 276th had instructed. He felt as if he were suspended over a pit, barely hanging on to his sanity. He squeezed his eyes shut as the tremors spread up his arms and into his shoulders.

He cursed himself for having left his medication in his stateroom. He shouldn't have needed it. He wouldn't have if it hadn't been for those drunken idiots. After all, how stressful could going home be? He wasn't facing another combat patrol. He was going home! Home! Home! Home! He kept repeating it to himself. Slowly the dizziness passed and his body, then his hands stopped trembling. The monster was back in its jar. He glanced at his watch, cursed, and hurried to his cabin.

* * * *

"You're fifteen minutes late," Claire gently chided the wolf. Bron simply stood, looking at the vixen, dumbstruck. She had changed out of her casual blouse and skirt into a tight, blue satin dress that came down to her knees. Two straps held it up, crossing around her neck, leaving her shoulders and most of her back bare. These were covered by a short, blue satin cape that ended just above her tail.

In comparison, Bron felt under-dressed, His simple navy-blue dress tunic was devoid of all but basic rank, organization and specialty badges. He could have worn his ribbons, but thought doing so would have been too ostentatious. Now he regretted not bringing them.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I had a hard time getting to my cabin."

"Next time, I'll have the steward draw you a map," she giggled. "What is it about males and asking for directions."

"It a testosterone thing, I suppose" he said, offering his arm.

Claire wrapped her arm in his and smiled. "It's not often I get to accompany such an elegantly appointed male."

Bron raised his eyebrows. "Elegant? This?" he said brushing his hand on his tunic. "Compared to you, my uniform doesn't hold a candle."

"Au contraire," she whispered. "Simplicity is all the rage back on Earth. You'll fit in perfectly."

They strolled across the mezzanine deck and went up to the dining room hostess. "Table for two," the wolf said.

"Your name?" asked the ship's crew member standing at the entrance.

"Val'kiera"

The hostess, a young shapely doe, scanned her list then looked up apologetically. "I'm sorry sir, but you don't seem to be on the reservation list."

"I wasn't aware reservations were required."

"Normally not, sir, but we'll be making sub-space transition shortly. Our dining room is frequently booked solid at that time."

"I hear it's quite spectacular to see," Claire offered.

"Yes, ma'am, it is." the hostess nodded. "If you'd like, there's a good view of it from the lounge, though it might be a trifle crowded. I'm certain we can find you a table after we transit; Say in about 45 minutes."

Bron looked at the vixen. "Would that be alright with you?" Claire nodded, and the couple turned to leave.

"One moment, sergeant." The wolf turned again in time to see the first officer approaching the hostess. The panther looked at the doe and nodded toward the two passengers. "Is there some difficulty here?"

"Not really, sir," the hostess responded. "They were asking about table space, but had no reservations. I told them we'd find a table after transition."

"Is there still room at the captain's table?" he asked.

"Yes sir," the doe replied, "but they're not on the captain's guest list."

The First Officer plucked the tablet from the hostess' hands, pulled out a stylus and wrote in 'Sergeant Val'kiera and guest.' "The captain will be on the bridge during transition. If anyone asks, tell them I authorized it," he said handing the tablet back to the young doe. She immediately signaled one of the waiters, handed him a set of menus and directed him to guide the couple to the captain's table. The wolf thanked the First Officer, then followed the waiter.

Bron pulled out a seat for Claire, then sat next to her. Three other couples shared the table with them and introductions were quickly made. The wolf and vixen were the only mixed breed couple present. They quickly placed their orders, then joined the others in friendly banter. An elderly ferret and his wife took particular interest in Bron and his military career.

"News reports said that most of the fighting was over in and around Mak-Taw City. Were they accurate or not?"

"Reasonably so," the sergeant replied. "Nearly all of the major field units have surrendered, but there are a large number of guerilla bands roaming the countryside, setting up ambushes and raiding the village settlements. They're a lot harder to clean out because they know the country. It's easy for them to go to ground."

"I can imagine," the ferret said. "What about in the north. I hear we need more arctic trained units if we want to drive them into the open."

The wolf shrugged. "I wouldn't know, sir, not being a general. My most immediate concern was usually the men directly under my command." As the conversation progressed, Bron found out the ferret had once been a junior officer in the army some thirty years before. It wasn't long before he was telling stories about his own career. Both the wolf and Claire listened attentively, asking polite questions between bites of their dinner. Their conversation was interrupted by four chimes that sounded throughout the ship. This was followed by the voice of the captain.

"Ladies and gentlemen...We will be making sub-space transition in approximately three minutes. A few of you may experience a momentary mild disorientation as a result. This is perfectly normal. If dizziness or nausea occurs, ship's personnel are stationed throughout the passenger areas to provide assistance. Thank you."

"That doesn't sound promising," the ferret's wife remarked.

"Not to worry my dear," her husband said. "They're probably required to make that disclaimer as a legality. Ninety-nine percent of all passengers make the jump with no ill effect whatsoever."

The lights in the dining room dimmed and the ceiling above them became opaque, and then transparent. A nervous excitement ran through the passengers. Claire smiled and took Bron's hand. Above them rainbow bands of energy appeared as the jump field generators were activated. They flowed about the ship like the aurora borealis of Earth. Particles of ice, formed by condensation on the outer skin of the ship broke free and danced about like bright little fireflies, individually, and massed in great clouds. The PA system came to life and an ancient piece of pre-evolutionary music began to slowly build. Claire recognized it as coming from Gustav Holst's The Planet's Suite.

The fireflies started to move back along the hull, faster and faster while above them the aurora whipped back and forth like a flag. Bron felt as if he were being carried away by them. From far away he thought he heard a soft electronic voice speaking only to him. The stars beyond the dome began spiraling slowly, counterclockwise. and the Sergeant felt his perceptions follow, tracking the stars as they seemed to carry him out and away from the ship..

"Five...Four...Three...Two...One...Engage!" The music reached its crescendo. The aurora vanished. The dancing fireflies color shifted for a fraction of an instant from white to red, then disappeared. Everything was replaced by the swirling, inky blackness of sub-space. Passengers at a few of the tables applauded in appreciation as the music faded. The observation ceiling went opaque once more and the lights came back up.

"That was wonderful!" Claire said appreciatively. "I don't think I'll ever spend transition in my cabin with my nose stuck in a book again. How about you?" she asked, looking up at the wolf. He didn't respond. His eyes were still fixed on the ceiling. There was a distant, lost expression on his face. Claire noticed his hand was ice cold and trembled slightly.

"Bron?" the vixen asked anxiously. There was no response. "Bron? Are you alright?" The wolf blinked. The trembling in his hand stopped and he took a deep breath, then looked over at Claire."

"Did you say something?" he muttered, his voice small and wispy.

"Did I say...? Are you feeling alright? Your hand's like ice."

"I'm feeling okay," he replied, his voice gaining strength. "That was quite a show. For a moment I felt as if I were just drifting away."

"Must be that disorientation they talked about in the announcement," the ferret observed. He signaled their waiter and ordered eight servings of brandy. When they came he pushed two of the small glasses toward Bron and Claire . "This will help settle you back in the real world." He passed the rest of the drinks around, then stood. "A toast...to calm flights and passionate nights!" Everyone chuckled. The four couples gently clinked glasses and drank.

The brandy burned comfortably going down, leaving a small glow in the pit of Bron's stomach. He felt relaxed, perhaps more than any time in the past two years. He looked over and saw Claire smiling at him. Good food, good company, warmth and safety...After two years on the line it still seemed more than a little dreamlike.

Escorting the vixen back to her cabin after dinner Bron almost glowed. Claire however, though smiling pleasantly, was thinking. She didn't have anything to look forward to for the rest of the voyage except spending her time compiling data and digging into cold research books. Here and now she had a handsome male who was strong and protective. It had been over a year since her last tryst. She thrived on spontaneity, something her previous lover couldn't understand. Besides, she was feeling more than a little restless. She glanced coyly at Bron. He was of a different enough species that she needn't fear pregnancy, and it wasn't as if it might lead to anything. They were two lonely furs going in opposite directions. No commitment, no expectation, no promises given or received. She abruptly decided she didn't have to be alone, not if she didn't want to be.

They arrived at her cabin and Bron reached for her hand to kiss it. Claire stopped him, gently put her hands on each side of his head, and pulled him down to where she could kiss him, slowly and passionately on the mouth. There was a moment's hesitation, then the wolf returned the kiss with equal fervor. Their tongues intertwined, dancing together, each tasting the last traces of brandy on the other's lips. They parted, then came together again, their arms wrapped around each other in an effort to merge as one. They stayed together until their need to breathe was greater than their trembling need for each other.

Claire stepped back, opened the door to her cabin without taking her eyes off Bron, then took his hand and gently led him across the threshold. The door slid closed. The vixen removed her cape, then gracefully reached behind her neck with the other hand and undid the strap holding up the front of her dress. It fluttered open. She pulled the wolf closer and laid his hand between her soft, white furred breasts, reaching up once more to kiss him.

Bron felt her heart beating excitedly. With one hand he cupped the back of her head and returned the kiss. With the other he tenderly massaged her breasts, tracing his thumb in tender circles first over one nipple, then the other. They stiffened in response and the vixen moaned deep in her throat.

Claire could not guess how long the wolf continued massaging her breasts. Bron's fingers lightly danced across the now, fully erect nipples, brushing against their underside. They rose and fell in time to her breath. The vixen was beginning to feel quite warm when he broke off from their kiss and began lovingly licking and kissing his way down her neck. He reached behind her and massaged her shoulders and back, even as his mouth reached her nipples. Softly he sucked and licked, his tongue dancing across the areolas. He drew one nipple into his mouth and suckled it. She gasped. No one had ever paid that much attention to her breasts before, or handled them so delicately. She pulled his head in firmly, wrapping both hands around him and stroking his ears .

Bron's hands continued working their way down her back, caressing her fur until they reached the button of her dress above her tail. He carefully undid this and the dress slid silently to the floor. Without thinking she stepped out of it and kicked it to one side. His hands found the base of her tail. With one hand he gently kneaded her rump. The other he used to stroke the underside of her tail. She shivered, a small gasp escaping her lips. He moved both hands to her tail, bracing it with his thumbs and ran his fingers along its underside. Claire stiffened and tremored yet again, stronger this time, moaning as the tension in her body built.

The vixen smoothly tugged on Bron's ears, forcing his head back up to her level. They kissed again, Claire's fingers dancing down the front of his tunic as she opened it button by button. Pushing the fabric aside she wrapped her arms around his torso and brought her mouth down to his chest, kissing and licking his nipples as he and done hers. The wolf shucked off his tunic and moved his hands back to the base of the vixen's tail, his fingers shifting from it, to her buttocks, and back again. She shuttered once more, nipping lightly at Bron as he continued caressing her rear.

She moved down the wolf's torso until she reached his belt, hastily unbuckling it and pulling open his trousers. She could see his shaft protruding from the top of his shorts. She pulled them down and tucked the elastic band behind his testicles. Bron stiffened even more as she cupped them in both hands and tenderly began to lap at his penis. She pushed the wolf back firmly until he was sitting on her bed. Fortunately, the stewards had come by earlier and turned it out in preparation for the ship's sleep cycle. Now with one hand she held onto his shaft, kissing and licking it, while with the other she pulled his trousers the rest of the way off, unblousing them from the top of his boots, then unzipping the boots themselves and sliding them off his feet. His shorts swiftly followed

Claire's tongue felt marvelous, but it was bringing Bron to the edge much too quickly. He pulled the vixen back up so he could kiss her once more on the mouth. When she was kneeling astride him he reached down and pulled her sandals off, letting them fall carelessly to the carpeted deck. His hands moved back to her panties, rubbing against the front of them. They were soaked, the fur around them moist and scented with a heavy musk. He gently undid the snap above her tail hole and worked the panties free, tossed them to one side. One of his hands found her slit and he brushed against it. It was hot to his touch. She shuddered, gasping and pushing forward against him. Two of the wolf's fingers made their way into her, brushing against her nib, gently stroking her to the point of ecstasy. She moaned again, a deep soft sound that rose and fell with each stroke.

Bron rolled Claire over on her back and broke off the kiss, moving his muzzle down to her slit. He kissed and licked her mound, moistening it until it dripped with her scent. His tongue slipped into her, quickly finding her clit which he began to suckle. She shuddered and began to buck, arching her back again and again, trying to drive the wolf's muzzle even deeper into her. Her moans were almost continuous now.

The vixen wanted Bron in her. No need was as great as that. Once more she took hold of his ears, guiding him back up so they could kiss. Claire licked his mouth clean, then pushed him over so she straddled him once more. Her hands brushed along his maleness, measuring and stroking him into full size. This was the moment, and they both sensed it.

Slowly, teasingly, the vixen lowered herself onto Bron's shaft, pausing only long enough to stretch herself. He was larger than a fox, and took a little more getting use to. Bron hissed. Claire was incredibly tight. She surrounded him, held him in a way he'd not known before. He arched his back, eager to feel her completely surrounding him, yet nervous he might cause her pain if he drove into her too hard.

She stopped when she reached the knot in his shaft. Rising up, she began to gently ride him, up and down, slowly, ever so slowly. Each were savoring the sensations.

Bron reached up to cup her breasts again, lightly pinching her nipples, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger. Reaching behind her Claire stroked his testicles, softly kneading them with her hands.

Their pace gradually increase as the fire within them grew. They were beyond pleasure, beyond pain, they sought now for release, yet for long moments it escaped them. Nearer and nearer the edge they drove themselves. Faster and faster, Claire's moans became gentle, soft cries even as Bron began growling. Without warning, she suddenly slipped passed his knot, locking the two of them together. This last thrust sent her over the edge and she howled, and bucked and shuddered. The muscles of her vagina clamped down, hard, squeezing against Bron, driving him across the threshold as well. He arched his back, ramming as deeply as he could into the vixen. His shaft pulsed again and again in time to his heartbeat, or maybe in time to hers. His seed filled her and spilled out passed his knot, dripping slowly on the bed sheets. The two lover's writhed together for long moments, moments that seemed to stretch into eternity. Then slowly, ever so slowly, they came back to themselves; their lust burned out, their release achieved; replaced by a warm, soft glow that enveloped them both.

Exhausted, panting heavily, Claire lay atop Bron and tenderly licked the underside of his chin. "That was..."

"...Incredible," he murmured. "Thank you." He wrapped his arms around the vixen, kissing her, even as her arms entwined him. They were still tied together and would be for some minutes yet. He didn't want the feeling to leave. They cuddled, and the two lovers silently drifted off into sleep.

An hour passed. Claire woke to a dark room, still embracing Bron. In their sleep his knot had shrunk, allowing them to slip apart. She felt thirsty. Slowly, carefully she untangled herself from the wolf and rose from their bed. Two quick steps brought her to the lavatory recessed behind a large curved panel. She pressed a small button and the panel slid back to reveal a commode, shower and sink. Taking a small disposable cup, she filled it from the sink and drank, looking back at Bron, the warm glow still within her.

He was stirring slightly, but not as if waking. His eyes fluttered beneath closed lids and his breathing became shallow. He whimpered, tossed, then whimpered again. "No," he moaned softly. Then again, "No... no... no... no...!" His thrashing became more pronounced.

Claire, afraid the wolf might roll off the bed, called his name. "Bron?" She reached across and shook him gently on the shoulder. With almost lightning speed his hand flailed out, the back of it catching the vixen on the side of the head. The blow hurled her into the far wall and she crumpled to the floor, momentarily stunned. There was a long, anguished moment of silence. Then the wolf's voice, thick with sleep could be heard.

"Lights." he commanded. The compartment lights came up full. The vixen could see Bron, sitting on the bed, an expression of absolute horror and fear on his face. "Claire?!" He reached across to her, going down on his knees gently cradling her head in his hands. A few stray drops of crimson dripped from her mouth and nose, staining the wolf's hands. "Claire? Oh God, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Her head began clearing and she looked up. She could see tears streaming from the wolf's eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...'m sorry...'m sorry..." The words began pouring from Bron like some, half crazed mantra. The vixen felt his hands go ice cold and she could feel a tremor start, building until they shook so badly he had to let her go. "'m sorry...'m sorry... 'm sorry... 'm sorry." He backed away from her, sitting once more on the bed and tucking his hands under his arm pits. His words fading now to a whimpering cry, like some lost, frightened pup.

There was a sharp knock on the compartment door. From the far side a muffled voice could be heard. "Ms. Acheson? This is the steward. Is everything al right in there?"

She looked over at Bron. The wolf was curled up in a fetal position, rocking gently back and forth. The thought of anyone seeing him in such a moment of weakness tore at her heart. "Everything's fine," she called, trying to keep her voice calm.

"Are you sure? The couple in the next compartment thought they heard someone fighting."

"Everything's fine," she repeated. "I just knocked some of my luggage over, that's all."

"Sorry to bother you then, Miss. Have a pleasant night." The sound of footsteps could be heard moving down the passageway.

She went over to the wolf, wrapping a blanket around him and massaging the back of his neck as he rocked. "It's okay, Bron. You didn't mean it. I know. It's alright." Claire cursed silently, angry with herself for not thinking. He was a soldier, fresh off the line. She'd heard about cases of post-traumatic stress in her studies. She should have realized that waking him unexpectedly might cause him to lash out. It was a reflex, honed by months of combat.

Bron continued to cry softly, his eyes open and staring but fixed on something far beyond the compartment, far beyond this moment. After about twenty minutes rubbing the back of his head and neck started to pay off. He uncurled and she was able to stretch him out on the bed, taking his head in her lap. She continued to talk quietly to him. Reassuring him that it was alright, that he was safe, and warm...and loved.

Hours passed, and the vixen held him and stoked his head. She occasionally sang soft, familiar songs to him, lullabies he might have remembered as a child. The faint crying eventually stopped. Bron closed his eyes and his breathing deepened into the pattern of normal sleep.

As she sat, Claire recalled Bron telling her about his new duty assignment, at Parkson! She suddenly realized where she'd heard that name before. It was a military hospital where they treated victims of combat fatigue. She remembered reading something about it in one of her texts.

The vixen looked at a clock on the wall. She'd been sitting and holding the wolf for seven hours. She felt tired, yet at the same time strangely at peace with herself. Rising, she quietly dressed, then searched Bron's tunic for the key card to his quarters. She exited the compartment, closed the door behind her and placed a "Do Not Disturb" placard on it.

Finding his stateroom, she used the card and went in. She searched through his belongings until she found a small bottle. Claire checked the label, nodded to herself, then exited the room, locking it behind her. She returned to her stateroom and entered, finding it exactly as she'd left it. She held the container under a light and read the directions. "Take 1 tablet every 12 hours or as needed for severe stress reaction." Inside there were five tiny capsules, the same number the label indicated had been originally issued.

She set the bottle to one side and pressed another panel on the bulkhead. A small writing desk and stool unfolded from the wall. She picked up her text reader and sat down, clicking it on and pulling up a novel she'd intended to read for the last few months. She tuned her shipboard entertainment system to soft music, keeping the volume low, then she settled back to wait.

Almost nine hours passed before Bron began stirring again. Claire had fallen asleep across the desk, her head resting on her arms. The wolf dragged himself off the bed and groggily made his way across to the lavatory to relieve himself. He stepped back out and looked over at the sleeping form of the vixen. The noise and movement woke her and she sat up, looking over toward Bron.

"How are you feeling," she asked.

"Okay... I think." His eyes became more focused and he looked at the vixen with a nervous, frightened expression. "Did I... do something to hurt you? Last night?"

"No," she replied. "Not really. At least, not intentionally."

He looked down at his hands and noticed a few drops of dried blood staining his fur. "I did hurt you! Didn't I?... I... I'm sorry..." Claire stepped across to him and took his hands in hers.

"It's alright. I know you didn't mean it. You were dreaming and I made the stupid mistake of trying to wake you out of it. You only reacted on reflex."

"But I still hurt you!" he insisted, his voice weak and distant. "You're so beautiful. You were kind to me. You gave me such a beautiful gift, yet I hurt you. I've hurt so many people...too many."

Claire felt his hands beginning to get cold. She went over to the sink and filled a cup with water, then handed it and one of Bron's pills to him. He looked at it, slightly confused.

"Where...?"

"After last night I took the liberty of going to your stateroom. I found your medication there. I think you should take it," she said soothingly. The wolf hesitated for a moment, then swallowed both the pill and water. He sat back down on the bed.

"Thank you."

The vixen looked at Bron. "Do you want to talk about it?

"About what?"

"About whatever it was that happened to get you transferred to Parkson."

"You've been so kind," he said. "I... I wouldn't want to burden you with... my problems."

Claire leaned over and took Bron's hands again. They were warm and he seemed more relaxed than a few minutes earlier. "It won't be a burden, I promise. If it gets to be too much, I'll stop you. Deal?"

Bron looked into her eyes. He saw courage there, and hope, and patience. Things he desperately wanted to feel again himself. He focused on the floor for a moment, then looked back at the vixen. "The field doctors call it Combat Stress Syndrome," he started. "But that's only a name....."

EPILOGUE

He talked the rest of the way home. He shared everything he knew about the war and what he had seen, and done, everything he could talk about. Some things he kept to himself because they involved military secrets he couldn't reveal. Through it all Claire listened and more than once, wept with him. They took their meals in the cabin and they made love again. By the end of the journey, they both felt exhausted, yet cleansed.

Arriving on Earth, the vixen decided to travel with Bron the rest of the way to Parkson. It was a two day trip by surface floater and they took their time, enjoying the countryside. Each night they stopped at a hotel where they made love several more times. They finally parted at the hospital's main gate, hugging each other one more time before he picked up his duffle and disappeared down the long, tree-lined road leading to the main building. She watched him from the rented floater until he was out of sight. They'd exchanged addresses, promising each other they would write, and they did, for a several months; but like ships passing in the night they each had a different destiny, a different path to follow.

Discharged from Parkson after a remarkably shortened period of recovery, First Sergeant Bronson Val'kiera was reassigned to the Headquarters Battalion, 21st Light Infantry Division. He died seven months later, killed in action while leading an assault against enemy forces on Rigiel Three. The medals he earned during that action were forwarded to Claire, as Bron had no living relatives to speak of.

Claire Acheson changed the emphasis of her doctoral thesis to a study of the effects of war on the combat veteran, and the veteran's influence on society. She earned her degree, then published a modified version of her text in the public press. The work, entitled Sacrifice, won several awards and became a best seller. The dedication was simple. All it said was "Thanks."