FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Sort of a filler episode, or at least some folks get filled.

Getting towards the end of the season, so might as well put off the climax with a bit of a stupid episode, right? I had fun writing this, which is I think what counts, and I hope you have fun reading it, too. Credit to Nachtfangen for the frankly brilliant idea which he allowed me to steal, and to Spudz for his help in editing it. Patreon subscribers, this should also be live for you with notes and maps and stuff.

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

---

Tales of the Dark Horse, by Rob Baird

S7E4, "The Naked Pause"

Stardate 67960

"Aren't they pretty?" Torres asked, and Ciara Munro smiled at the other woman's enthusiasm.

'They' were the flowers that had emerged from a plant Torres had acquired from an Uxzu arms merchant. The plant had, previously, looked something like a Terran cactus. Now its spines were dormant, and tiny, multicolored flowers wound their way around it like spiral staircases.

Torres brushed along the flowers with the backs of her fingers, marveling at the softness of their petals. She'd never really seen anything like it, not growing up on a prison planet nor working in one scrapyard after the next for a resistance movement. "So many colors, too..."

Lieutenant Commander Munro, on the other hand, hailed from an agricultural colony, and was at least somewhat familiar with all manner of such things. At least, enough to have somewhat more practical knowledge: "I wonder what pollinates them," the vixen mused.

"What do you mean?"

A tiny amount of it had brushed off on her ruddy fingers. "This stuff? It's pollen. They'd be spread by insects or something, normally--the colors are what attract them. But I'm guessing you didn't get any of those, and there were no eggs in the soil or anything like that?"

"Nope. The doctor said the biofilters were clean. I don't know what makes 'em sprout, either. I just woke up this morning and it was like that. What about yours?"

Ciara shook her head. She'd taken the Abyssinian's instructions to heart in caring for the plant, which had been given to them by the Uxzu without much more information as to the_origin_ of the specimen. "No. It looks the same as always. I'm pretty sure--it did this morning, anyway. I can show you, if you want?"

By which she meant that she was inviting the feline back to her quarters. Torres beamed, and followed her back down the corridor to Munro's room--most of the crew stayed fairly close, with the exception of the engineering team, who preferred to bunk nearer to the machine spaces.

Munro's plant was, as she said, dormant. "See?"

Her companion sighed. "I guess it was too much to hope for, huh? Just have to see how long it stays... flowery... for."

"In bloom," the vixen corrected. "How long it stays in bloom."

They remained peering at it for a minute or so, as if the flowers might emerge before their very eyes. Nothing happened, of course. Nothing, that is, except that Ciara's paw sought her friend's, and their fingers interlaced.

"I should get to work," she admitted, presently. Torres gave her a gentle squeeze. "Supposed to recalibrate the_Tempest_'s sensors to... I don't know, actually. Scan for those anomalies Barry was talking about a little better."

The rest of the crew had been briefed on the threat posed by a hyperspace weapon being developed by the Pictor--thanks to the Abyssinian's own willingness to ignore the classification orders of an organization she wasn't part of. "Yeah." She squeezed again. "Kiko has me looking at reconfiguring some old data processing code. Same thing, I guess. I ought to be in the lab myself. So I'll... let you get to it. If I_have_ to..."

She'd turned from the plant to face Ciara. When the vixen turned, too, she found herself drawn into a helpless grin at the way Torres looked at her. "You probably should. I guess I can't pull rank."

They fingers were still twined together; Torres stroked the vixen's soft fur gently, and shrugged. "No. But I can let you be responsible. First, though--"we should water that plant, it looks like you haven't done that in--

She didn't get the thought out, because Ciara had closed the distance between them, and given her a kiss. Brief and impulsive, but firm enough to be tender, the warmth of the contact was sufficiently surprising to the vixen that she drew back. And then, as if to make sure that they both knew what had happened, she did it again.

"First that, okay," Torres said, when Ciara pulled away. "That's good, too."

The other woman didn't really know what had come over her. This was not to say that she_regretted_ anything she'd done, only that she didn't feel like it had happened consciously. Rather than interrogate the feeling, or dwell on how uncharacteristic it had been, she grinned. "First that. Have a good shift, Mitti."

"Mitti?" Torres asked. Nobody called her by anything like her first name, to avoid confusion with Spaceman Alexander. "Hmm."

"That'll work?"

"I'll think about it," she promised, although the truth--when she'd been let back into the corridor, and was headed towards the science lab--was that she could've swooned, then and there.

***

"You look nice today," Mitch told her mirror counterpart, when she stopped by the lab on her way to the bridge. "That's not weird, is it?"

Even if it_had_ been weird--and the other Abyssinian thought that it probably was--Torres had already become somewhat inured to the notion of "weirdness" thanks to her time with the crew. "Maybe, I guess. We're kind of, like... siblings, right?"

"Well, not_really_."

"Kind of, though." She was, in any case, still a little giddy from the kiss, and willing to indulge her. "But I appreciate it. Maybe one of these days I'll get a fancy uniform like you."

Mitch glanced down at her Star Patrol regulation outfit. "This?" It had been designed for thermal regulation and a degree of energy dissipation, not flair. She had long since given up even trying.

So had Torres's clothes, but Mitch had been singed far fewer times in her career. "Yeah!"

Function had driven the blue top, and the accompanying pants that made the whole affair appear like a jumpsuit even with the utility belt Mitch normally had slung over her hips. It was not an especially flattering look. "I'd stick with what you have."

"I didn't bring a wardrobe when I escaped. Anyway. Here's where I got to with those upgrades--if you get a chance, make sure they're compatible with the ship's systems. I don't know how many of the schematics are still correct."

"You think I do?"

She grinned, though, and took the data chip. Mitch knew how the ship worked as well as Shannon Hazelton did, at least; she'd been responsible for a few of the changes to the original schematics herself. It was good to feel appreciated, even if her enthusiasm wasn't as fetching as when Torres showed it.

You know...

A significant quantity of her crewmates 'looked nice,' Mitch reflected. Perhaps it was all the stress they'd been under, which to have ebbed for the moment. But then, even Leon Bader seemed particularly handsome when she passed him in the corridor, and the German Shepherd had never, to the best of her knowledge,not appeared under some degree of stress or another.

Her shift started at about the same time as her friend TJ's ended; after the lab, she met the otter for a quick snack in the otherwise empty mess hall. "Weird question," she began--Teej had_also_ long since lost his ability to calibrate what was, and was not, truly weird. "Does everyone seem, like... different?"

"Another mirror universe or something?"

"No. They're just...friendlier, I guess. You know?"

The otter shrugged. "We're always pretty friendly in engineering," he said. "I don't know that I noticed it in particular or anything. Maybe_you're_ just in a good mood."

"Maybe..."

She wasn't entirely convinced. Her next shift on the bridge was with Ensign Srivastava and Dr. Schatz, the science officer. Barry was the senior officer, and did not normally take command of the ship. In this case, he was hoping to have some astrometric calculations finished in order to adjust their course to investigate what appeared to be a naked singularity.

His focus, too, was singular, which meant that he didn't notice the way Mitch eyed him throughout their shift. By the end of it, the cat was technically aware that she had become profoundly distracted. Looking at the Border Collie, and feeling herself growing more and more flustered, she knew she should pay sickbay a visit and see if Ayenni was awake.

What she thought_first_, though, was: I bet he's picked up some interesting techniques with all that reading he does. Experience had taught her that bookish types, of a particular sort, were very good for that. Then she thought: I wonder if he'd get distracted partway through eating me out.

That was not--for the moment--on Barry's mind. When Captain Ford showed up to relieve him, he was preoccupied by his failure to finish the calculations. So far as he was concerned, the shift had been uneventful; he left the coyote to take the next one, with Spaceman Ahmed and Lieutenant Parnell, and made his way off the bridge.

"Spaceman Alexander?" he spoke up; she was right in front of him, and paused.

Her tail swayed. The medical bay--she'd checked--was open. "Doc?" she asked, and carefully turned around. "Can I help you?"

"Maybe. Were you planning on going right to bed?"

Depends--did you not want to wait that long? She forced the thought back. "Probably not, no. Why?"

"Would you mind looking at something? I think there's a sensor anomaly, but it could also be a problem with one of the ship's systems. You know those better than me."

"Uh. Sure," she said, and when he handed her a computer, and their fingers briefly touched, she hoped her blush wasn't noticeable. "I'll... I'll take a look."

It was not. The collie was waiting for an answer--when she started walking again, he blinked in surprise and trotted after her. "I'm not sure what it would be," he said, falling in next to her. She looked to be studying the computer_very_ attentively. It was rather cute, honestly, how intense she could be--almost like him, Barry thought, incorrectly. "You see I was relying on the input from the lateral integrator. I know you've worked on those."

"Yeah..."

"Overheating? That could cause noise, right?"

Well, the quarters are soundproofed. "Yeah. But the systems are actively cooled." If she bought herself some time, she could recenter her thoughts. Calm down. Get a drink of water and put some gentle Clearwater music on her speakers. Stop being so... overheated. "And you tried filtering for that, I assume?"

"I_did_, but then I realized that the filters are going to have the same baseline data, so I'm not sure if I'm really compensating for any random noise injected into the system. I spent a few hours trying to figure out if there was some way I could double-check this with a different sensor, but it's such a narrow range of frequencies that--uh? Spaceman?"

Having reached her quarters, she'd opened the door and stepped through. Mitch paused. "Yeah?"

"I can come back later, if you have an idea of how long it would take..."

That her first thought was to ask why he hadn't just invited himself inside gave the feline momentary pause. She screwed her eyes shut, and tried to focus on the computer. "I have an idea. Just... c'mon, come in. It'll only take a few minutes."

Barry did as he was told--or suggested?Suggested, surely; he was an officer, even if it often didn't seem that way, and Mitch couldn't really give him orders. Mitch settled at the desk in her cabin and, for lack of anywhere else, he sat on the edge of her bunk.

None of them had many personal belongings, and they hadn't acquired much over the course of their mission. Spaceman Alexander's quarters were spartan and mostly unfurnished, unless the clothes huddling untidily in the corner counted. Beyond that, she'd hung a few holographic posters from concerts she'd attended--they were_intended_ to be replayed, but Barry didn't want to do that, and as still-lifes they didn't do much to capture his attention.

"So, ah... what are you doing?" he finally asked.

"If it's... mm." His voice ran like syrup, drizzled over her thoughts. "If it's an internal problem, it should show up in_one_ of our diagnostics, at least. I also thought I'd check the power readouts... increase in temperature will mean the systems take more power. But I'm not seeing that..."

"So the readings are legitimate?"

Her brain felt fuzzy. "Maybe. Ugh. Speaking of temperature, is it hot in here? Like, is the whole ship hot?"

"I... don't know? Is it?" She seemed to be pulling up those logs, too, so he rose and padded across the room to join her.

"No," she had to admit. This didn't change how flushed_she_ felt; she undid her uniform jacket, and tossed it into the pile with the rest of her clothes. "Just me, I guess. You're not uncomfortable?"

The Border Collie tried to stare at the computer readouts, as opposed to the Abyssinian, who was now clad above the waist only in her undershirt. "I'm..."not, he nearly finished. Is that true? Given cause to think about it, maybe he did feel a little warm. Not fevered, though--not as if he was coming down with something. Just ever so slightly warm. "Maybe."

Mitch turned to look at him. The collie, in_particular_, didn't need his jacket. "No surprise," she mused. "With that thick coat of yours. You must run the climate control pretty low in your quarters. If you want, you know, it's fine..."

She was not referring to turning the temperature down. She had pantomimed undoing his own jacket, and Barry realized that he was, oddly, considering following_that_ suggestion as well. The only thing that saved him from doing so immediately was his attention being captivated by the swaying of her sinuous tail.

"Doc?" the Abyssinian asked, and then tilted her head when she saw what he was doing. Her voice took on an unbidden, teasing lilt. "You okay there?"

"I'm fine," he muttered. "The, uh... the sensor logs. What, uh..."

"Here. Process of elimination." Mitch took his paw, and guided it to one of the graphs on the screen. "If it was temperature, or a sensor bug, we should see something here. But there's nothing. Must be legit."

"Must be." She'd compelled the Border Collie to lean closer, so that he could see what she was indicating. It put him close enough to feel the warmth of her body, and to hear whispered undertones in her explanation. "I guess I should, um..."

She turned, facing him, their eyes locking. "You should what?"

He couldn't tear himself away.She's so smart, he found himself reflecting. She always seems like kind of a slacker, same as TJ, but they're both so damned smart. How long would it have taken me to think of pulling the data from the memory allocation subsystem to see if--

"Should what?" she repeated.

Barry swallowed. "Go to the science lab. Try to... um... run some models on..."

"You want my help?" she offered. "Or do you want to wait until your next shift? What do you want?"

Increasingly, he_wanted_ to have the kind of impropriety that allowed Mitch to strip off her jacket without a second thought. "To be honest," he began. "It, ah... it could probably wait."

"Sure." She could see the way his expression was changing. Mitch had, it hit her, never been close enough to really notice the collie's scent. Different than a wolf like Eli or Lieutenant Vasquez. Subtler? "Help me up?" she asked.

The request was reasonable. Sliding her arm around the collie's shoulders and_pulling_ herself upright was not. Trying to keep his balance, he overcorrected, and unexpectedly--or fortuitously--found his backwards stumbling arrested by the wall of Mitch's cabin, and Mitch herself pressed flat against his chest. "I--"

Her lips were on his before either of the two perceived it as a conscious act. Not that Barry made even an attempt to stop her, or to extricate himself. The closer she was, the more he became acutely aware of her warmth, and the way the Abyssinian's lithe body molded to his, even before he had her wrapped up in a clinging, tugging hug.

When her rough feline tongue probed him, seeking his muzzle, he didn't resist that, either. Mitch began to undo his jacket, and Barry took that job over swiftly, opening the garment up, shrugging it to the floor, and just as quickly seizing her in a renewed embrace.

Mitch heard herself purring, as her tail snaked around the collie's legs and she pushed closer, pinning his hips between her own and the sturdy metal behind him, grinding herself searchingly against stiffening resistance that became readily apparent the longer they stayed flush to one another.

The kiss ended with Mitch leaning back, breaking a thin trail of saliva that bridged them, and Barry panting hoarsely. "What are we doing?" he managed to ask. His thoughts raced, and although_most_ of what they raced between was lewd, if not openly pornographic, his penchant for distraction allowed a hint of dutifulness to slip through.

The Abyssinian, of course, was not so encumbered. "Taking our clothes off," she told him. She extricated herself, and tossed her tunic aside by way of demonstration.

Between the way it arched her back, pushing her breasts out and towards him, and the natural perfume of her bare body,what are we doing? fled the collie's mind. "That's what you're doing," he told her. "Finish the job."

His voice had taken on, she thought, a bit of a growl--at odds both with his demeanor, in general, and with the adorable interest shown by his perked, folded ears. She grinned, kicking off her boots and shimmying out of her pants. "And what are_you_ doing? You're--"

A shove toppled her back and into her bunk. That time he'd_definitely_ growled, and it sent a thrill through Mitch. Or his directness did. Or the way he was already leaning over her, his paw reaching with remarkable certainty between her legs to part them.

Had he been asked, the dog would not have known_why_ he was doing any of it. It sufficed to fill his muzzle with her scent as he nuzzled down her chest, and to growl again at the gasp that interrupted her purring when his tongue drew over her nipple teasingly.

He did not intend to stay there long. Pressing her thighs wide, he moved lower quickly, as if drawn by the thickening evidence of her arousal filling the air. Her sex already glistened with it, and when he worked his tongue over her lips her taste coated him all but immediately.

Mitch's eyes rolled back, then closed altogether. The next insistent, dragging track of his tongue sent a rippling wash of color along her eyelids, and before it faded he did it again, and again, lapping at her with practiced, purposeful strokes. He knew, somehow, precisely how best to guide his attention, how to narrow in on her clit at_just_ the right moment.

Never one to stand on principles of dignity, she wasn't surprised or ashamed by the way she mewled for him. She was, though,extremely surprised by how unsteady her voice had already become. The best she could do--and just barely, at that--was to keep her claws retracted as her fingers raked through the collie's mane.

When TJ went down on her, it was with an enthusiasm that she often found both fetching and effective. Barry wasn't_enthusiastic_, though, so much as eager. Like he needed her. He worked his tongue into the Abyssinian's folds--licked with an open hunger that underpinned the skill with which he was bringing her rapidly closer to release.

He went faster as she squirmed and bucked, casting a glance upwards when her back arched to see Mitch's face a mask of helpless, building ecstasy. That was, sure enough, plenty of reward on its own for the dog. He growled, nosing closer to her, the heat of his breath spilling over her as he sought to imprint her heady musk on his now very-one-track mind.

Mitch's ability to compare the performance of her lovers collapsed, her attention drawn to the liquid, pulsing pleasure radiating out from the pointed laps of the collie's tongue. Then there was warmth inside her, less yielding than his tongue, sliding in firmly as he sank two fingers in to the knuckle.

She felt them pump once; at the second time all she really_felt_ was her body being taken in the grip of a powerful climax. Mitch opened her mouth to give voice to it, tasted fur, and let the collie's paw take the scream that escaped from her emptying lungs.

Barry had_some_ sense of that, watching her ride out her peak, feeling her thrash, and buck, and at last sag back, unstrung, into her sheets. He lapped at her until the squirming turned to jolts and a gasping hiss came from her muzzle, easing from her before she even perceived herself as overstimulated.

The panting Abyssinian had her eyes open for some time, trying to focus, before she realized the blurriness was because she was staring at her featureless wall. She tilted her head down to look at the dog, instead, who was grinning. His eyes danced. His muzzle was slick and wet and matted.

He did not ask:what are we doing? He didn't have to ask anything--which meant that she, too, didn't have to ask for him to get his pants off and join her on the bed. It happened naturally, or at least wordlessly. The same way he'd needed to taste the feline, and needed to bring her to orgasm, he needed to bury his length in her.

And Mitch wanted to be taking canine dick so badly she_would've_ given him a direct order to fuck her senseless had it been necessary. It wasn't. He slid up against her back, and his paw lifted her leg over his, and then without hesitating he guided himself between her lips, and worked the tip of his cock carefully inside.

"Fuck," she breathed. It was the first thing she'd said since being tossed onto her bunk--he was thick, and throbbing, and deliriously_warm_ as he started to enter her. She could feel her folds parting, spreading around him, stretched tight... and that exquisite sensation kept making itself known deeper, further inside her. She whimpered: "fuck, yes... oh, fuck, oh fuck oh fuck..."

She grunted the oath when he slid the rest of the way inside. Barry, for his part, growled into her scruff. Enveloped completely in the wet, hot vise of the Abyssinian's cunt, he held himself as still as he_could._ Which still meant a shallow, hitching thrust that tore another grunt from his lover, and a twinge of pleasure that yielded in a throb of precum splashing her insides.

The moment she opened her mouth to urge him onwards, he swiveled his hips through a_proper_ second thrust, and she sighed in gratitude instead. He rocked against her rump in steady, deep bucks, pushing in heavily when he hilted so they both could savor it, then sliding free only to take her once more.

Mitch started to squirm even_before_ his paw felt over her chest, groping her breast with a shockingly possessive firmness. Just as shocking was the giddy feeling of his fur brushing over her nipple, teasing her while his tempo built and his huffed, breathy groans served as wordless encouragement for her to give in.

I could cum already, she thought--it was the closest she'd had yet to approximating a coherent sense of cause and effect. His cock, gliding along her sodden walls, tugged an irresistible, rising demand for carnal satisfaction from the shuddering feline. A rising sense of emotion building up, like the canine shaft surging into her was adding a bit more tinder at every plunge.

His free paw slipped down her front to search between her legs, and found what it was looking for almost immediately. Barry's fingers added a circling, rubbing counterpoint to his thrusts--it had seemed like a good idea, a_natural_ idea, and he got only a dozen strokes before she seized up and he had to clamp her muzzle shut again.

Her hips trembled and she yowled through her nose, her ears laid back and her tail lashing, but he kept control of his pace, rutting the ruddy-furred cat through the convulsive waves of her peak. He bucked, sinking deep in her spasming cunt over and over until her sharp fangs at last scored his paw.

"Hey!"

"Breathe," she stammered. "L-lemme breathe."

She hadn't told him to stop, though, and really more than breathing she wanted to gauge how much the collie had left in him. Mitch pushed herself back to meet him the next time he started to withdraw, grinding to map out the contours of his canine endowment as the dog's cock shifted and worked at her insides.

That was more or less when they both realized he'd only been thrusting in to the knot, stretching her lips with the swell but not slipping all the way in until she forced him to. Barry groaned, and his eyes snapped shut before he could see the mischievous grin on Mitch's muzzle.

"I'm not going to be able to pull out much longer," he warned.

"Yeah." Her purring deepened with her own awareness of the fact. "I know."

"So if you want me to, I--"

Another firm shove of her athletic hips quieted him. Only slightly awkwardly, she got her leg behind his to keep him from even making the attempt. "No," she ordered, just in case, although the sharp, constricted buck that answered her reassured the Abyssinian she was in no danger of that.

It suited Barry fine, too. He humped against her gently, feeling his shaft swelling up inside her and enjoying the sense of growing tightness as he became more and more stuck. Knowing precisely_when_ they were actually tied didn't matter.

What mattered, as his thrusts started picking up in speed, was that he_was_ tied, pumping quickly with the certainty of how inevitable the finish was. Arms wrapped around her, pulling Mitch against him, he drew closer and closer to spilling himself in her warm, inviting sex.

Mitch bit her lip. His precum was_already_ hosing her down so thoroughly she wasn't sure he hadn't cum, except for the lingering rhythm he still maintained. It was when that tempo started to come apart, and his claws dug in, that she knew.

"Good boy," she gasped, voice husky and hoarse with exertion. Barry groaned, the last of his resolve abruptly gone, ramming into her in an erratic, urgent staccato.Fuck. She had a big dog locked inside her, twitching and throbbing as he lost control, his rapid prods centering her thoughts on way it buffeted her clit and the depth with which she could feel him hilted, and it was all she could really manage. "Good boy... good boy! Good--"

The last part of that was more of a shouted_oh!, a grunt of exertion as she took his last hard thrust. Barry heard nothing. He saw nothing. He _knew nothing except a throbbing pleasure, giving way to a sensation of heat blossoming around his tip, and how fucking satisfying it was to finally seed his partner.

He was frozen, rammed up tight and flush to her back when his shaft twitched. Slick and copious as his precum had been, the abrupt gush of thick, sticky warmth flooding her was unmistakable. Then there were teeth on her scruff--he pulled her back, snarling his equally unmistakable triumph into her fur, and as a second, stronger jet pulsed into her the cat's vision went white.

Barry_felt_ her clenching tighter on his knot, felt the pleasure it wrung from him, but he couldn't have stopped himself from biting down on her anyway. No more than he could stop the growl, or his instinctive movements--the short, forceful shoves that accompanied the blissful work of emptying himself in her.

Those eventually slowed down, and he got comfortable, pressed against her back, his fingers lazily trailing through her fur. It was about the point where he had expected to feel a sense of hesitation, or second-guessing what had just happened. He was on good enough terms with most of the crew, Mitch included, but...

The Abyssinian, too, had never_planned_ anything like that--anyway there was probably some boring protocol forbidding it. Not that she'd ever cared before. What mattered, she thought, as she reached behind her to pat his side comfortably, was that she knew what she'd been missing by not giving in to her urges earlier.

And that she was not about to make that mistake a second time.

***

Medical officer's log, stardate 67964

In the last few hours, four people have checked in over unusual behavior amongst them or their fellow crew. This can't be a coincidence, but I'm not certain what, exactly, is going on.

At 0615, Travis Wallace and Shannon Hazelton reported that, over the course of effecting repairs on a power conduit, they became increasingly overwhelmed with sexual desire for one another. Both assure me that they realized this as aberrant and came to me before anything transpired. Bioscans indicate this is a... partial truth.

At 0830, Francisco Vasquez asked me to perform a neurological scan on the basis of similar desire he felt towards Valerie Smith while they were reviewing tactical models in the ship's science lab. Smith did not reciprocate and, when paged, did not seem aware of Vasquez's feelings or his belief that his cognitive faculties had been compromised.

At 0950, Elissa Parnell arrived and also asked to be scanned. According to Parnell, she had visited her friend Travis in his quarters to find out why he had missed a planned breakfast. The two then had sex, after which Travis advised her to see me. Parnell admits the encounter 'came out of nowhere, I guess,' but does not seem otherwise bothered.

Contacting Travis Wallace, he suggested I ask Mitch Alexander. Alexander replied that she was 'busy at the moment' but would see me as soon as possible. She sounded notably out of breath. If she does not follow up with me I will exercise my medical prerogative to pull her movement logs from the ship's computer. I wonder if--

Pause recording.

"How did this happen?" she asked again.

Kamyshev cleared his throat. "I accidentally, uh, got too close to an open plasma line. I was preflighting a, uh. Preflighting my Type 7--my scout ship. Preflighting it with Erika. Petty Officer Constance. Ms. Constance. For an engine test."

"And your paw slipped?" He'd arrived with a third-degree burn across his palm, the pads almost charred in places. Her regenerator had fixed that in short order, although the missing fur still gave the appearance of a scar and would for some time. "Is that it?" She could tell that he was uncomfortable, although not the reason.

Konstantin, himself, knew that_she_ knew, which only made him less comfortable. "That's it, yeah. Normally... uh. Normally, the access panels are closed over the engine, but we wanted to test the power output."

Ayenni debated whether or not to just read the snow leopard's mind, and decided they had not yet reached those sorts of exigent circumstances. "This is going to be a strange question," she began, even if she already suspected the answer. "But have you been experiencing anything strange? Desires? An unusual lack of inhibition?"

Commander Kamyshev chuckled, and averted his eyes. "Fighter pilots, doctor, you know? We don't have many inhibitions."

"You wouldn't be the only one. I'm not judging or anything, commander. I just need to know what happened. I think something's going on with the crew."

"This is confidential? It won't go in anyone's record or anything?"

Well, that's a worrying way to start, isn't it? "My encrypted medical logs--that's it. I'm technically a civilian, remember? Captain May doesn't have access, and it doesn't go on your record."

"My record's already shot to hell," the snow leopard admitted, with a slightly rueful smile. All the same, he knew Ayenni could get the truth out of him if she really wanted, anyway. "Okay. Something was definitely going on with Petty Officer Constance."

Six, she thought. That's six so far. "Alright..."

"Most of the repair job went fine, but she got... she stayed real close. Closer than she needed to be, a lot of touching..." Guiding his paw, and playfully bumping him with her hip when the snow leopard wasn't quick enough on the next step of the checklist.

Kamyshev figured the badger_damn_ well knew what she was doing when she nudged him out of the way and slipped in front of him to 'check the readouts myself'--bending forward slightly, so that her rear was pushed against him, and he could feel the way her short tail waved and flitted.

And, even if they'd had a job to do, he was still a red-blooded male, after all. He couldn't help it if his body started to respond. Especially not given that he knew he had a type. Short, curvy, types--toothy ones, the kind where they knew how to get what they wanted, and what they wanted was the snow leopard's big paws groping their ample rump... his chuffing growl in their ear as he started to pound them...

Erika hadn't_said_ as much. She'd said 'we'll let this run for a second,' and then twisted around to face him, showing teeth with just the kind of grin he was helpless to resist. He wasn't even wearing a flightsuit, just his standard Star Patrol uniform, with the pants she could unfasten even as she sank to her knees in front of him, under the waiting Type 7.

He heard her inhale, and sigh, and felt the way it washed over his crotch. And his suddenly bare, suddenly_very_ obvious erection. Then there was a quiet giggle, and then the warmth of her muzzle, engulfing as much of him as she could fit. As the badger sucked him off, and his thick tail swayed and lashed, Kamyshev was not given to thinking about whether or not what they were doing was improper.

It was_obviously_ improper; he was an officer, and she was not. They were on shift, testing the scout fighter's propulsion. That was for some other discussion, though. Looking down at the stark black and white pattern of her face, and the alert eyes turned upward to meet his slitted gaze as his cock sank into her muzzle, Kamyshev's only actual objection was that he'd never done anything like that before.

He could feel the need for release growing; hissed a tense warning to Erika. She heard him, obviously; one of her paws stretched up to indicate the computer console, and the diagnostic nearly finished on its display. The other slipped between his legs to cup his sack, and when he answered in a wordless chuff she sucked harder.

Knowing she_wanted_ him to get off was the last straw. Legs aquiver, barely holding himself upright, he jerked over and over into her, draining himself in her maw, feeling her swallowing quickly as the runny pulses of his load overwhelmed her. Whatever else might be said, at that she was a consummate professional. Not a drop escaped.

He was still weak-kneed, twitching drily while she lapped his shaft clean. Konstantin reached out to steady himself, put a paw against the armored skin of the Type 7--a vessel he knew by heart, enough to be surprised when the handhold he expected wasn't there, and for the briefest moment of regret before there was a shocking heat, and he drew back to see smoke rising from between his fingers...

Ayenni, expression flat, looked between the snow leopard and her computer which--despite the copious detail she had been provided--remained blank. "And then you came here?"

"Uh. Well."

"You put your clothes on, and you came here," she suggested.

"Yeah."

Resume recording.

I have suggested that Kamyshev remain in his quarters while he recuperates. Wallace, Hazelton, and Vasquez have been asked to update me before their next shift, although I expect to have them relieved of duty until I can figure out what's the matter with the crew.

All of them appear healthy, apart from a slightly elevated heart rate and body temperature. Their hormonal profiles are troubling--not threatening, but definitely abnormal. I told Vasquez that his brain scan was unremarkable, and I thought at first that was all there was to it. On reviewing it again, though, it's definitely off. He looks like... well, honestly, if his species experienced a rut, I'd say that's what I was looking at.

But they don't.

So what's going on?

***

If Madison May had learned one thing at the Academy, it was a detailed map of the local bars that honored discounts for Star Patrol cadets. In a close second, though, had been the ability to delegate authority when necessary.

She did not necessarily_like_ doing this--what captain would? But even less trustworthy were the captains who refused to listen to their advisors. They had, after all, earned her absolute trust. And, even when she called for a meeting with the ship's doctor, she already knew what the outcome would be.

Still, Ayenni at least asked: "What would you like to do, ma'am?"

When Maddy hesitated, the alien rested a paw on her shoulder. The worst of the Akita's impulses faded behind a soft shroud, and she shut her eyes, trying to focus. In truth, she wanted to find Jack Ford and have the coyote pound as much sense as was possible into her, and had wanted it ever since taking over for him on the bridge. "Ah..."

She trailed off. Ayenni, despite her attempts to insulate herself, was keenly aware of what the captain_wanted_. It was as though Maddy--never particularly adept at filtering her thoughts--had lost the ability altogether. So the doctor waited for an answer to gradually assemble itself.

"What have you learned so far? Do you have an antidote?"

"No. Contact tracing points to an origin with... either Spaceman Alexander, or with Ms. Torres, and also with Lieutenant Commander Munro. Munro and Torres bought plants from an alien trader some time ago. Your ship's biofilters and my own scans report them as clean, but... it's the closest I have to a lead."

"You're, um..." Jack worked with Ciara, Maddy thought. He could avail himself of the vixen's company without having to--no. She gritted her teeth. For one, the coyote was still a Star Patrol officer. Also, she rather suspected Munro had no interest in coyotes, or for men in general. "You're studying it? You have the plant tied up?"

"What?"

"You have it bound and gagged. Muzzled." She closed her own with her fingers, to demonstrate, as it occurred to her that the nuance might have been lost to an alien. "I don't know what the word would be."

Ayenni understood what the captain was_saying_ just fine. "I have it isolated, yes, captain. I don't believe it poses a direct threat; so far, everyone seems to be fairly healthy. But I can't say for certain."

"Is anyone immune?"

"I seem to be, and Ms. Torres, and Mr. Thorsen--the ones you'd expect, I suppose. But of the ones from this universe, from Terra, and not genetically engineered, though? Dr. Beltran seems to be able to control herself... so does Petty Officer Smith, and maybe Petty Officer Cooper. I haven't had the time to examine everyone in great detail."

The telepath had lifted her paw away, and already Maddy found it hard to concentrate on more than her most basic instincts. "What about Parnell or Srivastava?"

"Ensign Srivastava asked to be removed from the duty roster. Lieutenant Parnell, uh..." Eli had not gotten that far; she was, as far as Ayenni knew, still occupied in her quarters. The wolfess hadn't appeared for the requested followup.

Addled as she was, Maddy could read between_those_ lines. "Alright..." She summoned Felicia and Sabel Thorsen to the ready room, and rubbed at her temple while she waited. "Fuck. Ayenni. Can you do the... whatever you did earlier, can you do that again?"

Ayenni composed herself, and did her best to think calming thoughts. Captain May was trying, too, but she knew_exactly_ where Jack's quarters were... and it wasn't like the pilot was going to say 'no,' now, was it? And--and... "What about the Uxzu?" Ayenni asked. It had been a brief thought, flickering through the Akita's fraying consciousness.

"You said the source might have been something we got from their trader, didn't you? Maybe... maybe they know something? Or they recognize the symptoms..."

"Perhaps. It's a line of inquiry I intend to pursue," she said. "But I have not had the time."

"You think that it... it mostly affects our impulses, right? Is it actually, uh..." Ayenni had gone a bit_too_ far in imposing a degree of restraint on the Akita, and phrasing the question now felt slightly embarrassing--an emotion May was not used to feeling. "Is it actually overriding my hormones? I have the biochip set the way it is for very good reasons."

It wasn't even Star Patrol issue--she'd had the implant installed as a teenager, well before deciding to enlist, like many Terrans. It helped to enhance her immune system, in a universe of innumerable alien diseases. It also, though, kept her both from going through heat cycles and from her body even so much as_thinking_ of conception.

Ordinarily, May was much the same. But she_had_ been thinking about conception. She had been wondering what a hybrid kid would look like--if they'd have Jack's brush of a tail, or the Akita's dark, soulful eyes. I could ask him. I mean, the next time we're tied and he--

While her thoughts drifted, Ayenni had her medical scanner out, taking a blood sample from the distracted canine. "I don't believe so," she interrupted the reverie. "I only understand Terran reproductive patterns academically, but the hormonal markers are... somewhat different. I'm pretty sure you'd be unable to conceive."

"So I'm_not_ in heat?" she asked, and turned that one over in her head. "I'm not in heat, I just really want something to fuck me like I'm in heat."

That was the line Beltran and Thorsen had come in on. Beltran had the decency to betray a faint degree of awkwardness; Sabel merely twitched his ears, and evaluated the request as it had been given. "I don't think I'm qualified for that. Did you want the doctor to investigate my cybernetics and see if they can be overridden?"

Maddy hadn't noticed them come in; she also didn't notice Ayenni touch her again, only the sense of momentary clarity. "No. I need to know if you're capable of flying the ship."

"Yes. The control systems for most Star Patrol vessels that were contemporary to my own design are in my databanks. I won't be as good as an experienced pilot, but... as you were perhaps implying, at the time necessity was very definitely in heat and inventing me was her child. I... do not know who the father was, in that proverbial coupling. It might have been an artificial--"

"Not... right now," she cut him off. "Thank you for the answer. Anyway. Dr. Beltran: I recall your file says you've completed the Academy work for your next promotion. Right?"

"Yes. Before I reported about your ship, captain."

"So you've done basic command training, then?"

"No. The Diplomatic Corps functions somewhat differently. We are expected to identify a research topic with someone at one of the Academies, with the aim of producing three peer-reviewed papers. I have completed two."

May frowned, slightly, although it didn't_completely_ surprise her that not every branch of the Star Patrol would behave the same way. "Lieutenant commanders don't have any training in... you know, command?"

"That is a rank at which we would still be subordinate to a station chief. I believe there is some team leading and project management coursework for that track. I do not have time-in-grade yet, in any case."

Her frown deepened. "They don't make you write an essay about a time you faced an unwinnable situation?"

"No, ma'am."

"What about killing your friends? They don't make you prove that you'd be willing to kill your friends if it meant saving your ship?"

Now it was Felicia's turn to experience a deepening sense of disquieted bafflement. "No, ma'am," she repeated carefully. "Was that also an essay test?"

"No." She did not have the time or the inclination to explain, and forged ahead despite the look she was getting from the leopardess. "I need to temporarily be relieved of command. That makes you the senior officer."

"There are several others who outrank me," Beltran countered. "Presumably, others who have agreed to commit utilitarian murder."

"You're the senior officer who remains in control of their faculties. And..." She lowered her voice, although neither Ayenni nor Thorsen would have argued with what she was about to say: "after Dave, you're the one best-suited to keep us out of trouble."

"If I might add..." Captain May nodded her permission to Ayenni, who had spoken up. "I believe our best source of help might be from the Rissiin. Their biologists are well-known and well-respected, but they have a reputation for being strictly formal. Your skills would be critical... uniquely so, I believe, from what I know of them."

And, from what Beltran knew about the crew's recent behavior, the thought of first contact under those conditions was terrifying. "Very well, captain."

"Good. Um. Ayenni will tell you everything you need to know." Before her mind wandered to more salacious thoughts, she entered her command codes into the ship's computer, and transferred them to the watching feline. "I... may prove to be indisposed. Hopefully not for too long. But I should... I should see myself out."

With their captain gone, Dr. Beltran turned towards Ayenni. "You have ideas?"

"No. I'm just getting started on this. There's a Rissiin outpost just past the Dominion's border. I'd recommend we head there as quickly as we can--their medical facilities will have more capacity than ours, in any case."

"Send the details to Mr. Thorsen. Sabel, you can take over the helm?"

"I can indeed."

"Make it so. Please, Ayenni, do not let me distract you from your work." She had become quite acutely aware that memorizing all the technical and tactical details of the cruiser had not been a priority since shortly after she'd reported aboard. She did not, for example, know the ship's top speed. Nor, now that it had been mentioned, who the Rissiin were. "I should also prepare."

Ayenni nodded. "Of course, Dr. Beltran. If there's anything I can explain better..."

"The training for Star Patrol commanders," Beltran suggested.

Her fur flushed a faint, perplexed purple. "If there's anything_medical_ I can explain. I'm... not a psychiatrist. I have no idea what they were thinking about that one."

***

Acting captain's log, stardate 67964.8

It has been approximately 36 hours since the onset of symptoms for most of the crew. According to the doctor, it does not seem that anyone has recovered. I have asked Ayenni for a more complete update on her progress before the situation becomes even more dire.

Ayenni watched the computer, as though the extra attention might cause it to begin spontaneously emitting answers. "I'm not certain. It must be extremely well adapted. I feel like Mr. Thorsen here probably ought to be the key, but..."

Sabel understood that she meant this metaphorically, although not the metaphor itself. He had been programmed specifically with all the information his designers thought he would require, and one such item was the belief that any 'lock' he was intended to encounter could be trivially defeated. "I do not believe this is the kind of door I can help you to force open. My paws are not delicate enough for surgery."

"Your implants are clearly suppressing_something_. But then, they suppress a lot of things. I'm not sure which is the right one. How long do we have until the meeting?"

Dr. Beltran did not even have to check her calendar. "Forty-one hours. I have begun to examine additional protocols that we might consider, if you don't have an answer before then. Ways to save face."

"Less than two days." This was not very long to figure out how to solve their problem, and to fix it. Ayenni asked her followup question even though the telepath's heightened senses told her some of the answer. "How are_you_ feeling, Dr. Beltran?"

"As well as can be expected. I do not feel consumed by uncontrollable lust, if that helps. I am experiencing additional stress. I assume this is no great surprise to either of us."

"It's not, no." She took a quick scan of the leopardess's blood, which said the same thing: her stress hormones were elevated, and that was all. "You're probably not sleeping well, either?"

"Less," Beltran corrected. "My sleep is restful. I meditate beforehand, but there have been fewer opportunities in the past several shifts. Does that matter?"

"Meditation? I don't know. I'm not entirely certain why whatever's going around doesn't affect you, except that it seems very narrowly targeted. There might be something in your medical history, I guess," Ayenni said, although she had long since been given complete access to the ship's records, and nothing seemed like a good candidate to be causing it.

"You said it causes a lack of restraint and inhibition?"

"Yes, exactly. Or it causes nothing at all--myself, Mr. Thorsen, and Ms. Torres are completely immune. Sabel's implants must be filtering it out somehow, and Torres's mirror universe biology is apparently too unique."

"I am not a biologist, but could his implants be useful?"

"If I can figure out what they're doing, yes. At least it's not getting worse for the rest of the crew." She was keeping them confined to quarters, where possible, or where the symptoms were particularly severe. "It's just... not getting better, either."

"Keep me apprised of your work." It was all she could really do.

In her head, she gave the doctor another 24 hours to offer some sign of progress--if there was nothing by that point, there was not going to_be_ anything before the situation became critical. Felicia allowed herself a brief nap, poured herself a strong serving of coffee, and considered her options as she began her rounds again.

The nearest Star Patrol ships were a week away, at least, and that presumed one of Admiral Mercure's forward scouts was listening to the long-range radio and could maneuver to intercept them. Otherwise, they were even further away from assistance. The Dominion might_try_ to help, but they had no experience with Terran biology and Felicia wasn't optimistic about their chances of learning it on the fly.

Of course,she was having to do that. Main engineering was the first place she stopped in, before she would have to make her way to the quiet bridge and, at best, the perplexing company of Sabel Thorsen. Petty Officer Cooper was keeping the powerplant going all by himself; he had grabbed one of the cots from their away team kits, and begun sleeping next to the reactor.

That, Beltran figured, was unsustainable, but the panther seemed to be in good spirits. "The engines are operating within acceptable parameters, ma'am. I should be able to reconfigure one of our damage-control drones to help with the automation."

She had been reading through the lengthy book of regulations, which specified the ship's minimum operating crew. Under wartime conditions, a_Sovremenny_-class cruiser was permitted to operate with only a qualified pilot, an authorized tactical officer, and two engineers--but only so long as it took to make it back to spacedock.

Star Patrol, however, created the guidelines assuming that the cruiser would be operating as part of a fleet, and that friendly docks would be at most a few days away. Even presuming that Torres counted as "an engineer," they had no margin for error.

"Hold on." Listening to Cooper continue through his report, Beltran felt herself growing unduly frustrated. The burden of trying to shoulder the additional responsibilities she'd been given was wearing on her, more than it seemed to be wearing on the other feline. "I might have to change course, and head back for Confed space. Can we increase our speed?"

The panther looked towards the diagnostic console for the reactor core. "I... don't know, ma'am."

"Come again?"

"Uh. I'm a computer specialist. What I know about these engines is what I learned from watching the LT work. Or just... the certification courses we had to take in basic training. I can keep the readouts in the green zone, captain, but... as far as getting more out of the reactor..."

"Is that not your job, Mr. Cooper? As acting chief engineer?"

He flinched under Dr. Beltran's sharp tongue. "Due respect, ma'am, I don't think it would be safe to do so."Strong women, he thought. Cats in particular. With a dog like Eli, say, a stern voice would settle them back down. Cats appreciated no such hierarchies, and--

"We might have to make that choice," Beltran pointed out, interrupting a train of thought about which she had been completely unaware.

"I can run some simulations? Here, uh... hold on," he said--ma'am or captain momentarily forgotten. Mike called up their statistical models of the Dark Horse reactor, all the while Beltran continued staring with narrowed eyes at him. "You, um. You seem stressed. Your shoulders are tense. More than usual."

"Probably," she admitted.

"Here," he gestured towards the console, which had begun to output the results of the simulation. Without really understanding_why_ he was doing so, he stepped behind the leopardess, and began to search out the worst of the knots in her back. "As long as you're here..."

Felicia bristled--at first. But he seemed to know what he was doing. She_was_ tense, and the massage did help. She closed her eyes until the computer chirped. "What was that?"

He leaned forward, pausing in his firm, practiced rubbing. "Initial results. We're at almost peak efficiency in the recirculators and the drive plasma channels. It'll take longer to map out the motivator tuning, I think."

"How much longer? Keep going," she added, as an afterthought.

He resumed his work at her upper back and shoulders, although he hadn't pulled away terribly far, and he could smell the faintest hint of the leopardess's scent when he inhaled. "Few minutes," Mike said; the panther's voice was a quiet growl. "You know, there's nobody else here..."

"And?"

One of his paws slid down her sides, all the way down to catch the edge of her dress, tugging it a few centimeters upward with his claws. "More than a massage might help..."

Beltran squeezed her eyes shut tightly, finally remembering where she_was_ before opening them again. She elbowed the other cat away, turning to glare at him. "Get the fuck over yourself, Petty Officer Cooper."

The spell had been immediately broken. Mike, too, blinked in surprise. "Uh. Yes, ma'am. Sorry, I--"

"Don't bother. Finish this," she said, stabbing her finger towards the computer. "And send the results to me. Remotely. If you need_relief_, I'm sure your fingers are more than capable."

"Yes, ma'am," he repeated hastily.

In the corridor outside, Felicia leaned against the wall, and smoothed her dress down.How did that almost happen? she thought, and then: why did I not stop him earlier? According to the shift schedule, Ayenni would not be in sickbay for another few hours.

With a curt sigh, she headed back for her quarters instead.Meditate. Clear your thoughts, and see if that helps...

***

Valerie Smith, the junior tactical officer, closed her own eyes and tried to relax while Ayenni scanned the whole of her body once again. Occasionally the alien doctor sighed quietly, and clucked her tongue.

"Well, doctor?" Valerie asked, finally.

"There still appear to be no changes in your bloodwork. Nothing from the neural analysis, either."

"That's to be expected, isn't it? I still_feel_ fine."

"Yes, true. But I don't understand how you haven't been affected. You were born in a large city, if I understand this correctly? But not a sealed arcology or an agricultural dome or anything like that."

"Accoro-en-Verre," she said, nodding. "Two million people, on Yrim II. A core Terran Confederation world."

"And you enlisted in the Star Patrol in 2781, just after you turned 18. Your immunization records have always been up to date. No major illnesses..." Ayenni had been perusing the records of the unaffected, in particular, to no great effect. Sabel Thorsen was, effectively, only a few years old; Mitchell Torres had been through so many scrapes that it was all but impossible to identify which might've made a difference. "It says you... if I'm reading this line right, you underwent a hysterectomy at 28, but your hormones are entirely within baseline."

"Not a hysterectomy, exactly. I just... didn't have one implanted when they offered."

"When they offered?" Ayenni scrolled back through Valerie's medical records with a more inquisitive eye. "Ah... hmm. That was not, exactly, how this was coded. Can I ask why not?"

"I never wanted to have kids," the painted dog explained. "So I didn't really see the point, and Star Patrol medical told me the implants would take care of everything else. Never heard any of my crewmates say they_liked_ going into heat."

"No," the doctor allowed. "That makes sense."

Perhaps, she mused--still looking over Smith's file, which offered no other clues--the relevant fact was not Valerie's transition,per se, but her lack of desire to procreate. But then, Ayenni couldn't see Captain May as the maternal type, either, and she was definitely suffering from an altered state.

"I don't understand what's going on." She said it as much to herself as to Smith, who was trained only in the basic first aid that they taught at the Academy, and didn't know much else as far as anatomy was concerned. "Setting you aside, Ms. Torres_also_ ought to be affected."

"You said it was because she's from the other universe, right?" The painted dog wasn't especially well-versed in alternate dimensions, either--there, though, at least, she had as much grounding as anyone else on the crew.

"Yes. She has a largely different set of antibodies. But as far as I can tell, the exposure isn't triggering any immune response. And her hormones are the same as anyone else's... the differences between Ms. Torres and Spaceman Alexander at a cellular level are extremely minimal. And..." The door slid open, admitting Dr. Beltran; she closed the painted dog's medical records and nodded her head in greeting. "Captain. Good morning."

Petty Officer Smith had started to get up; Beltran held up her paw. "At ease. You know this is a formality, anyway. Doctor, have you learned anything else?"

"Some correlations. It's possible that the least-affected crew are more likely to have been raised on planets, with limited space travel until after their adolescence. Petty Officer Cooper--"

"Mr. Cooper is...not unaffected," Felicia said. "I was in engineering a few hours ago, and it was definitely already true by that point."

Ayenni frowned, and noted that down in her log. She also, more discreetly, noted the sense of agitation she felt from the leopardess. "How affected is he?"

"The details are likely unimportant. I..." Beltran debated whether or not this was something to disclose in front of Smith, and decided it was best if everyone knew the truth. "I am also experiencing... complications."

The doctor fetched one of her medical scanners, quickly calibrated it, and began to inspect their acting captain. "Complications?"

"I reacted to Mr. Cooper's advances rashly. In a manner unbecoming an officer."

"You decked him?" Valerie guessed.

"No. I found myself addressing him with profane and aggressive language. I... was unable to help myself. Fortunately, the incident now appears to be resolved."

The doctor found herself more shocked by the notion that Beltran, too, had begun to show symptoms than anything else. She steeled herself: "All the same... would you mind if I kept you here for observation? You should be good to go, Ms. Smith," she added for Valerie's benefit.

"I would mind," Beltran said, when they were alone. "We have only a few hours until our rendezvous. If you can be brief, manage whatever you are able to do, I suppose.If you can be brief."

"I'll try." Ayenni slipped monitors over the leopardess's wrists, and fixed one to her ear. Felicia flinched--from annoyance, Ayenni sensed, not pain. Her increasing testiness spilled from her thoughts, filling the sickbay. "There. It's done."

"The observation? Or your prodding?"

"Just my prodding. The observation is going to take a while longer."

An idea was beginning to grow in Ayenni's brain: an explanation for what had, previously, been only so many missing pieces. Eventually--she had been lost in thought for so long that her sudden movement startled Felicia Beltran, who only barely caught an oath before it escaped--the doctor rose, and took another look at the two plants from Ciara and Torres's quarters.

Both of them, now, were flowering. The colors were even more striking for Ayenni, whose vision extended slightly into the ultraviolet, and who could perceive the intricate filigree traced along the petals. The color was not what drew her attention. It was that the patterns were distinctive.

And different.

She took a sample, carefully, and returned to Felicia's bedside. The leopardess, who could not see in ultraviolet, knew nothing of botany, and had grown even more agitated, and made one last attempt at civility. "You have found something?"

"Perhaps. You've already been exposed, but... I want to try doing it again, while I have you here to monitor."

"You said yourself that I have already_been_ exposed. What do you hope to accomplish?" She flinched when Ayenni tapped the sample container against the back of her paw, not because she was afraid of what might happen but because she was irritated by the doctor's vagueness.

The theory, though, was too inchoate for the alien to feel comfortable articulating it. "It shouldn't take long. I want to see if--"

"Captain Beltran, this is Sabel. We're being hailed by the Rissiin."

"Tell them I am apparently_indisposed_, but will join you shortly." She stared Ayenni down at indisposed, and when the channel was closed she curled her lip at the doctor. "Make it very short, indeed, doctor."

"I'm not doing this for fun. I... wait." Her fur rippled, and her paws worked briskly, summoning holographic graphs of Felicia's neural scans. "Wait... what's this activity in--"

"I cannot_wait_, doctor."

"You have to," Ayenni answered, just as sharply. Felicia showed fangs again, and reached up to remove the device clipped to her ear. Ayenni stopped her. "I know what's going on. Give me a moment."

***

"Incoming transmission, Sabel. It's a Rissiin... uh, maybe it's a warship?" Torres didn't know the Rissiin in her own universe; the vessel was large, and bristled with various protrusions, but those could just as easily have been sensor pods, or observation domes, or religious artifacts. "The universal translator has a lock."

Sabel Thorsen paged Dr. Beltran, whose wristband communicator showed her as being on duty. "Captain Beltran, this is Sabel. We're being hailed by the Rissiin."

It sounded,almost, like she growled at him. "Tell them I am apparently indisposed," the diplomat said. "But I will join you shortly."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, but she'd already cut the line.

Torres brought the Rissiin up on the viewscreen; the two found themselves looking at a scale-covered biped in a trim uniform that wouldn't have been out of place in the Star Patrol. The other captain stared at them, silently, until Torres and Sabel exchanged glances, and the spitz decided it was necessary to break the silence.

"Greetings. I'm Sabel Thorsen, aboard the Star Patrol ship TCS_Dark Horse_. Our captain is on her way to the bridge." The alien said nothing. "We heard you were quite scientifically adept. Our ship has experienced a, uh... something strange has happened to much of the crew. We hoped that you might be able to assist us."

"This is how you conduct first contact?"

"Yes. I just did, yes. That is," Sabel corrected, based on the look he was being given by the captain, "that it's how I, personally, conduct first contact. Our diplomatic officer would probably do better. I hope you understand."

"I do not. Did you receive approval from our foreign affairs department for this?"

"I don't know, to be honest."

"Present your completed Alien Precontact Survey, along with the details of your vessel and the duration of your stay within our space."

Sabel felt that the conversation was not going particularly well, but he didn't dare to close the line. Instead he used his cybernetic implants to compose a brief summary and request for instructions to Dr. Beltran, and waited with growing concern for her to provide them.

"Well?" the Rissiin captain demanded.

New message flashed, unseen by anyone else, into his thoughts. Sabel read Beltran's reply, and then did so a second time, to be sure. "Ah. Well, it appears we did not submit those forms. I don't think we have them. But, also, we will not do so, as we no longer require your help."

"You no longer require our help?" the captain echoed. "Explain."

Sabel ran back over the message. "We have fixed the problem on our own. Kindly fuck off with your tedious bureaucratic horseshit."

Torres froze, and--though she was not herself a diplomat--understood that this had, almost certainly, not been Beltran's intent. She waved her paw gently, offscreen, trying to summon Sabel's attention.

The spitz remained focused on the Rissiin, whose pale lavender eyes narrowed to perplexed slits. "'Fuck off'?"

"A vulgarism, used colloquially by some Terran cultures. Oh! Yes, we're from the Terran Confederation, by the way. The ship is--and the crew, for the most part. It's quite some distance from here. The term is a reference to the sex act."

"You wish to copulate with us?"

"No." It was at this moment that Sabel realized he didn't actually know_why_ anyone would use the phrase. Torres, too, had come to this realization, although the resultant course of action was different for both parties. Sabel, rather than apologizing, attempted to explain: "I believe the implication is that you would be better served copulating amongst yourselves than wasting our time."

"We are wasting your time?"

"With your tedious bureaucratic horseshit, yes. I apologize for the confusion. As noted, we have evidently solved this problem on our own. If there are no further questions?" The Rissiin captain blinked; Sabel answered with a polite nod, and ended the transmission.

"Was that really--um," Torres coughed, interrupted by an incoming message before she could begin asking Sabel what had just happened, or whether it had in fact been appropriate. "We're being hailed again, Mr. Thorsen."

"Do we have more to say to them?"

"I'm... I'm not sure...you have more to say to them, certainly," the feline suggested, as carefully as she dared. "But I don't know."

Sabel indicated that she should answer the request, just in case. It was difficult for Sabel to tell, either from expression or tone of voice, whether the Rissiin was furious or merely bemused. "Is this how your Star Patrol conducts all its affairs?"

"No, no. I see the confusion now. I am not a commissioned Star Patrol officer. I was a Star Patrol_creation_, but diplomacy was not in my training. I am, as you would say, a fish out of water."

"A fish?"

"A creature adapted to an aquatic environment, but unskilled or unsuited for a wide variety of other activities. There are some aquatic worlds in the Terran Confederation but, as it is a rarity, most negotiations and matters of state take place outside of those conditions. I believe that's what the saying refers to."

Again the Rissiin captain stared. At last, Sabel nodded once more, and closed the transmission. Torres was reassured only by the fact that, from what she'd been able to further determine, the other vessel_wasn't_ heavily armed. "I'm not sure that is what it refers to, you know?"

"Terran metaphors are often ambiguous," the spitz admitted. "I hope we did answer their questions, though. I'm more interested to hear about this... I suppose I could ask, couldn't I?" He tapped his communicator. "Sickbay, this is the bridge. Did I correctly understand that you have some kind of cure?"

"Yes. I'm working on deploying it through the ship's environmental systems, rather than individually. It shouldn't take too long--I hope."

Sabel waited patiently for Dr. Beltran to appear. In this, he would be disappointed--when the bridge doors opened, ten minutes later, Maddy herself stepped through. She was feeling quite optimistic about the situation, and in extremely good spirits. "Mr. Thorsen! I hear we've made first contact?"

"Correct, captain. Based on guidance from Dr. Beltran, I have informed them that we do not require assistance, and assured the Rissiin captain that we do not wish to engage in sexual relations with them or their crew. Presuming this was an accurate summary of our intentions." He watched as the Akita's ears swiveled back, her optimism momentarily checked. "It... it was not an accurate summary, was it?"

"Can we hail them?"

"They've been intermittently requesting to speak with us," Torres volunteered. "Most recently about a minute ago. I assume they'd talk, if we wanted."

"Please open a channel." She straightened her uniform, and composed herself before the captain's chair for when the viewscreen switched on. "Captain Madison May, of the Star Patrol cruiser_Dark Horse_. Who am I--to whom," she amended; she'd been told that the Rissiin were highly formal. "To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"

"Director Zaaid. Is it a pleasure?"

"It certainly could be, right?" The intensity of the man's expression was slightly unsettling. "I've heard some odd things from my, um... my acting officer of the deck, Mr. Sabel Thorsen here, but..."

"You?" Zaaid asked incredulously. "You've heard some odd things from him? Do you still wish to suggest obscene sexual acts to people you've never met?"

"No, uh. Not anymore. That was a bit of a_phase_, to tell you the truth. We fixed it, though. We're all fine here now." Zaaid stared at her through the viewscreen. As aliens went, the Rissiin were not especially different from Terrans: bipedal, two eyes, a nose. Expressive faces. "How... how are you?"

He blinked, and then burst out laughing. "This is... this is the strangest first contact I have ever heard of. I have no idea how I'll write this up. The log will be a thing of absurdity."

"Yeah? You want to know absurd? You want to hear about the day I've had?"

The other captain tried to stop laughing, and only barely managed. "Please."

***

Ayenni was exhausted, and every time Dave worked his fingers through her pelt, he could_feel_ the relief evident in her thoughts. He kept stroking, while the alien closed her eyes and relaxed. "So what clued you in?"

"Torres," she muttered. "Didn't make sense otherwise."

"Yeah?"

"Torres was patient zero. I could trace everything back to her. But she said she wasn't affected at all. First I thought her biology might be different, but it can't be_that_ different. Then I realized the thing separating her was that she'd been around two plants."

"So is that their... what, their own reproductive strategy? Making people want to fuck?"

"No... no, I think it's a coincidence that the two strains cancel each other out. In their native habitat, there probably aren't many opportunities for them to be completely isolated. Just a coincidence that you're responsive to their pheromones, too."

"At least you figured it out when you did..."

He hoped the impact would be short-lived. The crew wouldn't be inclined to blame each other for what had happened under the influence of the plants--for that matter, when he'd checked in with Shannon Hazelton, the chief engineer had just grinned.Blame Torres? Hell, I should thank the little minx.

That was not liable to be the most common answer, but for the most part everyone had been well-behaved during the brief pause in their ordinary mission. Sabel's performance as a diplomat left something to be desired, as he understood it... but then, even that had worked out. The Rissiin captain, evidently, found Maddy 'amusing.'

Ayenni was just glad to be done with the crisis. "Especially when even Dr. Beltran was feeling it... that was a shock. I didn't think she'd be affected by anything."

"She is_very_ composed..."

"Did you ever have to... this is a weird question. Did you have to prove that you would kill your friends to save your ship in order to get promoted?"

"What?Oh. Oh, God. Yes."

She snickered at the tone in the retriever's voice, opened her eyes, and rolled to her side so that she could face him. "Explain."

"It's this dumb Academy test. They give you a situation where you have to make a decision that will cost the life of someone under you. Your friend, usually, I think. So then you need to write a story about it, or perform a skit or something."

"What was yours? Your scenario?"

"One of my best friends is a tactical officer. So, the scenario was... God, let me remember. Okay: the ship is damaged in battle and needs to fight its way out, but the torpedo launcher is_kaput_. Someone who knows how to program the torpedoes has to go do it manually, but there won't be time for them to get out of the torpedo room. So Ashley had to be the one, of course."

"And you wrote a story about it?"

"A 3D reconstruction, actually. You can move the camera around and everything. See every moment of it. It was very affecting, you know. You can see the conflicted emotions in my expression. Like this." He demonstrated for her as best he could. "I got very good marks."

"Did Ashley...mind that you used her as a prop?"

"I heard that when_she_ applied for command, she paid me back. So there's that."

Of all the things Ayenni had heard about Terrans, this had proven to be one of the oddest. "So what's the point, anyway? To show off your creativity?"

"It's supposed to prove that you understand the burden of command."

"Does it?"

"No. I'm sure it's some old discredited psych bullshit they've kept for a few hundred years because it's tradition. It's_definitely_ tradition. Not for everyone; the diplomats have to write a book or something. And there was always this rumor that for leadership track in Internal Security you have to, like... raise a pet and then kill it yourself or something, but I'm pretty sure that's just a story."

"You Terrans are so... weird," Ayenni said. "Everyone has to, though? Captain May had to, from what she was saying."

"Yep. She was a couple years before me, so I didn't know her then. But they definitely still talked about her. True story: they also make you write an essay about--"

"An 'unwinnable situation'?" she asked, and used her fingers to quote the phrase as she'd seen others in the crew do. "She told me, yeah. She must've really loved that."

"I think they gave up, honestly. But_supposedly_ in her 'murder your friend' scenario, she ended it by talking about swearing revenge on whoever had put her in that situation, and something about a lifelong quest for the commodore who betrayed her..."

Ayenni laughed. "I'll have to ask her. Now that everything's back to--is that a page? You're needed on the bridge?"

He glanced at his wrist. "Not my communicator, dear."

She realized that he was right: Ciara Munro was trying to get her attention. She tapped her wristband to activate it. "Hello?"

"Um. I hope you're not asleep. I think I'm having a medical issue, but, uh. Sickbay was empty, and I can't diagnose myself."

"Be right there," Ayenni said, and ended the call, rolling to her feet and starting to pull on her clothes. "I hope it's nothing serious."

"Same. You've earned your rest." And, although the doctor would never admit it, he could tell it was wearing on her--there was an undercurrent of irritation in her ever-gentle tone that he knew her well enough to detect. "Hurry back," he suggested.

She gave the retriever a pat, and headed to the medical bay, where Ciara was sitting on one of the beds, and looking nervous. "Sorry for bothering you, doctor," she said, and continued even after Ayenni waved the apology away. "No, I am. I'm just supposed to be on shift and I, uh. I think I may need to be pulled from duty."

"Why?"

Ciara twitched an ear, and tried to think of a good way to say it. "You, ah... you said you treated the crew for this... you know, whatever was going around. I was wondering if there might be lingering complications."

"I distributed it through the life support system, yes. At this point,everything should be back to normal." She switched on her diagnostic equipment anyway, though, and started checking the vixen's vitals. "What are your symptoms?"

"That's the thing. Ms. Torres and I, we... spend a fair amount of time together? I... felt compelled to, ah--I kissed her out of nowhere, a couple days ago. When this all started, I mean. It hasn't gone away. She came by my quarters when she got off shift a little while ago and... the cure didn't work, is what I'm saying."

Ayenni paused, scanner frozen in the middle of a sweep. "The cure?"

"Yes. Torres said she never felt anything out of the ordinary, but...I did. It should've worked, I thought." Neither medicine nor biology were her specialty, but it seemed logical enough. "The briefing I read said something about combining both types of pollen from those plants, right? They neutralize each other."

"Yes..." Ayenni said, slowly. She glanced at the medical display, just in case. "Which Ms. Torres experienced naturally. As did you, commander. Neither of you were ever affected by your weird alien succulents to begin with."

"That's not possible. I told you what I did. It happened again just now, so... there's that, too. What do--what does this say?" she asked, leaning towards the display panel before Ayenni turned it out of her line of sight to avoid any hypochondriac tendencies. "It isn't fixed, is it?"

"Did Ms. Torres seem...surprised by this? Hesitant?"

"No. Not really," Munro said; in truth she'd been so distracted by the Abyssinian that she hadn't really perceived much of anything_consciously._ "I can send her down here, too, if you think that would help."

Ayenni sighed, turned the scanner off, and put it away. "It would not help."

"What is that look you're giving me? I'm saying we--" She caught herself, and rewound the conversation a few sentences. "What do you mean: neither of us were_ever_ affected?"

"I feel that it will be more awkward for both of us if I have to spell this out to you, Commander Munro."

"But if..." Ciara turned over a series of implications in her mind, some of them involving emotions the vixen had kept in storage for many years. "If we weren't affected, then..."

It's not much less awkward if she spells it out aloud herself, Ayenni realized, and put a stop to it. "Ms. Torres has finished her shift, you said?"

Mitti, Munro thought. She nodded. "Yes."

"You're off duty, too. 'To hell with this,' as Captain May might put it." She tapped her wristband against Munro's, confirming the suspension and logging it in the ship's computer. "Take the next shift to... you know what? Use it to finish the conversation_we_ were just having, but... involve the relevant party instead."

"Okay..."

"Check in with me at 0800. I'm not clearing you until then." When Ciara hesitated, Ayenni was compelled to raise her voice. "We're closed! Go! Doctor's orders! Go on, please. I need to write this up now."

She closed her eyes until she heard the door slide open and shut, and she was back in an empty room. In truth, the suspension itself was a formality--she could probably put off entering it in her records until she herself was back at work. The meeting hadn't taken very long, at least; Dave would still be awake.

Her paw brushed the computer.

Medical officer's log, stardate 67968.5, final case entry.

Commander Munro's vital signs are perfectly normal, of course. Often I wonder how Terrans get by without telepathy, and then I think even that wouldn't help. They're so weird, honestly. It's kind of endearing.

...Sometimes.