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Ellis Bjørnestad is an Australian koolie, captain of the survey ship Walküre, and he does not have a lot of time for company. But a stopover at the gritty, rundown Tartarus Station comes with its own reasons to reconsider. You gotta count a jaguar's spots somehow...

Basically: I saw an Australian koolie and wanted to write a story about one. Sometimes they have floppy ears, and sometimes they have perky ears, but they kinda look all ruffianish to me, like if Han Solo was a German shepherd. What is it about scruffy spaceship pilots and their inexplicably redeemable character, anyway? Beats me. I think they're all secret romantics. And I think Rob might be, too. But let's take a look! As always, share and enjoy, and please chime in with criticism and feedback! If you like the story, that makes me happy. If you don't like it, the only way I can get better is if you tell me.

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

"To that fine, fine music" by Rob Baird

---

(For certain spotted kitties. You know who you are...)

You can talk about your Tchaikovsky, or your jazz, or your rock music, or the weird stuff the Kebbo monks play when they're doing those crazy low-g dances, but for me the best music in the whole damn galaxy is the sound of a computer negotiating a data connection.

You know why? Because it means somebody's out there. Now, that ain't exactly a given. Space is damned empty, and damned big. Point yourself at a star, burn your main engine, and wait. Sixty years from now, when you're dead, you know how much closer to it you'll be? Rounding error, that's what.

Tartarus approach cleared me inbound from fifty klicks out and gave me the dial-in code before I could even see the damned thing. But my docking computer could, and god, that fuckin' sweet sound. A high-pitched electronic warble, the clicking song of the SYN-ACK, and that purring growl of two machines getting to know one another.

I loved it 'cause it meant I was safe. Now, I was coming in with half my fuel left and enough rations for a couple weeks -- but there's something to be said for hot food, and a shower, and not having to worry about whether you have enough oxygen.

"Welcome to Tartarus, sir," the customs agent said. She took my passport card, tapping it against her computer. "How long are you here for?"

"Couple days."

"Business or pleasure?"

There was a lilt in her voice, and she was cute enough to flirt with -- but not when I smelled like... well, like a dog who'd spent the last nine weeks on a starship. "Business. Always business."

She nodded, and handed back my passport. "Twenty a day for air, payable when you request departure. Waived for residents and room guests, of course."

"Of course." It had gone up two dollars since I'd last visited.

But who cared about that? There was gravity again! Gravity, and room to see more than ten meters in front of you, and all the trappings of the civilized world -- not that I was especially civilized.

I could play the part, though. I bought a room in the Sapphire Block with unlimited water rights, sliding my payment card across the glass top of the reception counter with a grin that said I'm good for it, don't worry. There was no way he could know I was down to my last few thousand dollars. And anyway, if things panned out...

I've got dark, blue-grey fur, and it hides the dirt well, but there's nothing like getting yourself clean after a long trip. So I let the shower run long and hot, watching the water sliding aimlessly down the side of the stall. When I was done, I shook myself vigorously, not bothering with the blowers. We koolies have short coats -- rumor is, Australia was a hot place. I'd be dry soon enough, anyway. They run the station at as close to zero humidity as they can, to make the mold's job a bit harder.

Tartarus, if you ain't been, is a four kilometer long cylinder, slightly wider at one end than the other. It spins at about a rotation and a half a minute, so you get a little dizzy looking at it from the outside. Big enough to have gravity; small enough you get tired walking in it -- that's the thing about O'Neil cylinders, see, is you're always walking uphill.

Callahan's ... Pub and ... is located in what its owner refers to as "the pointy end of the dick." The word after 'and' used to be 'Grill' before it was erased. Then it was 'Food,' then it was 'Music,' then it was just 'More,' and now you can't read what it says. The word before 'pub' had once been 'Irish,' worked through ethnicities for awhile, ended up on 'Good,' slumped to 'Decent,' and gave up when the owner crossed out 'Open' as the most honest superlative.

"Ellis!" Natsuki Tanba's voice was a graveled rasp. It was just the slightest hint of tinniness that let you know he was speaking through an artificial voicebox. A pretty good model -- I say, 'cause I helped him pay for it, after he stepped in to keep some punks from stabbing a drunken Yours Truly.

"Hey Tanba," I grinned, and shook the akita's paw warmly. That was mechanical, too. Tanba doesn't put up with any shit, and in a place like Tartarus that means you get yourself in some scrapes. He was well on his way to becoming the station's first cyborg.

"Find anything?"

I shrugged. "Maybe."

"That's a 'no,' then," he chuckled hoarsely. "God, Ellis, you're shit at this."

I narrowed my icy eyes. "Are you baiting me?"

He leaned across the bar to grin at me, his right paw hitting the scarred wood with the heavy thump of the metal within. "Would I do that?"

The real question, of course, is 'would I let him,' and I ain't much for impulse control. "Tanba, how about a round for the bar?"

He looked around, and then shrugged, settling back into place. "And what are you having?"

"What's your best rum?"

"Hard to go wrong with Colina Azul," Tanba winked. "Straight from Cuba, you know. Only forty a glass..."

I rolled my eyes and flipped him a fifty-dollar chip. "Straight, no ice."

"Of course." The akita poured it carefully. "So you had a good time, Ellis?"

"Yeah. Bounced outta Novy Magadan after I got on the wrong side of the Tsar's goons. See, I got this tip from an old stevedore, said he knew somebody who came back from the Curtis Sector with a load of precious metals. He died under mysterious circumstances after he wouldn't give it up in tribute. But this dockworker, he has the map. He gives it to me..."

"Yeah?" I could tell Tanba couldn't quite decide if I was bullshitting him.

"Yeah. I spend the next seven weeks shooting random vectors, trying to get a match for the star charts he gave me. Finally -- I've got a half-dozen jumps left, maybe -- finally I pick it up. I jump there. Ah, fuck, man, you don't even know. Mighta been Terran."

Tanba grunted, and pointed his finger at me accusingly. "Fuck you, Ellis."

I laughed. Whether they're with a company or not, every surveyor wants to find the Big One -- the mother lode, the new planet or asteroid that solves everybody's problems. Older guys all have a story about a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy who knows where it is.

If you're the type who believes in Earth, they say there are cities of gold there, too. People have lost everything trying to find them -- Cibola and Quivira and El Dorado and the rest. Me, now, I don't think they ever existed. But then, I ain't stupid enough to think there's an Earth, either.

Neither is Tanba, and like every respectable person on Tartarus he claims to trace his ancestry right back to that damned rock.

"Seriously, Ellis. You find something?"

"Like I'd tell you?" I shrugged. "Maybe I did." I took a sip of the rum, sniffling as the scent prickled my nose. Expensive -- as everything imported is. Lets you pretend you're somewhere other than a rotting old space station in the middle of nowhere. I've never been to Cuba, but they say it's a beautiful planet. Sun, sand, and .8 gees.

"Must've been good."

"It has... potential," I admitted. A smart surveyor is always cagey. I finished what was left of my drink, and then slid the glass back over. "Or I could be lying. How about another?"

The akita poured it dutifully, and I was just about to thank him for his credulity when somebody dropped into the barstool next to me. I glanced over to find a jaguar, panting softly and smelling of fresh exertion -- probably off the floor from the club on the level above us. "Can I get a drink?"

"What do you want? It's his shout," Tanba pointed to me with a blunt paw.

"What's he having?"

Tanba looked to me, and then to the jaguar, and then to me again. Then he rolled his eyes. "Spacer's rum. The still's down by the main reactor."

The jaguar made a face. "I'll take a Kirin, then." Still slightly out of breath, she turned to me: "thanks! You're having a good run?"

I looked her over and decided she would do for company. "Goin' okay," I nodded to the feline. Her burnt-red hair was pulled back and out of soft blue eyes that flashed over a white-toothed grin. It would, I thought, have looked better let down. Have to find out. "You? Enjoying yourself?"

"It's always a party on Tartarus," the jaguar girl laughed, and then lifted up her beer. "Cheers." Taking a sip of my rum, I nodded, and contented myself with investigating the pattern of spots that ran down the pale fur of her cheek.

"Ellis here's a big shot," Tanba said. "Just ask him."

She tilted her head curiously, and those blue eyes danced. It's tough to live on stations. Lots of folks have a hard time getting enough to eat. This one either had a decent job or -- more likely -- hadn't been aboard long enough for real hunger. It was a good look for her -- you wanted to get a real good feel for her curves, and it made the grin she gave me seem impish and playful. "Yeah? What do you do?"

"I own a ship." The Walküre, my pride and joy. Ninety years old, analog jump computer, no creature comforts, held together with patches and twine -- and all mine.

"Mercenary? Bounty hunter?" She swiveled on the stool, putting her elbow on the bar and resting her muzzle on that paw. "Pirate?"

"Not yet. I go out, look for interesting things, and bring 'em back. Survey and salvage," I gave it its formal name. "S&S."

"Shit and syphilis," Tanba grunted. "What they find out there," he jerked his thumb to indicate deep space beyond the thin walls of the station, "and what they pick up here when they come back."

"Thanks," I told him dryly. "Mining companies pay good money for unclaimed prospects. Got a ship, a line on a new prospect -- fuck, it beats the office grind."

Her eyes brightened. "You need a crewman?"

"Not so far."

The jaguar grinned hopefully. "Maybe you haven't found the right match."

I shook my head. "Nah. Don't need one."

Her short round ears wilted, disappearing into her hair. "Aw, why not," she pouted. "You can't do all that alone..."

Her naïveté was kind of cute, but I ain't that stupid. "It's worked out so far." I took a sip of my rum. "'Sides, I don't even know your name."

"Jacqueline Palomo -- Jack. You're Ellis?"

"Ellis Bjørnestad," I nodded.

"A wolf?"

"Close enough." Well, if she was willing to play along. My ears are too big for a wolf, my fur's too short and my tail's all wrong. But hey.

The girl grinned and shook her head. "Not yet." She took a long pull off the Kirin and then set it back on the bar decisively. "C'mon, let's go."

"Go?"

She pointed towards the ceiling and slid off her stool, taking me by the wrist. I glanced a moment at my glass of Colina Azul. It seemed a shame to waste good rum, so I downed it all in one drink that left Tanba shaking his head.

I felt the dance floor before I heard it -- a deep, pounding thumping. Inside it was dark -- lit by bursts of light that followed the beat like a pulse. They flickered over a sea of moving bodies.

Jack kept me close, pulling me into the crowd until their energy pressed us together. She moved easily, like she was part of the music, her limbs loose and fluid. Me, well... Like I said, I have my own tastes in music -- but I can still enjoy a good show.

Still dancing, the jaguar pressed up against me, wrapping her arms behind my neck and giving me a devilish grin. Her body twisted smoothly, undulating to the rhythm all around us, and I felt her tail curling around my leg.

I ran my paws down her back; she arched, pressing the heat of her panting, writhing form closer to my chest. Her blouse ended a little early, treating me to soft fur before I felt the hem of her skirt. I gave her rump a squeeze, and in the reflections of the strobelights I saw her eyes flash.

The music and the rum soaked into my brain. Now I was moving, too, grinding against her, feeling her ragged breathing -- couldn't hear a damn thing but I could see the way she gasped to the touch. I tugged the skirt up so I could get beneath it. Her fur was hot velvet, and the way she moved made her muscles flex and jerk beneath my touch.

She twisted in my hold, spinning, and shoved her hips back into mine as her tail lashed against my belly. I growled, pushing back. My paw slipped through the hem of her skirt to grope her roughly. Her panties were damp, and I pushed them aside to slide my finger up and over her wet lips, doing it again and again until the fur was sodden.

Her rhythm was starting to falter, and when I curled my paw to push that finger into her up to the knuckle she shuddered and jerked. She was so wet there was no resistance, and none when I added another finger, pumping in and out of her in time to a beat she was no longer following. She squirmed, hips bucking.

When I felt her knees start to weaken I put both paws at her hips, guiding her out of most of the light. We were still surrounded by people, but it was dark. Nobody paid attention; nobody cared. She was trying to dance, trying to make it all look normal -- shivering, her head tossing that thick hair aimlessly.

I unbuttoned my jeans, and found that I was achingly hard. When I lifted the back of her skirt and my rigid cock slid between her thighs the jaguar stiffened. She twisted, looking to me questioningly, and I had to curl my lip in a snarl. That shut her up -- like she needed help to go along with it.

I pushed her thighs apart, pushed her panties aside, and used my fingers to guide myself to her. Even in the steamy club, thick with the exertion of the bodies she felt hot, a molten, silky wetness around my tip as I ground against her. Then I pushed inside, deep, and she took me easily, caressing my stiff prick in slippery, welcoming heat.

Keeping one arm wrapped around her belly for stability I started to thrust, quickly, working myself urgently between her parted legs. The jaguar's spine arched, pushing her shoulders back and into my chest as she rolled and shuddered and bucked.

But we still looked like dancers. I dropped my muzzle to the side of her neck, nipping, biting at her with a possessive growl. When I drew my breath in I caught just the faintest hint of perfume under the musky scent of her body. I wondered, for a moment, if that was the last of it. Recent immigrants still had the silliest things on them...

I bit her. She tensed. I brought my other paw up beneath her skirt, feeling my shaft moving slick and hard between my fingers. I teased her clit with the pad of my finger and she tensed again, starting to tremble. My hips clashed against her full rump, shoving her forward and into my paw as I fondled her.

With a groan I could just barely hear under the music Jack shuddered and her hips quivered as she started to squeeze my cock tighter. Wetness spilled over me, soaking into our fur, and I had to hold her up with my paw, tugging her into my chest for support. Hard to keep up the act.

Hard to keep up anything. My mind was abuzz, the ache in my loins starting to become impossible to resist. I thrust faster; my knot butted and knocked at her lips and while I couldn't hear her cry out I saw her muzzle part with the exhalation, saw her face twist in pleasure. Her lips moved. I grunted a questioning growl against her ear.

"Don't -- don't tie with me," she gasped -- loud enough that I saw a couple of the silhouettes pause a fraction of a second in their gyrations. I don't take orders -- but there's a difference between an order and a good idea, and the club didn't seem the right place to wind up indisposed.

Without the stimulation of a tie I bucked swiftly, focusing on the wet, clinging heat of the jaguar girl's dripping pussy, and the resistance of her lips as my knot pushed against them. My peak slammed into me with the subtlety of a burst airlock. I bit down hard on her shoulder, snarling as the long pulses of my seed gushed in hot ropes up inside her. I felt it start to trickle down, so my thrusting hips worked my essence into her short, soft fur. So much for perfume.

I pulled back from her with the last of the weak spurts, staining her skirt with it, and managed enough presence of mind to button my jeans again with unsteady fingers. Jacqueline swayed uncertainly. I took her arm and pulled her towards the exit. She was panting -- giddy -- her tongue half-lolling like a dog's.

"N-not bad," she giggled. "Where're we goin'?"

"Where do you think?" I still wasn't much for conversation. She looked so damned cute, her hair mussed and her eyes bright, that I had to press her up against the wall, paws squeezing her rear hotly as my lips locked against her blunt muzzle.

Sharp claws dug into my shoulders. I slipped into her maw, feeling the rough heat of her feline tongue against my own. She moaned, her paws gripping me desperately as I plundered her muzzle, our tongues clashing fiercely. The elevator ride took maybe forty seconds, and we left it thick with our scent.

The door to my room was open. Housekeeping. A prim hotel employee was tidying up the bedsheets; her eyes widened when I kicked the door wide, tugging Jack through with me. "Out," I growled, to the hapless maid.

"But sir, your --"

"Out. Or. I. Will. Break you."

She glanced between me and the jaguar, and quickly made her escape. The hatch closed with a suitably final thud. My companion snickered, and reached up to kiss me again, her arms tight around my back. "So tetchy..."

"Ain't got time," I grunted. I pressed my lips back to the feline's, leaning over her, guiding her so that when she tumbled onto the bed I followed, pinning her. She pushed with surprising strength, rolling to the side and then onto my back so she could straddle me.

Her muzzle was hot, and soft; I growled into it as we kissed, paws roaming freely over her back. She arched, and then twisted further, pulling away from my muzzle. I perked an ear. The look she gave me was perfect and sultry, completely betraying the innocence of her features.

Jackie bent over, undoing the button of my shirt one by one. Her tongue lapped at the fur of my chest as she slipped herself lower, until the shirt met my belt. With a swift, deft flick of her fingers like someone opening a present she undid the thing, and then followed up with my jeans.

I wasn't wearing anything beneath; underwear gets pretty rank on a spaceship. Easier to just forego the modesty than to pretend... she sniffed at my sheath, purring deep in her throat as my scent filled her nose. She looked up, blue eyes locked on mine as she planted a soft kiss at the tip of my fuzzy package. Her lips were soft, her breath steaming... I lifted my hips up, a little bit of stiff pink flesh jutting past the mottled grey of my fur.

She dragged her tongue up and over my fur, and when the wet, rough surface brushed bare flesh I growled and bucked beneath her. "You like that?" she giggled, and did it again; the sensation was almost overwhelming. I had to bite back a very unbecoming, puppyish, whimper.

I watched her lips part around my tip as she suckled on it gently, keeping her eyes on mine, the glance so coy and playful I couldn't help my deep groan as each pulse of my racing heartbeat swelled my cock further. She worked the soft underside of her tongue over me and purred again, vibrating down the length of my stiffening length as I grew to full size.

What with her short muzzle she kinda had to work to take me, but she managed well, bobbing her head slowly over my now completely rigid shaft. My hips jerked, and she snickered playfully, pushing on them with a strong paw to hold me down as she sucked me off. I watched my slick cock disappear into her muzzle with eyes glazing swiftly in desire.

"'S enough," I growled, my voice slurred. She tilted her head, looking ever so disappointed. "Get up." She did, slowly, letting my cock slip free with a wet slurp. I kicked my jeans off all the way and straightened up. "Take off your shirt."

Jack smirked, and her paws tugged the tight shirt up and off her. Her belly was creamy white, fading to a lovely bronze as it met her sides, and the dark rosettes that graced them. As she kept going the cream was broken only by the pale, shiny fabric of her bra. I took the liberty of undoing that as she pulled the shirt over her head; the clasps surrendered easily to my fingers.

Her full, heavy breasts swung free. I cupped one in my paw, drawing a breathy sigh from the feline as my fingers worked over the dark cinnamon of a nipple stiff in the pale fur of her soft pelt. Her paws glided down my sides and then disappeared; I felt her shuffle, and then heard the thump of clothing hitting the floor. Good.

"On your paws," I managed. She didn't hesitate, pulling away from me to settle on all fours atop the bed. I took a moment to admire her, and my first thought was delicious. Her hips were especially lovely; I took her rump in squeezing pawfuls, kneading my thumbs into the soft flesh. Her thick tail waved, half-curling around my arm. When I tugged it to the side I could see the dark, wet lips of her pussy, parted invitingly, and the look she gave me over her shoulder was distilled to pure lust.

I pressed my cock back to her lips and rocked in smoothly. Her back bowed, and she pushed back to meet me as I claimed her for the second time that night. The desperate need had ebbed just enough that I could fuck her properly -- full, fluid strokes as I bucked against her velvet-furred rump.

My paws traced the patterns of her fur, squeezing at those spots along her side like they were handholds. She groaned, and I started to move faster, bending over her, my deep thrusts hilted me in her wet grasp. I gripped her rocking breasts in both paws, squeezing her as I took her smoothly from behind, and her muzzle lifted, a wanton groan spilling past parted lips.

I had wanted it to last but my pace was picking up swiftly now. Fortunately she didn't seem to be far behind; another moan tore itself from her as I shifted my position a little to arch my hips up strongly, getting myself as deep as I could. The jaguar's spotted thighs were quivering against me every time I thrust into her and our hips ground lewdly together. My toes curled, bunching up the sheets as I worked myself into her, unable to hold off the coming storm.

My knot popped slickly in and out, past the snug press of her lips, and every time it sank into her Jack shuddered and jerked, mewing weakly. I slowed as it got harder to force it inside. Her yielding lips parted, strained -- then the tension released and I slipped all the way in. This time I held there, letting it swell to full size, and when I tugged back I felt a snug, tight grip holding me firm.

Nine weeks. I'd almost forgotten how good it felt to be knotted deep in some willing bitch. I groaned, my hips bucked, and I heard Jack gasping in delight. Fast, hard, clashing strokes -- needing to reach that peak, needing to stake my ownership of her body in those final, delirious moments.

I grunted and straightened up as my last thrust ground myself firmly to her rump. My paws gripped her hips and I pulled her against me as my cock jerked, spurting my warm canine seed deep, right where it belonged. She squirmed and shivered in my grasp. I tightened it, holding her snugly, possessively, tugging her against my hips every time I shoved forward.

She shuddered and then moaned, and I felt her clench around my pulsing cock, milking me as she mewled in pleasure. I gave an answering snarl, still pumping her full of my cum, my hips moving of their own accord until strength deserted us both at once and we fell forward, gasping heavily into the abused bedsheets.

I muttered her name and she mumbled a wordless purr. Well, I woulda been tired, too. It's all that dancing... I chuckled, and started to trace over her rosettes, one by one, working up from her hips to her shoulders. She didn't say anything, and nor did she protest when I slipped her hairband off, letting her auburn mane spill like coffee over my dark grey arms. What do you know? It did look better that way.

I woke up some irrelevant number of hours later -- the station counts things in revolutions, since there's no day or night -- to find she was still out cold. One of those things a guy ain't gonna complain about; makes things easier. I took a quick shower that wasn't enough to wash her scent off completely, and then I pulled my shirt and pants back on.

Docking Ops had refueled the Walküre, and loaded the supplies I'd requested. There wasn't too much more to do. I wouldn't have minded fucking Jack again, but the complications weren't liable to be worth it. So I paid my tab at Callahan's ... Pub and ..., which wasn't as bad as I thought -- Natsuki Tanba gave me a little wink -- and then returned to my ship. I settled into the seat with a sigh: there's a lot to be said for gravity, but space is my home.

"You gave a fake name at the front desk."

I snarled in surprise and pushed myself from the chair to find the jaguar leaning against a bulkhead. "The hell?"

"And you gave a fake name at your bank."

"How'd you find me?"

"Tanba." That rat, I thought. "I told him I spent the night at your place.

"He believed you?"

She smirked. "He said it sounded like something you would've done."

Fair enough. "Fine. What do you want?"

"Take me with you."

I growled, waving my paw dismissively. "Not a chance in hell."

"Come on," she pleaded, coming closer -- pinning me between her and my chair. She was still wearing the same clothes, and I could smell myself on her. "I can help you out. I'll do anything you want -- I learn quick."

"Look. You're cute and all, but give me a break. Work Tartarus for a while and maybe you'll have enough experience to ship out somewhere."

"I've already been here long enough." I raised my eyebrow; she looked away. "A couple years," she offered halfheartedly.

"Bullshit. You look like you're about fifteen. How long have you been here?"

"Six weeks," she admitted. "But it's long enough. I haven't been able to find any work, and... and..." Her voice softened, and her tail lashed weakly. "You know what'll happen to me if I stay here."

Of course. Not everybody's a gentleman like me. But I didn't need a charity case: "Yeah, the world sucks. But I work by, and for, one person: me."

"Aren't you going to be salvaging?"

"Yep. And I'm good on my own."

"Doesn't the law require you to have someone onboard at all times, including during EVAs? On pain of losing your salvage license?"

Fucking hell. "Did Tanba tell you that, too?"

"M... maybe." Her tail waved faster, and she leaned over the chair, looking at me hopefully. Her blue eyes were wide, vulnerable. "I'm not saying I'd turn you in. I'm just saying I... I'd be willing to help you, that's all."

I sighed heavily, and then dropped into my chair, banging my head against it. "Fine. I can take you as far as my next stop. Tartarus is a shitty place anyway."

"Oh! Thank you!" She threw her arms around the chair, and me, and gave me an awkward hug.

"You'll have to pay," I warned.

"I... I don't have much money. But I can work."

Another sigh. "Fine. You have your stuff?"

"This is it. My bag, too, but I... I left it in a locker. I don't have to --"

"No. Fuck. God damn it," I cursed myself aloud, and then threw up my hands. "Go fetch it. But get back here before I change my mind." She scampered off, and I slumped against the control panel.

Yeah. It's the damn music that gets me, every time.