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A Simple Job

No, let me be clear: Eliza is not my husband's concubine, she is our servant and any further prying would be a private matter. She was certainly taken with him rescuing her, of course, but it was a decision by both of us to take her in.

My husband and I are committed to freeing any unlawfully enslaved or imprisoned human and will not stop until this crisis is resolved. We still, of course, promote the institution as a consensual opportunity for struggling humans to advance themselves.

Now please, may we wrap this up? I intend to meet and talk with every victim personally.

-Terran TV Interview of Queen Rala of Earth, shortly after the liberation of an illegal slave camp in the newly formed Duchy of Eurasia.

I was back. Back on Earth. Back in that ruined, rusty factory, looking for my squadron.

My boots were soaked through and I needed to rest. Rain began to fall

I sneaked into a nearby trailer. I didn't hear them until it was too late.

Two pairs of golden orbs locked onto me. Tawny lips peeled back to reveal thick, ivory fangs and a mouth that could have fit my entire head.

I raised my grandfather's rifle at the hulking, armored lions and fired. I aimed true, but they did not react, they crept closer and closer

A heavy paw slapped the rifle out of my hand and an arm wrapped around my neck, forcing me to my knees.

The other lion growled a laugh and tossed a pistol to the other. The cold, steel barrel pressed against my temple.

Please! Don't! I beg you!

I cried out.

The lion in front of me huffed, smiling confidently.

My eyelids flew open, freeing me from the world of dreams and into the darkness. Were it not for the last few dying embers in the pit to my right, I wouldn't have seen anything at all, not even the naked Vulpeculan princess cuddling up against me, her thick coat of fur brushing up against my chest.

Don't take that the wrong way. Many of the aliens, Vulpeculans included, saw nothing wrong with cuddling naked like this among friends and although I was not interested in women, I didn't want to pass up the chance to have that coat warming me up.

Yaleen sighed, wrapping a slender arm around my shoulder and nuzzling her nose against my undershirt. It was a long night, especially after burying those bodies, and she was sleeping like a log. It was uncommon on Planet. I always thought it had something to do with the environment, something in the air that gave us all surreal dreams and light slumber, but Yaleen was not effected at all.

Perhaps she'll start having bad dreams after sampling the local cuisine, I thought, chuckling as I imagined the Princess sitting at the end of a long banquet table flanked by servants fanning her with palm leaves; daintily lowering a golden fork into a can of corned beef, picking up a morsel of meat and placing it in her mouth.

That's a funny image. Maybe I'll have a nice dream now.

That wouldn't happen. I knew it wouldn't happen, but hoping helped me fall asleep at least.

The Hauler rumbled to a stop in front of the familiar, light colored wood of Flint's Bar. Being the morning, there was nothing outside the bar, no trucks and no drunks fighting, nothing but a muddy lot with countless tire tracks etched in it.

Yaleen pulled up her goggles, revealing her striking, green eyes. She was once again wrapped from head to toe in brown clothes. Yanking away her face scarf, she sniffed at the air with her slender, black nose.

“Shall I wait in the car, dear?" she asked, eyes narrowing coyly.

I got out of the truck, nearly slipping on a slick patch of mud, and grabbing the familiar, spiral-rimmed barrels of the coilguns, “No, it's okay. It should just be Flint, Red, and hopefully a good dealer."

She followed closely behind, not bothering to cover up her face or femininity, and I pushed open the door.

“No guns, Pawel," Flint glared at me from behind the bar, round nostrils flaring as he snorted. A white bandage ran across the bridge of his long, chestnut muzzle and heavy bags were under his eyes. He grunted upon seeing Yaleen sneaking in behind me, “And you have the nerve to bring her back."

“Sorry Flint, I'm just here to sell. There a dealer here?" Flint's bar, as with all of the major bars, was a popular place and because a lot of scavengers stopped by, often the bigger dealers would lease out space here to get the goods directly from the source. I didn't know who Flint had as a tenant right now and I hoped it was someone I liked. Sirth was too big-time for this and owned his own bar, so at the very least, I knew it wouldn't be him.

“The guns or her?"

“The guns!"

“Good for you." he grunted, about to continue but halted, twitching his ear and silently grabbing a glass and wiping it down.

“Well?"

“What? You want a reward for doing the right thing?"

“I just want to know if there's a dealer in the house today."

“One round! I had to comp a whole round for the bar to keep those pricks distracted enough to forget the last piece of tail they've seen in years just walked out the door. You know how much that cost me?"

“Look, Flint, I didn't..."

Yaleen cleared her throat, cutting me off. She slowly stepped towards the bar, her slender hips and bushy tail swaying seductively. Chest pressed up against the counter, she looked up at the towering Equuleian bartender, batted her emerald eyes and reached over, running her palm across Flint's solid chest. He didn't bat her away.

“Mr. Flint, I do apologize for the disruption I caused, but in my circumstances I had precious little choice. I was shipwrecked here and desperately needed help. A nice, handsome Equuleian such as yourself understands, yes?" her paw raised, running a single claw through his short, tightly-trimmed mane.

“I can..." he began, his ears relaxing forward.

“Mm, I bet you were a Chieftain of your own horde back on Gamma Equulei."

“My, our memories..."

“I can picture you, running through the grasslands, dirt kicking up from your hooves, your guards at your side and your consorts trailing behind," Yaleen placed her claw behind his ear, which twitched once, and began scratching. “I can see myself there, can't you?"

“I can't remember..."

“Then let me help you," she snatched the glass from his hand and tossed it over her shoulder. I dove to the ground and caught it. I've seen Flint throw people out of his bar for even trying to break a glass before, but now he didn't even seem to care. “But first, my friend is looking for a dealer, is there one available?"

Flint's mouth hung open dumbly, exposing the tips of his flat teeth. Shaking his head, he pointed to a corridor to the side of the bar, “Mr. Stripe is waiting for you."

“Thanks Flint," I said, nodding and walked towards the corridor. I never dealt with Mr. Stripe before, he was a newcomer to the Planet as far as I knew.

“What an interesting scent you have, Flint. May I?" She said with a sniff and began crawling onto the counter and pressed her snout into his chest.

I decided to give them some privacy and quickened my step, the deep sniffs and moans growing more and more distant. And good for her. Flint was a decent sort, at least for Planet. She could have picked a worse person to have some fun with.

The hallway was a stark contrast to the rest of the bar. Flint kept a clean shop for what he had available, but this hall was dingy, and specks of dirt caked the wooden boards on the walls. One of Flint's boys would surely clean it up in time for normal business hours, but at this point, I guessed most of them were sleeping still.

There was one door on the left and I flung it open.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

A slim, gray Procyonid was in the room, snout tilted up and snarling with ecstasy. His nails were buried into the back of Red, who was bent over an oak desk swishing his bushy, white-tipped tail, his rear pointing up towards the waist of the Procyonid, who gave a few weak pounds before he halted, falling forward onto Red's orange back and panted breathlessly.

“You were amazing, Stripey," Red said, his eyes shut and looking a bit bored. He sniffed at the air and opened a single, amber eye which locked in on me.

Stripey lowered his muzzle, his brown eyes staring at me. We were silent.

I raised one of the coilguns, “I'm here to sell."

Stripey continued to stare blankly at me. No expression marked his face and his ears did not move. If his scent changed, I could not notice, being a human and Red's pungent, sweet pheromones overpowering anything else that could be in the air.

Finally, he spoke and pointed to the wall.

“Towel."

Without missing a beat, I walked over to the wall and grabbed a filthy, white towel. Ignoring the yellowed stains, I stepped over and handed it to the Procyonid. I was a professional.

He snatched it and pulled off of Red, furiously wiping at his crotch.

“Please leave, Red. I have business."

Red quietly stepped out, flashing me a private wink as he did and closed the door behind him.

Mr. Stripe wrapped the towel around his waist, letting his black striped tail swing freely over the towel. Pulling a laptop out from under the desk, he sat down on a simple wooden chair and placed his elbows on the surface of it, clasping his hands together.

“Now, down to business?" he asked, “You may call me Mr. Stripe, and you?"

“Pawel Lis."

He held his palm out and beckoned with his fingers, “Can I see?"

I placed one of the coilguns on the desk with a clunk. He immediately began rubbing his hands over it, picking at notches in the circular coils running around the barrel. Flakes of mud fell onto the desk.

“It's a little filthy, yes?"

Smiling, I wagged my finger, “Nice try. We both know the notches around the coil are not connected to any machinery. These guns are in prime condition."

That was not entirely true. The part about the notches was true, but the truth was that one of their barrels swallowed up a big, thick glob of mud that took ages to clean out and there was definitely some traces remaining. But that was up to Mr. Stripe to find it and if he didn't, well, that was his fault, not mine.

“Who did you kill for these, hm?" he asked, his tiny nostrils flaring, “These are Regulian military issue. Model SH-135. Not for sale on civilian market."

“Again, nice try," I held up the other gun and pointed to the serial number. It was in Regulian alpha-numerics of course, and most humans struggled with their archaic and confusing written language, even if they could speak it fluently. Thankfully, I was not just any human, “See here? It has 4C at the beginning. This was made for the civilian, enthusiast market. The Regulians aren't going to come looking for it."

“Well played, Mr. Lis, well played," he clicked his sharp teeth together and tapped at the keyboard of his laptop, “Fifteen cartons of cigarettes each."

“Twenty."

“Don't push your luck."

“Buddy, I'm all luck, it's how I've lived this long," I leaned onto the desk, putting a finger to my shaved temple and tapping it, “And we humans have big heads with big brains. We're as sharp as Sirian businessmen, don't you know?"

“Get to the point."

“We have a bad sense of smell, but we can smell bullshit better than anyone. I know for a fact that my pal Ebi sold a coilgun for twenty-five just two weeks ago to Lagath. But, hey! I get it, it's a little dirty, so I'm willing to cut you a deal and let it go for twenty."

Mr. Stripe rolled his eyes and waved his hand in dismissal, “You may peddle your wares to Lagath then."

Smiling wildly, I got up from the chair without a word and yanked the gun away. As soon as I reached the door, he spoke.

“Wait."

My grin widened. I knew he couldn't resist the deal. Composing myself, I turned and put the gun back on the table.

“Twenty?"

“Twenty."

“Deal," I extended my hand across the table. This was a human-specific formality, but I liked to do it anyways, it was always fun to see their reactions and I didn't really feel like rubbing my nose up against the cheek of a musky raccoon who just had sex.

To my surprise, he grabbed my hand and shook it perfectly. The pads of his hand were course and rough, and his nails dug into the top of my hand. It hurt a little, but I wasn't about to admit that.

“One of my associates will have the cartons here tonight. You can collect it..."

The door flung open with a bang and I swung around to see a large, white Ursine with short fur, wearing a green uniform over his slightly round belly and heavy chest. His heavy, stout muzzle was wide open, showing off his powerful, slightly yellowed fangs.

“They stole him! They stole him! You have to help me!"

Mr. Stripe groaned, scratching his brow, “Lurge, compose yourself."

“I can't!" The Ursine lumbered in and I jumped out of the way as he sat down in my chair. I noticed that the doorknob was now jammed in a splintered hole in the wall. Flint was not going to be happy about that.

“They took him when I was at Fool's Field. They surrounded us and took him! And now they want a ransom! You need to help me get him back!"

“How much?"

“I'll pay any..."

“The ransom, idiot!" Mr. Stripe snapped, “How much is the ransom!"

“"Twenty cartons, but..."

“Just pay it!"

“B-but you can get a mercenary and..."

“That'll cost you way more than twenty cartons, way more to take on...who took him?"

“I don't know! They were Equuleians…"

“It'll cost you way more than that to take on an unknown gang. Just pay the ransom."

“I-I-I..." he looked from side to side nervously. It was almost embarrassing, seeing such a big, strong Ursine acting so scared, so nervous. But I guess he was in love and that was a beautiful thing. I could understand, “How about a bodyguard? I-I-I could use somebody to watch my back."

“Just to watch your back? No funny bullshit?"

“Yes!"

“Forty cartons and only because we're friends."

“Fifty," I said, butting in.

Both of them stared at me in silence. Mr. Stripe looked like he was somehow trying to remind me with his eyes that I owed him a percent of it. Lurge's eyes on the other hand, softened and he leaped towards me, grabbing my shoulders with his heavy paws. His muzzle darted towards me and his sloppy tongue licked at my cheek.

“Deal! Please, come with me right now! I'll...I'll give them the ransom, you just back me up, okay? Meet you outside by my truck and I'll take you to Fool's Field!"

Lurge stumbled back and ran outside, yanking the door closed, which proceeded to fall off its hinges and onto the floor with a rattling bang. Mr. Stripe was un-phased and pointed a nail at me.

“Twenty percent!" He barked.

I nodded in agreement. It was a standard price and I didn't feel like haggling, plus if I did, there was a good change Lurge would charge off and get lost before I had a chance to catch up with him. Without missing a beat, I jumped over the broken door and ran down the hall.

“Yaleen, we have to…!"

The sweet, thick smell of female Vulpeculae pheromones hit me before I saw them behind the bar. Yaleen pressing her slender hips against Flint's thick thighs and grinding. Her long tongue ran down the short fur on Flint's now bare chest. Flint's long face nuzzled against the top of her head, his nostrils flaring as he breathed in her scent. She opened a single, jade eye, staring at me with it.

“What?" She asked, still passionately pressing herself against Flint.

Sighing, I shook my head, “Flint, take care of her and watch my truck. I'm going to Fool's Field for a job. Ransom exchange."

Flint snorted in response and then moaned as Yaleen's paw went down his trousers.

“I'm going. I'll be back soon, okay?"

Lurge's Hauler rumbled like an earthquake through the tall grass, still wet with morning dew. I didn't recognize the model from the ones that were common on Planet, for all I knew it was a Lacertan or even Ursine truck, but as Planet was, despite our little anarchy down here, under the control of the Regulian Empire, and those two, they did not get along. They're at war now, I'm not sure how that happened, but it happened.

Lurge kept his eyes focused on the road. His stout muzzle frozen in a stoic expression, despite the panic he displayed earlier. I didn't buy it for a second, I knew he would crack as soon as we got close. He was in love and that was a beautiful thing, but it was also a liability under pressure.

In the back of the truck, cartons of cigarettes rattled around freely. A green, unlocked box caught my eye and I flipped it open, spying a bundle of crimson red, twelve gauge shells. Buried among them was a long, canvas strap with many circular loops running along it: a bandolier.

“Hey, can I borrow this?" I said, holding up the bandolier.

Lurge's eye twitched towards me for a moment before returning to the road, “Yeah, sure. Just be careful, that's Lyk's."

“Lyk?"

“We're rescuing him."

Slapping the bandolier across my chest, I loaded up my shotgun with Lurge's shells and began to strap spares into the loops. My double-barreled shotgun was, contrary to my other gear, not human. It had a model engraved in the side of the stock, but it was in a language I did not recognize that looked like a thin series of scratches. If I had to guess, I'd say Vulpeculan, as they're only a little smaller than us on average and it seemed to fit my build and reach just fine. Maybe I'd ask Yaleen when I returned.

Regardless of who made it, it's an incredible coincidence that we share the same common shell gauge. I can use Earth shells in it without any issues. It's incredible how distant minds can think so similar.

“I thought you said we weren't going to fight," Lurge said with a grumble in his tone.

“We're not, unless they make us," I said, filling in the last loop with a shell. I looked down at the rows of red tubes running across my green fatigues. I looked like a bandit now, a badass. Hopefully they'd think the same, “They won't. They just want to get paid. I'm just here to make sure they don't steal your cartons and live up to the deal. Bandits are cowards."

Unless they're big time, I thought to myself, Only big time Equuleian gang is the horde and they don't usually bother with ransom, just take what and who they want.

The glittering, shimmering stones of Fool's Field came into view, sprinkled among the short, well-trod grass field. It was a common place for scavengers to visit on their first run, but they almost invariably end up disappointed with the haul. It doesn't contain anything of value, even the shiny stones littering it were pretty common and useless, but as newbies tended to visit the place, it was also a great place for bandits and slavers to prey upon the weak and the dumb. And that's why it's called Fool's Field.

Lurge and Lyk were clearly one of these people, despite the decent amount of goods he had in the back. They likely got lucky and thought they were above the stories of the place. They were wrong.

Only a few feet into the field and we saw a group of Equuleians loitering around a rocky outcropping. There were only three of them and there was a small, skinny Lupiad on his knees with them. He didn't look much like a wolf, he looked more like one of those American wild dogs. Coyote?

Off in the distance, atop a small hill, were a series of canvas tents. I couldn't tell the exact number, but there were more than the Equuleians down here. They had friends.

They carried long rifles and wore an assortment of simple, drab clothes with no body armor. They were small time, for sure, but even a small time bandits can get a bullet between your eyes. Hell, even the weakest Equuleian could punch my head clean off.

The Hauler growled to a stop and Lurge turned it off. His lips began to twitch.

I slapped him on his heavy shoulder, “Hey, keep it together, okay? Your boys gonna be okay. I promise."

“W-what do we do now?" he turned and faced me, eyes wide.

“Take the cartons and meet them halfway there. I'll do the talking," I said, gripping my shotgun and leaping out of the truck. I stared directly at the Equuleians, who in turn acknowledged my presence, not moving an inch except for their long manes flowing in the wind.

Lurge grabbed several cartons, holding them tight against his chest and began walking towards them. I followed him at his side, keeping the gun ready just in case.

“That's close enough!" One of the bandits yelled out.

“Stop," I muttered and Lurge dropped the cartons onto the rocky field. The contents didn't spill out, thankfully, but I could hear one of the bandits laughing.

“S-sorry," Lurge whispered back, as he ran back to get the rest of them.

Shaking my head, I addressed the bandits, “We have twenty cartons here. We'll leave them here and you send the hostage over, then we'll leave."

The Equuleians talked among themselves. One of them, a brown one with a white stripe running down the bridge of his muzzle all the way to his nose, seemed to be the leader, as the others looked to him.

“No, we're going to come over and check. Make sure you're not pulling a fast one!"

Shrugging my shoulders, I called back, “Okay, but we're keeping our weapons ready."

“Fine!"

I didn't expect that. Usually these things start with demands about disarming until a compromise is reached, usually involving one unarmed person from each party meeting on neutral ground. As the three Equuleians ordered Lyk to his feet and began marching towards us, I became very aware of how many barrels there were on my shotgun and how many bandits there were. My Beretta was ready as well, but the odds were against me. If they caused trouble, it would take a miracle to get out of it.

Equuleians have a herd mentality, they look to their herd leader for guidance. Killing him first might rattle the others, especially if they were novices. But hell, they were putting me on guard right now and that concerned me.

They stopped about ten feet away from us and one of them, a jet black one with two beaded braids trailing down the side of his head, stepped forward, and I backed a few steps away, keeping my gun ready. The others kept their guns trained on us as he bent down and examined the contents of the crates, finding them filled to the brim with cigarettes. This relieved me. The last thing I needed now was Lurge trying to pull a fast one without telling me.

The black Equuleian stood up, his thin snout snorting and waving to the others. Lyk was ordered to his feet and walked towards Lurge before rushing into his chest, his tan, brown fur contrasting sharply with Lurge's snowfield white.

“I'm sorry, love," Lurge whispered.

“I'm sorry," Lyk whispered back.

Their leader called over, “Take the bitch. We'll take the cartons. You leave."

“Deal," I called back.

“Are you Pawel Lis?" The leader asked.

I stared back silently. Something was wrong.

I didn't have time to ponder this before a black mass leaped forward, hammering a fist into my gut and knocking me to the ground choking for air.

Looking to the side, I found my shotgun lying in the dirt and snapped my hand to reach for it, but not quick enough to stop a black hoof from landing on my wrist and pinning it to the ground. Pain erupted through my arm, but I clenched my teeth to keep from screaming.

I looked to Lurge and Lyk, who stared back in fear.

“Go! Go! Get on the truck and leave, now!" The leader ordered.

They quickly vanished from view, followed by the sounds of the Hauler rumbling and moving, crushing stone underneath it.

Above me, the black Equuleian peered down at me from behind his long nose. The others soon joined them, the brown and white leader, and the solid brown one, and formed a circle.

The brown one snatched my pistol and holster. I felt my knife slide out of its sheath. I was now defenseless.

This kind of thing happened here. This was a prison after all. I thought I knew what they wanted and at this point, if they wanted it, they'd have it. It happened here a lot.

“Our leader has been looking for you," the brown and white one said as the other two pulled me up and led me forward, each holding an arm, “Let's go."

Why did I let them get so close. I shouldn't have caved so easily. I keep doing this. I keep doing this ever since they opened up my head…

This was supposed to be a simple job.

The tents grow closer, in particular one at the center of them all. It was different from the others, which were make of make-shift patches of canvas tarps and poles. This one was a large, orange, two room dome tent. It looked like it came from some camping gear store, indeed, it even had what looked like a brand logo, three mountain peaks; but in comparison to the others, which weren't even large enough to stand in, it looked like a luxurious nomadic lord's yurt.

“Boss, we've got him!"

The black one unzipped the fly and tossed me in headfirst. My shoulder screamed in pain as I collided something hard underneath the tent floor, likely a rock.

“Been some time, smooth-cheeks."

The deep, staccato voice was all too familiar. It wasn't a common accent for Equuleians and I knew who it was before I lifted my head off the ground. I knew I'd see the long, white feathering around his heavy hooves and I knew they'd belong to a white Equuleian with a long, flowing mane trailing behind him and a single, thin braid running behind his right ear. I knew I'd see that thin scar running down his broad, rectangular muzzle and ending at his right nostril. And I knew he'd be shirtless, with his strong, thick chest muscles on full display, because I spent a lot of nights laying against it, his arms wrapped around and protecting me, and falling asleep breathing in his soothing, earthy musk.

“Neilan?"