FSE

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Chief Investigator Gaianus rubbed at the bridge of his muzzle as he crossed a sky bridge into the building specifically dedicated to the offices of Imperial Sector Seven. If the Basset Hound bothered to look out the window, he could gaze between the towers that made up the Imperial Department of Terror. Beyond them, spreading far and wide and up into the sky, the ecumenopolis of the capitol world, Gara. He could have even glimpsed the far away glitter of giant high-liner spacecraft in orbit if he craned his head back far enough.

The Department of Counterterrorism was just one bureaucratic complex of many. Chief Gaianus was suffused in the controlled chaos entering the other tower. Chaos because managing even one of the dozens of planets in the Empire was an immensely complex task.

He made his way to the conference room, something about another terrorist leader in Sector Seven. It was getting hard to keep track of them. It seemed like every week, another extremist would come crawling out of the woodwork, something that had been getting worse in the last few decades. He was beginning to worry things would come to a head sooner rather than later.

“Let's get this thing started," he said once he entered the conference room. The chatter between the other Canines in the room died down as the Basset Hound set his tablet down on the table and took his seat.

A German Shepard stood up at the other end of the table. Petillia Plauta, if Chief Gaianus remembered correctly, though he couldn't say he knew her well enough to say anything else. She tapped at her own tablet, and the conference room adjusted itself for presentation and privacy: windows suddenly became opaque, and the lights dimmed.

The holographic projector at the end of the room buzzed to life, displaying three images of the same Human.

The first was a partial three-dimensional scan, the kind taken at registry offices for identification papers – but it had the feeling of a mugshot. The Human's skin was so dark it was nearly black, and her hair created a cloud of dark kinks around her head. Unfortunately, the bars and lines of the date code that hovered beneath it indicated the image was nearly fifteen years out of date. It listed her as Human, female, forty-six years old, one-hundred-sixty-one centimeters tall, and sixty-seven kilograms.

The second image was an artist's rendition and an unflattering one at that. The artist had drawn her with an angry scowl and exaggerated facial features. But, unlike the old holograph, this rendition of her bore distinct facial tattoos – a type of body modification mostly reserved for the furless species. The tattoos left the impression of a Human skull as if she'd tattooed a stylized x-ray photograph to her face. More lines down her neck suggested that the tattoos continued across more of her body.

The third image was a grainy, two-dimensional photograph – something scraped from a cheap surveillance camera. It was, by far, the most chilling image of the woman. She wore military-grade armor, something the Chief recognized as several decades out of date but effective at stopping bullets all the same. Her hair was now neatly organized into braids and tied back away from her face. Rather than a helmet, she wore a mask crafted out of a Canine's skull. A cylindrical grenade in her hand spewed a sickly cloud of smoke, and all around her, Imperial citizens choked and gagged.

“This," Petillia began, “is Marchelle Blaauw: A terrorist leader we believe to be hiding in the Dera System of Sector Seven. She ran away from her assigned tasking fifteen years ago and has killed every bounty hunter that's come after her. She's gained quite the following as a master of the Wyrding Way, a radical Human religious group. Don't be mistaken, though. Her influence goes well beyond just Humans."

The images dissolved as Petillia summoned another one to replace it. This time the projector created a three-dimensional image of a Chiropteran. Chief Gaianus recognized the species easily. Their distinct manes and large ears were something he'd seen often during the integration of their tidally locked world to the Empire just thirty years ago. The image did not reveal how short the Chiropteran was, however.

According to the codes beneath the holograph, the Chiropteran was male, fifty-three years old, and one-hundred-forty-three centimeters tall. The familiar vulpine face was framed in a dark mane, with large, attentive ears that added more than ten centimeters to his height. He should have looked comical with such large ears and the glasses perched on his muzzle. But altogether, the Chiropteran cut an imposing figure.

“Sir Willian Waring has been liege lord over Dera for thirteen years, awarded for valor above his station during wartime," Petillia explained by way of introduction. “He's currently under investigation for ties to illegal gambling and games, a problem that Dera had long before he arrived. We now have reason to believe that he's involved with Blaauw and the Wyrding Terrorists hiding on Dera thanks to this image captured by surveillance drone," Petillia continued.

Another grainy photograph materialized, this time of a small airfield tucked into a shallow canyon – more of a shipping depot, judging by the containers stacked everywhere. Workers milled around the airport, a mix of Human Indents and other low-class workers of mixed species. They all wore cheap breathing masks, little more than a filter fan to inflate a plastic bag over their faces.

A tiny section of the image floated out and expanded to concentrate on a specific area. The zoomed-in view showed three Humans standing outside the open pilot's hatch of a small aerospace shuttle. One of the Humans held a distinctive helmet in one hand as another handed him one of the cheap breathing masks.

“Is that Human holding a pilot's helmet? And what's with the masks?" a Doberman at the table asked, incredulous.

“Yes," Petillia said, only slightly put off by the sudden question. “The masks are required for workers on the surface. Dera has a Type-Three atmosphere: high concentrations of -" the German Shepard paused to glance down at her tablet and the notes there “- carbon dioxide and xenon. You can breathe for about two minutes before you'll pass out, seven before you're dead."

“Is that Human the pilot of one of those shuttles?" the same officer asked, more direct this time.

“Yes," Petillia said, continuing her presentation. “This is Saeed Grayson." She tapped at her tablet again, and the image shifted around to make room for another holographic ID. Helpful glowing lines traced features on the surveillance picture to parts on the holograph.

The Human in the ID seemed relatively tame compared to the first Human Petillia had shown them. The date code was recent. He was pale-skinned with a nose that had been broken at some point and hadn't healed straight. His hair was short and dark, and his mane – or beard, that is – was shaved clean. The code read: Human, male, twenty years old, one-hundred-seventy centimeters, and seventy-three kilograms.

“Deceased dam and unknown sire, a criminal record – gang violence," Petillia continued. “Nothing out of the ordinary until Waring took an interest in him, purchased Saeed under punitive contract in a plea deal. He's been listed as employed as a house servant for the last twelve years, clearly a falsehood.

“The picture was taken over a shipping depot more than twelve-hundred kilometers from the Waring Estate in Grandneau Port. Local surveillance had their eye on this depot during a smuggling investigation. They brought it to our attention when they noticed the Human pilot: No flight plan, IFF, or registration numbers on the shuttle. Radar never saw him. No one knew he was coming until he was already landing."

“No one? How is that possible?" Chief Gaianus asked.

“Dera is covered in hills and mountains," Petillia explained. “Radar can't see through rock, so if he flew low, through the valleys and canyons, it's possible there was never a line-of-sight to him. Not only that, Dera is riddled with caves and mines. So that shuttle could have originated just about anywhere – but given the pilot, its likely origin is Grandneau Port.

“We don't know where Blaauw is hiding on Dera. But the presence of one of Waring's people so far from his Manor – especially a Human – suggests that Sir Waring is up to something," Petillia concluded.

“That's not much to go on," Chief Gaianus sighed. His migraine slowly pulsed back into his focus, and he rubbed at his muzzle again. “It's a lead, but not something we can stick to Waring. He could deny knowing anything, and I doubt we'll find a connection between him and that shuttle – if we can find it. So even if we pin this kid to the wall, it doesn't connect anything to Blaauw. We'd end up with a corpse in a cell before getting anything out of him.

“Have you got anything actionable for me?" the Chief finally asked. “Or are we still stuck waiting for someone to do something stupid?" He didn't ask if the German Shepard Analyst was wasting his time, but he was confident the message was received.

“Yes, sir," Petillia said as she tapped on her tablet again. Several more images quickly scrolled away as she fast-forwarded through her presentation to the relevant information. “Our best chance of investigating Waring's involvement is his daughter, Trinity Waring."

The holograph showed a much younger Chiropteran, but the family resemblance was easy to spot. The code read: Chiropteran, female, twenty years old, one-hundred-thirty-seven centimeters tall, and thirty-seven kilograms. Collaged around her were social media posts, all featuring pictures and holographs of aerospace shuttles and mainly the sport of racing them.

“Trinity is an aerospace engineer, graduating two years early from a five-year program with Summe Cum Laude. She's Waring's pride and joy and our best avenue into information on what he's up to. We can insert an agent to investigate with the racing team he just bought for her as a graduation present," Petillia explained.

She pulled up one final image, a simple screenshot of a bank transaction simply labeled 'LICENSE – FREEBIRD RACING.'

Chief Gaianus considered the information for a long moment before he finally said, “then let's get this done yesterday. If you're going to be investigating this, you'll need as much time as you can to establish your cover."

“Secretary, I think," an Akita next to the Chief offered, tapping at his tablet. “They have high turnovers, and the manager shouldn't be difficult to convince."

“Yes, another agent in their house, even for just a few days, will open lots of opportunities for our current agent," the Chief grumbled. He was already imagining the paperwork piling onto his desk. He'd have to order takeout to his office and stay late.

“Sorry, did you mean you want to send me?" Petillia asked, her ears plastered to her scalp.

“Yes, you," the Chief grunted as the occupants of the room began to discuss what would be needed to set up the mission. “You sniffed out this morsel, down a warren-hole a mile long, so you're going to go looking for it. I wouldn't have thought to follow up on rumors of a Human pilot. Too unlikely to be anything more than a rumor. But you did. And you might have found a connection to Blaauw, who's apparently a ghost."

“But, I'm an analyst, sir. Not an undercover agent," Petillia protested.

“If you came into this career believing you'd never do fieldwork, you picked the wrong career," the Chief growled. “You can't just hand someone some old clothes and hope they can pick up the scent where you left off. It's too complicated for that. So either you know what to look for, or this is a fluke, and your career will be a short one.

“There's an agent already there, but without backup, he's had to be conservative in his investigation. If nothing else, you'll help him gain opportunities to gather more information. You'll probably be back home by the time this racing team leaves Dera," the Chief said, his tone allowing no argument.

*---o0o---*

Sid could remember when his days had been harsh, and hanging around the Brown Knuckle gang hadn't made it easier. But that had been better than sleeping in alleys and begging for food from indifferent strangers. Of course, they made him steal and fight the other boys his age, but that was better than running from other kids when they wanted to beat some fun out of him. Sid could remember the night when one of the older boys from down the street broke his nose.

It felt so strange to think about those days when his clothes had always been worn and dirty, and he hadn't seen a bath in months. But it was hard not to think of that while blunted claws tugged at a silk jacket draped over his shoulders, and he wore shoes that had been custom made for him. How could he not imagine those damp walls and cold floors when he was standing in a warm studio apartment with its own toilet?

“This is really for me, Tobias?" he asked as he stared at himself in the mirror. If not for the way his nose had never healed quite straight, he might not have recognized the man that stared back at him in the mirror that Tobias had rolled into his little servant's apartment. A servant's apartment beneath the Manor of the most powerful man on the planet.

The Golden Labrador standing behind him sighed as he set down his tailoring tools. “That's probably the fourth time you've asked me that, Sid. So for the last time, yes. It's yours. The boss is happy with you, and he wants you to look good for your new job," he explained with only a hint of a condescending smile. “Now lift your arms, move around some."

Sid lifted his arms over his head, flexing and stretching to test where the jacket limited his range of motion – it didn't. Tobias watched with a critical eye as the jacket bunched and moved. Apparently, it was correct, as the older Canine nodded approvingly. Sid wasn't sure what he'd changed. It didn't seem much different from when Tobias brought it to him.

“Perfect, you look like a proper gentleman for once," Tobias said as he stepped behind Sid, so only his eyes peaked over Sid's head. “You know if you can ignore the face, and the ears, and the nose. Basically all of," his arms fluttered around Sid's sides, “this."

Sid smiled at the Lab's antics, and Tobias perked up immediately. “Hey! That's not allowed! You're a Wyrder now, aren't you? You can't be grinning like a fool! Oh well, we'll probably keep you around, anyway, even if you can't manage to control yourself. Miss Phillippa will at least be happy to have you scrubbing floors again," Tobias sighed with exaggerated disappointment.

“That's not how it works," Sid chuckled, some of the nerves and disbelief bleeding off. “The point is to be controlled, not a lack of emotion," he explained.

“But it does mean that you don't so much as flinch when I jab you with a needle," Tobias grumbled good-naturedly. He spun Sid away from the mirror and helped pin a set of simple metal cufflinks onto his jacket. “How do you do that, by the way?"

There was a knock on the tiny apartment's door before Sid could come up with something clever to tease the older Lab with. They both snapped to attention as Sir Willian let himself in.

“Mr. Greyson, you look good in a suit," Sir Willian said in greeting, a nod all that was needed to let them know they could loosen their stance and relax. “I suppose I shouldn't expect less from Mr. Orhan." Sid could see Tobias's smile widen in his peripheral vision, and he felt the same swell of pride at the knight's idle praise. “You can go, Mr. Orhan. I'd like a private word with Mr. Greyson."

Tobias bowed deeply and stepped around the master of the house without another word. Then, when the door closed again, Sir Willian approached Sid. “Turn around, Sid. Let me look at you," he ordered, some of the formality shed from him now that they were alone.

Sid dutifully made an about-face, looking in the mirror again. Sid watched as Sir Willian looked over the suit with a critical but approving eye before stepping up beside Sid. Somehow, even though Sir Willian barely reached Sid's shoulders, Sid felt tiny next to his master.

“I can work, I can fight, I can be useful," Sir Willian deadpanned, and Sid stiffened as he realized those had been the first words he'd ever said to Sir Willian. “An eight-year-old boy, but the only one smart enough not to fight my Cleaners. Smart enough to know, even as a child, that if you want something, you have to take it – but not so proud that you forget you're asking for something from someone else. That's a powerful intuition, Sid, which even most politicians don't understand.

“Your teacher has informed me that you've passed the first stage of your Wyrding training. Have you chosen something for your tattoos?" Sir Willian asked.

“Yes, Sir. The vampire bat, Sir," Sid answered. He used the English word rather than attempt to describe the animal in Imperial common.

“A fine choice," Sir Willian nodded, and Sid had no doubt that Sir Willian was – somehow – familiar with Human mythology enough to recognize the name. “She'll be here tomorrow morning. She wants to be there when you get them."

“She's coming here, Sir?" Sid asked, surprised. “But the starport-“

“Do you really think she gives a damn?" Sir Willian asked, deadpan. Sid clamped his mouth shut as he realized Sir Willian was correct. His teacher was not one to allow the Empire's presence to deter her.

“No, Sir, of course not."

“I have something important to ask you to do, Sid, and you must not refuse me," Sir Willian said after a moment of reflection, the pretense of more polite conversation dropped. “Plans are coming together. The Empire has its eyes on me. This party is a very public way to get Trinity out of the country before it gets too dangerous," he explained, his ears turned back but not so far that they pressed against his head.

“Protecting her at University was easy," he continued. “Our security wouldn't stand out among all the other powerful families' children. But this requires more subtlety and someone whose loyalty is beyond reproach," Sir Waring explained as he gave Sid a meaningful nod. “I need you to go with Trinity and keep her as far from the Empire as possible. Officially, you're her escort, there to protect her dignity and take a bullet if you have to."

“I'm honored, Sir," Sid replied, the weight of responsibility settling over his shoulders. “I won't let you down."

Sir Waring's gaze met Sid's through the mirror, and Sid suddenly felt as if he were being tested. “This could mean your freedom, you know," Sir Willian said in a low, conspiratorial voice. “The Pan-Galactic Aerospace Race is hosted by several nations. Including one where indentured servitude is illegal. You can claim sanctuary if the racing team can make it to the leg hosted by the Minou République. Trinity would be safe there, too, beyond the reach of the Kavecanem Empire," Sir Willian explained.

“If I had to choose between my freedom and serving you. I would choose servitude, Sir," Sid said without hesitation, and meaning it wasn't difficult.

Sir Waring had given Sid everything. Taken Sid into his own house, given him a caretaker in an old Newfoundland woman who taught him to write and read. It hadn't been easy, he was expected to work, and his caretaker's etiquette lessons had been strict. But compared to the future he'd seen for himself on the streets, dying in some gang war, or getting hooked on skunk, it was more than Sid had ever dreamed of having.

And he'd met Trinity.

Trinity was the whole reason he'd asked to fly in the first place. He'd known she was genius from the moment he met her, even before Trinity asked for Sid to keep her company during Trinity's lessons. He could never be an aerospace engineer, but there had been a part of him that dreamed of being there when she finally became one, flying the machines she built. And for reasons Sid still didn't understand, Sir Willian had gone out of his way to make that pipe dream possible.

Sir Waring nodded subtly, the most indication that Sid would ever get that his master approved of his response. “If you leave now, you can meet Trinity at the starport," Sir Willian said as he turned away from Sid, a subtle ear flick the only indication he gave that Sid should follow.

Sid followed at Sir Waring's side, dutifully opening doors as the Chiropteran led Sid deeper into the Manor. The upstairs was where guests were entertained, but the Manor extended far underground into an old mine. All of the house's utilities were there, everything from atmospheric control to laundry – and Sir Waring's personal armory and hangar.

The security checkpoint waved them through, and several staff members passed them by in the utilitarian halls. There weren't any other Human faces among his staff, not in the Manor anyway, but Sid recognized the faces that bowed in deference to Sir Willian.

Finally, Sid stepped forward and opened a thick, steel door, which immediately filled the hallway with the sharp whine of jet turbine engines. Sir Willian was already prepared to enter the loud environment and pulled a set of spongy earplugs from his jacket and pressed them into his ears. He idly handed a Human-sized set to Sid as he passed through the door, which Sid gladly accepted as he followed Sir Willian into the hangar on the other side.

A cargo shuttle dominated the space directly in front of the door. Workers wearing triangular ear-muffs swarmed around it. Sir Willian led Sid around the side of the shuttle to a smaller passenger craft, dodging workers pulling crates on hand carts.

A worker tugged a steaming fuel hose out of the way as a tractor eased into position to taxi the passenger shuttle. Sir Willian paused to watch the workers check over the different parts of the craft. Carefully observing its twin engines rotate to a vertical position within its circular, closed wings.

Sid observed idly as they waited for the shuttle to be untied from its anchors, thoughts on seeing Trinity again lifting his mood. Three years at University would give her plenty of stories to tell him, and he looked forward to the sound of her voice again.

The pilot stepped out onto the ramp and bowed deeply to Sir Willian, who waved him away. Instead, he stopped Sid with a hand and gestured for the Human to bend down. Sid obediently turned so his head would be next to Sir Willian's, and his master grasped his shoulder as he spoke.

“Remember, this is a Family party," Sir Willian shouted over the noise, a steadying hand on Sid's shoulder. “It's not just for business. Have fun. And take what you want." Sid turned a confused glance at Sir Willian, but the Chiropteran only pushed him toward the passenger shuttle. Sid had little choice but to go along as the pilot waved him forward. “Take care of them, Mr. Bulla!" Sir Willian shouted in parting to the pilot this time.

“Take a seat, Sid," the Canine pilot said as he closed the ramp-like door. “It'll be a half-hour flight, so get comfy," Mr. Bulla said as he slipped into the cockpit, separated from Sid by a thin door.

The interior of the shuttle was a harsh contrast to the working environment outside, and Sid felt that creeping estrangement again as he considered the plush leather seating.

Sid looked out the window as he picked a plush seat and put his hearing protection away, but he couldn't see Sir Willian anymore. Not that he blamed the Chiropteran for leaving. Jet engines didn't mix well with sensitive hearing.

The shuttle passed a medium-sized cargo transport and an illegally owned gunship as it taxied to the hangar doors. A set of crystal glasses clinked in their slotted holsters, a bottle of champagne in its own bottle-sized refrigerator nearby.

They quickly passed through the massive, hangar-sized airlock, its outer doors opening as soon as the inner ones closed. The tractor towed the shuttle along the narrow roads cut into the rock of the cliffside, leading them to the landing pads that projected precariously out from the rockface. After a few minutes, presumably as the tractor unhooked and got clear, Sid vaguely heard the pilot gain permission to light the engines from inside the cockpit.

After another moment, he heard the two engines on either side of the shuttle hum and roar to life. The distinct but muffled sound of anti-matter thrusters. Finally, the shuttle pulled smoothly away from the landing pad, and Sid heard the hydraulics pull the gear up into their compartment. He barely even noticed as the shuttle tilted into horizontal flight.

The starport was on an island far out in the bay, surrounded by the Imperial city of Apamea. Almost three hundred kilometers away. A half-hour flight.

A half-hour alone with his worries.

Sir Willian's parting words were front and center. Sid wanted to dismiss this worry as paranoia, but the words had been perfectly timed to bring up old fears. Fears of being caught with Sir Willian's daughter, his hands and lips in places that no etiquette lesson had ever suggested they go near. He didn't care about the Imperial taboos, but Sir Willian's possible reaction worried him.

Take what you want.

Sid couldn't help but hear that as either a warning or, bafflingly, an approval. It wasn't that hard to believe that Sid and Trinity hadn't been as subtle to a Canine's nose, or her father's ears, as they'd thought they were. But without some reprisal or any confrontation at all, he didn't dare assume the latter.

Sid could handle dying, as Imperial law might demand of him for breaking the taboos of pedigree and social standing. It would hurt Trinity more than him, but she would recover. If he was sent away, though, sold to someone else far away, that would be his own personal Hell. And that was far more likely than a scandalous trial that would be decided before its conclusion.

He'd known all that when it had started. But Trinity was curious and so insistent – and he'd been curious, too. And it wasn't as if he didn't feel an attraction to her.

There weren't many other children in the Manor, servant or otherwise. And the few other servant children wanted nothing to do with him. But Trinity had been fascinated with him from the moment they met. Her lessons took most of her time, and etiquette held the servant children at a distance. Eventually, Sid had become her de facto personal assistant, and they'd been inseparable. It was hard not to feel some attraction to the only girl that had ever paid any attention to him, Human or otherwise.

Sid barely noticed when they arrived at the starport. And his idle worrying kept him distracted as he left the shuttle and navigated to the correct terminal. He barely noticed the dirty looks from the faces around him, not a single Human among them.

Sid didn't even notice Trinity walk out of the terminal until he heard her scream his name, shaking him from his thoughts. He spotted her instantly, behind four Chiropteran men in armor. To their surprise, she pushed past them and ran across the lobby. Sid braced himself, ready to catch her, but she skidded to a stop in front of him instead of the leaping tackle he'd expected.

Sid watched her eager grin falter as her eyes flicked over him, it was only for a moment, but more of those doubts crept into his head.

“You came to pick me up?" she asked as her escorts caught up with her, her abandoned luggage in tow.

“Yes, I'll be your escort from now on," Sid said with a nod as the security team moved past them toward the shuttle outside.

The genuine smile on her face made it much easier to forget some of those doubts.

*---o0o---*

Petillia tried to ignore her sweaty palms on her tablet as she meekly followed the racing team's Poodle manager and the imposing – but minuscule – Sir Waring. The Poodle, Julia Sylvian, walked with a cheerful bounce, with no outward sign that she knew Petillia to be a government agent.

“I can tell you this is a first for us, Sir Waring," Julia explained, her long ears bouncing as she kept pace with their shorter host. “I hope you don't mind the damage to the grass. There really wasn't much choice unless you wanted to leave the ship in the Condor."

Sir Waring didn't respond as he inspected the placement of the bright red aerospace craft. Its name – Thunderbird – stood out in stylized letters across its twin vertical stabilizers. Its pointed nose and swept wings dramatically contrasted the manicured garden that it had become a fixture within.

The garden was one of two, each on opposite wings of the Manor, contained within expansive greenhouses that kept the air breathable. Every bush, flower, and tree had been carefully cultivated into a living piece of art beneath a protective glass ceiling.

Marring that artwork was a curved track of flattened grass in the open lawn of this garden. The racing team had laid out metal plates beneath the ship's wheels, which saved the lawn from deep trenches and the wheels from clogging mud, but the damage had been done.

Beyond the lawn, the glass walls of the greenhouse had been deconstructed and now opened into the cavernous interior of Freebird Racing's transport. Canvas had been carefully taped to bridge the gap. The positive pressure of the Manor's atmospheric system did the rest of the work of keeping out the toxic atmosphere of Dera. The ship's hangar-sized cargo bay effectively added another room to the building. A proud but faded banner proudly declared the ship: The Condor, Home to Freebird Racing.

“The grass will recover," Sir Waring assured her dismissively as he inspected the chocks around the Thunderbird's landing gear. “Trinity may wish to take a closer look. Will the mechanic be available to entertain her?" he asked.

“Yes, of course," Julia assured him. “We have to hire on help as we travel most of the time, so Darbai is eager to start training someone who will be staying with us on a more permanent schedule. He's probably about as excited as she is, though he doesn't show it."

The conversation drifted, and Petillia's attention wavered as Julia's voice turned into a polite drone in her ear. Her attention wavered as the conversation led their trio back into the Manor, through the massive dance hall that hugged the cliff's edge the house was built on, and into the dining hall.

Being a secret agent, it turned out, was incredibly dull. Petillia wasn't just supposed to act like Julia's secretary; she basically was Julia's secretary. It wasn't difficult work, but there was a surprising amount of it, considering how small their group was. It went on and on; accounts, calendars, budgeting, contacts, and email chains – and that was just what Julia had handed off to Petillia. The fact Julia hadn't had a secretary up until now was surprising.

But, apparently, that was part of the disguise. If anyone was keeping their eye on her, and they most certainly were, then all they would see was a secretary.

“Oh, Petillia, would you go make sure the boys are ready for the party? I'm not worried about Céleste. She'll make her appearance and then disappear again like usual," Julia said, breaking the drone of party planning and flattery.

“Yes, ma'am!" Petillia snapped, perhaps slightly too quickly to be considered polite. Nevertheless, she eagerly turned away and scampered off before their host could somehow trap her back in the conversation and made her way back to the Condor.

“She's good," a voice growled over her shoulder as she made her way back into the garden. Petillia flinched and clutched her tablet to her chest as she spun around. A tall Labrador had fallen into step with her without her noticing, and his pace hesitated to match hers. “Don't stop walking, Petal. Act like we're flirting," he said with a wink and a gentle nudge with his hand to turn her back toward the garden path.

Petillia hesitated but turned and kept walking. His use of the name 'Petal' was her only indication of who the Canine was: her contact in the Waring house. 'Petal' was her codename, and she was meant to address him as 'Tobias.'

“Here," he said as he plucked one of her hands off her tablet and dropped a tiny earbud into it. “Take a listen," he instructed.

Petillia gave the earbud a nervous glance but dutifully slipped it into her ear, the subtle hook in its shape comfortably pinned it in place. Her fluff naturally covered it where it settled into the most comfortable position.

“I can't wait to see everyone!" a feminine voice said, distorted and slightly muffled through the earbud. “Do you think Yisu made any Red Wine Pizza?"

“I didn't look to see what the Chef made, but I'm sure there's at least one waiting for you," a much deeper, masculine voice said. “You basically asked for it every day. I doubt she forgot."

“And she would have made it, too, if Daddy didn't stop her," the woman giggled. “I wish it didn't make you sick. It's so good!"

“It is good. That's the problem," the man chuckled. “I have to choose between no pizza or spending the night on the toilet."

“That's Sid and Trinity," 'Tobias' explained as they continued to walk. “There's an antenna in Sid's jacket. The microphone is in the cufflinks. He's your main lead on Blaauw.

“After the party, he's going to be getting his Wyrding tattoos. Wyrders like to gather for those ceremonies, so if Blaauw is here, she might appear when that happens," he continued. “Keep an eye and ear on his conversations. I'm going to be busy, so keep notes so you can debrief me after he falls asleep tonight. If you have any problems, my contact is already on your phone but don't call me, text."

“Who's Sid?" Petillia stuttered as she tried to keep up with the Lab's rapid instructions while the voices chattered in one ear.

“Saeed Greyson," the Lab sighed in exasperation. She could practically hear him roll his eyes. “And don't call him Saeed. You might as well hang a neon sign that says 'I work for the Empire' around your neck."

“This is Saeed?" she asked incredulously, the conversation in her ear all the stranger now as she imagined the wealthy heiress giggling and joking with a Human. “Why is she so … familiar with him?" she asked, her brow furrowed in distaste.

“Waring basically bought Sid so the kid could be her friend. He's just doing his job for a lonely little rich girl," Tobias said, though his grin suggested there was more to the story. “Get used to it, though. And relax a little, would you? You look stiff as a board, and you smell nervous. Follow Julia's lead. She's a natural," Tobias said, his smug aura dripping out of his voice. “Now laugh like I've said something charming."

Petillia's laugh wouldn't have won any acting commendations, but apparently, the Lab was satisfied as he sauntered away. The small crew in the Condor didn't seem to notice, thankfully.

Darbai Qatun, the two-meter tall Horse mechanic, thankfully required no attention from Petillia. He'd dressed in a formal shirt and trousers and even polished up his hooves. But when she arrived, Lar Tasius, the Dalmation pilot, was apparently ramping up to one of his usual rants.

“I just don't get why I have to come to this thing. Seems like a lot of trouble just to hire some mechanic's apprentice straight out of some fancy school," the aging Dalmation grumbled as he reluctantly tucked his shirt in.

“It's not just about her," Petillia said, heading off Darbai before he could feed the argument. If she let them get going, they could argue at the edge of good nature for hours. Lar was, thankfully, not as entertained by Petillia. “Her father is sponsoring the team. Without him, we don't race. And the party is a chance to impress all his rich friends and maybe get more sponsors.

“Plus, by all accounts, Trinity is a genius," Petillia continued, heading off Darbai, who might have tried to argue with her despite her intervention. Darbai, thankfully only ever argued when spurred on by Lar, and he wasn't a man to get caught up in semantics. “And Darbai could use the help. He's maintaining two ships by himself."

Darbai paused but nodded in agreement – apparently satisfied that the point he'd wanted to make had been made for him.

“Last thing we need is some egg-head," Lar grumbled, but the wind had effectively been taken out of his sails, and he didn't continue. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe the words 'open bar' were used at some point," he said as he let himself out of the Condor.

Petillia withheld an exasperated sigh, but she didn't stop him. He would inevitably make his way back to his precious racing ship. She would just pray to the god of wine that he wouldn't come back too drunk to impress. Who knew? Maybe Trinity would like old war stories.

Instead, Petillia turned to Darbai. “Have you seen Céleste?"

“She also went to find 'open bar,'" Darbai grumbled in his thick accent.

“She's not like Lar, is she?" Petillia asked. Darbai only snorted and shook his head, which was probably as much answer as Petillia would get. So Petillia wandered back toward the Manor and left Darbai to hover around the spacecraft.

The greenhouses connected to the Manor's expansive ballroom, which spanned the entire rear of the building. Tall windows along the exterior overlooked the bay far below. When the doors to the ballroom were thrown open, it created a vast open space.

This, more than any fine art or incredible view, demonstrated the wealth of the Waring family. On Dera, space was a premium, and Waring Manor was so expansive one could almost be fooled into believing they'd stepped outside.

Dera had roads, but the Manor's driveway and exterior landscaping were seldom used. Instead, the Manor was the end of a tram line. It boasted its own tram station with a finely decorated staircase that led directly into the Manor's entrance hall.

Guests had already begun to trickle in when Petillia made it back into Manor proper. She sampled the food, music, and uninteresting conversation as she waited.

The conversation in Petillia's ear grew increasingly awkward, and it felt like the both of them were explicitly talking about nothing. At some point, Trinity slipped into the onboard restroom to change into a dress. Otherwise, it was mostly her talking about how different the University had been from Dera. It seemed to Petillia that they were both avoiding talking about something, though she couldn't make any conclusions yet.

When Trinity and Sid arrived, their shuttle landed in the front yard, and they jogged to the front doors with their breath held against the outside air. They entered to a cheer, the other guests eager to greet the guest of honor.

Trinity apparently had an unending amount of patience, greeting and conversing with guests with the same energy and attention. She even greeted the staff with the same excitement, likely members that had been on staff long before she'd left for school.

However, Petillia kept her eyes on the Human trailing the little Chiropteran. Trinity was even shorter than her father, and her ears barely reached the Human's chin. He was Trinity's shadow from the moment they stepped out of the shuttle. She tried to see if she could tell that the Human was a Wyrder, but other than the fact he was Human, he seemed to be nothing more than an attentive bodyguard.

The party dragged on dully as Trinity mingled. Still, Petillia could begin to see Trinity's energy fade as the night went on. Even when she made her way to the dining hall, where a buffet had been set out across the long table, she ate very little – even finding the red wine pizza didn't whet her appetite.

However, Trinity was delighted when her father finally pulled her away from the party to show her her gift. Only Darbai remained next to the Thunderbird, but Trinity was entranced regardless.

“What a radical design, don't you think?" Trinity asked, strangely turning to Sid with the question. “Trapezoidal wings – and look at how extreme the angle of incidence is. I've never seen anything like it."

“Yep, they only made one," Lar said as he wandered back into the greenhouse, glass in hand. “Then they decided it was too dangerous. No pilot could fly it."

“We found it covered in dust in warehouse," Darbai agreed.

“I can see why," Trinity said, the energy from the beginning of the party returned. “With the wings angled like that, I'm really surprised you can get it off the ground."

“Takeoffs and landings can be a little bit tricky, but get her up to speed, and she handles like a dream," Lar said proudly.

Their conversation quickly became a minefield of jargon that Petillia had little chance of following. She was surprised at Lar's eloquence, but the ship was one of the few things the old Dalmation took real pride in. Surprisingly, Sid seemed just as enthralled by the conversation as Trinity. His attentive scanning and posture reduced as he paid rapt attention to Lar and Darbai describe the abilities of the Thunderbird.

By the time their conversation finally ended, the sun had set, and hidden strings of lights kept the greenhouse only dimly lit. Trinity parted with the Thunderbird reluctantly but vowed to return tomorrow to discuss more business-related matters. Petillia kept a distant eye on the pair as they moved back into the Manor.

Petillia lost sight of them as they made their way through the crowded Manor. She thought she heard them get drinks but didn't find them at the bar. Still, she carefully listened to their conversation as she searched for them.

Petillia heard Trinity let out an explosive sigh and a confusing rustle of clothing. “Finally, alone," Trinity groaned.

“I was wondering when you'd get fed up," Sid replied. “You never could stand socializing."

“I still can't. Give me my drink," Trinity sighed, all pretense of politeness apparently worn away. “I missed this," she said after a pause.

“The garden or using me as a chair?" Sid deadpanned.

“Both, I guess," Trinity chuckled. “I missed you a lot, though," she sighed.

“I missed you, too," Sid said. “I missed listening to you go on and on about radiators and Basileum-Fullerene mixtures." He stumbled over the piece of jargon that had come up during Trinity's long conversation with the Horse mechanic. Still, he'd apparently remembered correctly enough because Trinity chuckled again.

“Yeah, but I already talked your ear off tonight. Tell me about you," Trinity said. “It's been three years. What has Daddy had you doing? I think you kept growing while I was gone," she stuttered, bashful for some reason.

“For some reason, your father asked me what I wanted to do. I was afraid to ask for anything at first. I thought he was testing me. I think he knew, but he put me with his cleaners until I finally told him. That was rough," Sid explained.

“Is that where these came from? You didn't have scars on your knuckled before," Trinity asked, real concern lacing her voice.

“It was a little rough," Sid said again instead of answering. “I converted to the Wyrding Way during that, which is when I finally got the courage to tell Sir Willian what I wanted," he continued. “Told him I wanted to fly, and for some reason, Sir Willian made it happen. Before I knew it, he'd shipped me off to some camp on the other side of Dera. By the end of the year, I was flying – shuttling supplies around, dodging radar. It was great."

“That sounds so exciting," Trinity said, her mood rising again.

“Yeah," Sid admitted. “I guess all those late nights listening to you mumble over your aerospace homework stuck somewhere in my head," he said, but he didn't sound as excited as she was.

“But didn't you want it?" Trinity asked, her voice low.

When Petillia finally spotted them again, it was in a secluded alcove of the second greenhouse – a part of the Manor without any guests. The entire second garden was a maze of intimate nooks and sitting spaces. With the party dying down and guests beginning to trickle away from the Manor, it was empty save for the pair of them.

Petillia stifled a scandalized gasp as she caught sight of the pair through the branches of a hedge. Trinity was curled up in Sid's lap, the Human leaning against the woody stems of a carefully pleached giant dandelion tree. But it was the intense way the pair had locked eyes – drinks forgotten as they held each other – that made Petillia realize what she'd stumbled into.

“I think I want to kiss you," Sid said after a steadying breath, a slight tremor in his voice.

Trinity closed the gap between them without hesitation, some unspoken tension between them broken as she eagerly pressed her muzzle against his lips. The thinner lips and wider maw of Trinity's muzzle didn't lend themselves well to kissing, she simply couldn't purse her lips like he could, but that didn't stop them.

She seemed barely able to contain herself as she turned so he could plant kisses along her maw. Her tongue darted out to show her own affection across his cheeks and forced between his lips at every opportunity. There was desperate energy to their movement as Sid lifted Trinity up so that she was straddling his hips. Kneeling, her head was finally level with his, and one of his hands stroked her muzzle to press her harder against his lips.

Petillia felt her head flush hot as she watched one of Sid's hands move down to Trinity's modest chest, drawing a muffled moan from the Chiropteran.

But Trinity apparently wasn't satisfied and used one of her own hands to push his down farther. Then, together, they pulled her dress up far enough for his hand to slip underneath, and Petillia watched in scandalized horror as Trinity shivered at the Human's touch.

With the microphone in Sid's cufflinks, Petillia was fully aware as he caressed Trinity's vulva. Petillia dreaded when she would hear Trinity's panties pull to the side. But when Trinity clamped a hand over her own mouth and stifled a moan, Petillia realized that the Chiropteran likely wasn't wearing any.

Sid continued to kiss Trinity, practically holding her up as she shivered on top of him. And Petillia was very aware every time Sid found a spot that made Trinity squeal into her hand and clench around his fingers.

Trinity's legs clamped down around his hand, and she gasped in surprise and pleasure as a sudden orgasm overwhelmed her. She shivered and bucked against his hand, clamping her own hands over her mouth to stifle an uncontrollable moan.

Trinity panted between her fingers as she came down, her legs shaking for long moments – supported by the hand still clamped between them.

“I forgot how good you are at that," Trinity finally panted as she regained her faculties. As her breathing steadied and her legs stopped shaking, she pressed her nose to Sid's ear and hissed, “Take me to my room."

*---o0o---*

As she followed Sid, Trinity could barely contain herself. Thankfully, Waring Manor was a maze of hallways that made it easy to avoid the curious noses of others if you knew where you were going. She didn't want to think about what might happen if someone smelled her on Sid's hand. Though the threat of discovery did send a nervous thrill through her – nostalgic.

When they'd both been sixteen, she could remember hiding from her tutor in the laundry room, hands over their mouths to avoid being heard as they explored each other. And then rubbing themselves with detergent to hide the smell. Or after they'd turned seventeen, and she'd finally worked up the courage to go all the way.

It was an exciting but brief part of their lives, followed by three years without each other.

Some of the frantic energy from the garden faded as they climbed the stairs. But as they climbed, the danger of discovery lessened, and Trinity pawed at Sid's crotch while they walked. The hot, hard lump in his pants pressed against her palm, and she felt her ears grow warm.

Sid pushed Trinity further down the hall, a hand on her ass that squeezed hard – but only enough for the pain to remain pleasant. He seemed more forward than she remembered, still letting her set the pace but eager instead of hesitant to reciprocate.

They didn't make it two steps through her bedroom door, only long enough to lock it, before she was on him again. She buried her nose in his chest as she eagerly unbuttoned his shirt, the smell of him washing over her – the soap he used, his sweat, the starch from brand new clothes.

Sid pulled the jacket off, and Trinity could see muscle stretch and flex as she opened his shirt – far more than he'd had when she'd left. She pulled at the buckle on his belt as he kicked off his shoes, his hands occupied by the buttons at his wrists. His abs twitched as she finally pulled his pants down, underwear and all so that his erection was free.

“Finally," she panted as she dropped to her knees and buried her nose at the base of his cock. He gasped as her tongue skimmed his balls on the way to his erection. Trinity's hands pressed his erection harder against her tongue, rubbing wherever her tongue wasn't. Sid's satisfied sigh urged her on.

Sid's shirt joined his jacket on the floor, and his hands found the back of Trinity's head as she closed her lips around the tip. He groaned happily as she pushed her head forward, but only until she felt him twitching at the back of her throat. His fingers dug into her mane, squeezing her neck and rubbing her scalp as she reveled in the taste of him.

But another part of her ached for attention, so she pulled away – but only far enough that she could rest the tip on her tongue and pant around it. When she looked up, Trinity felt immensely satisfied at the flushed skin across his face and chest. She smiled up at him, open-mouthed, as he twitched against her tongue.

“Do you want me to fuck you in the dress?" Sid asked. His hand massaged the back of Trinity's neck, and she could almost feel how much he wanted to shove her back down until she choked again.

Trinity hesitated. The idea of soiling her new dress was tantalizing – almost especially because it was such a lovely dress. But practicality won out, and she pulled away from him.

“Help me with the back," she panted as she tugged at the tight cuffs around her own wrists. Sid stepped out of his pants, erection waving as he moved behind her, and began to pull at the lace that held her dress tight around her midsection. She pulled her arms out of the sleeves, shucking her bra straps off her shoulders in the same motion. Another tug at her back freed her bra, and the dress fell around her ankles as she stood.

Trinity shivered as Sid's hands slid over her hips, one pulling her back towards him while the other cupped one of her breasts. She hummed her approval as his erection pressed into the small of her back. Her nipples were already stiff, and his palm pressed and rolled pleasantly.

Sid's hands moved away from their rubbing, but before Trinity could express her displeasure, his arms wrapped around her middle. She choked a shout of surprise as he threw her onto the bed.

Sid was behind her only a moment later, flipping her onto her knees as his hands pulled her shoes off. She almost groaned in relief as the uncomfortable things sailed across the room. His hands slid up her legs, fingertips tantalizingly close to the taught line of skin where the Chiropteran vestigial wing ran down her sides. A shiver went up her spine as his thumbs gripped under her asscheeks and spread them.

She arched her back, watching him out of the corner of her eye as he looked at her. A brief flash of nostalgia crossed her mind as his eyes passed over the subtly scar of her docked tail. She'd once been nervous he would think it was ugly, but he barely acknowledged it as he admired her. Trinity flexed, and she shivered at the sensation of his thumbs stretching her, and her swollen spade rubbed against her own legs.

“You're still dripping," he marveled as he moved his hand to slip a finger into her. The digit slid into her easily, practically invited with how wet she was.

Trinity shivered despite her desire for him to hurry up and get to the good part, involuntarily squeezing down on the intruding digit. Thankfully, he quickly replaced the finger with the tip of his erection as he climbed onto the bed with her and took hold of her hips.

Trinity suppressed a groan as she leaned back into him, piercing herself on him. He spread her, only slowed as she clamped down involuntarily. At first, he moved slow, working himself deeper into her with every gentle thrust. When Sid's hips finally met hers, Trinity gasped as she let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

He was bigger than she remembered, or maybe three years of just her hand had made her forget. It hurt, but the pain was nothing compared to how good it felt to be spread open again. So full, the pleasant friction only enhanced by how snugly she squeezed around him. Even the feeling of his hands on her hips sent a warm thrill through her.

Trinity stifled her moans again as he pulled out. Her disappointment was diminished by the delightful stretch of her vulva as she involuntarily gripped him. His cock twitched in time with his heartbeat.

“Fuck," Sid stuttered as he pushed himself back into her in one stroke. She felt him shudder against her, his hips grinding against her as he bucked suddenly. He twitched inside her hard.

“Already?" she panted as she realized how close he was to finishing.

“Just a second," he stuttered as his breathing changed subtly.

Trinity pushed against the sheets impatiently, grinding her ass against his hips. But she didn't have long to wait as he started to move. Hesitant at first, Sid's thrusts quickly fell into a steady pace.

Trinity huffed out a moan between her fingers with every thrust. She could more than hear his hips meeting hers, though. Trinity felt its impact in the arch of her back and as her nipples rubbed against the comforter. And every time he pulled out, she could feel herself clench around him. Occasionally he bucked just right and rubbed against a spot that sent spasms through her legs.

She tried to push back into him, one hand clutching at the comforter so she could push against it. But the reality was that she could barely keep herself from screaming, and her legs felt weak as she climbed toward orgasm.

“Where?" Sid grunted as his thrusts grew less steady, more desperate. He was close, and suddenly the thought of him filling her with cum invaded her mind.

“Inside," Trinity panted around her hand, not daring to shout but desperate for him to keep going. Just the anticipation of the sensation of hot cum squirting into her almost sent her over the edge. Instead, the hand that reached down and took hold of the scruff of her neck sent her over.

Trinity's hand, and her whole body, clenched as she came, strangling the scream that erupted out of her. Sid grunted and pushed her down into the comforter as her spasms finally overwhelmed him, and he came with her. Trinity's moan stuttered as she rode the aftershock of the orgasm, pleasant warmth spreading through her core.

Trinity finally dropped her hand away from her face as she panted, both to catch her breath and start to cool off. Sid shivered behind her as he pulsed inside her, the sensation bordering on overstimulation. When he finally stopped twitching inside her, his hand released the back of her neck, and he rubbed her back as they both caught their breath.

When he finally pulled out of her, she yelped at the sudden overstimulation as his half-hard member rubbed inside her. She felt something hot squirt out of her and onto her leg as she clenched, which only made the blush in her ears spread across her face and back.

“I'll get a towel," Sid grunted as she felt him slide off the bed.

She felt more of his cum leaking out of her. She rolled onto her side and cupped her hand to catch the dribble as it rolled down her leg – afraid of staining the comforter only now that the excitement was over. She didn't even have to touch her pussy to feel how hot she was.

As she panted to slowly cool off and waited for Sid to get something to clean her with, she realized she'd worried over nothing. All that nervous dancing around the subject during the party had been pointless.

At first, part of what had pushed them together was the taboo nature of what they were doing. The Empire had strict laws about sex – or at least, breeding. So courting outside her class, or worse, her pedigree could become social and career suicide. Of course, pedigrees weren't something that was so strictly defined for Chiropterans as they were Canines, but the Empire still had them. And, worse, Sid could face capital punishment – mainly because he was a Human.

Part of that risk, at least, at the time, had been exciting. And it still was, if how her heart had thudded in her chest on the way to her room was any indication. But with three years of separation to reflect on things, she'd started to realize how one-sided their relationship had been.

It wasn't just that the risks were so much higher for him. It was that Trinity had been the instigator. She'd approached him, the first time and every time after. She could explain it away as him being less able to break the conventions of their stations as she was. Still, she could also see it as her taking advantage of her station.

It was so easy, alone and stressed and overworked and far from home, to imagine that he secretly resented her.

But Trinity felt she could safely dismiss that dark thought. Especially as she watched Sid walk back into her bedroom with a damp towel in hand. There wasn't anything sexual about his touch as he cleaned her, though her overly sensitive skin did send a tremor through her legs. And his caring touch sent warm flutters through her chest.

Sid climbed back onto the bed with her once she was clean again, the towel discarded. He pulled the comforter down, and Trinity reluctantly rolled over to help toss the decorative cover off the bed. It was worth it, though, as she climbed into the soft sheets, and he settled in behind her with an arm under her head.

Falling asleep next to him was something she'd missed, too.