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Hearth Star: Forward Expansion

By Psion

All Rights Reserved

Commander Bael Longfoot groaned as she slept fitfully in her quarters aboard the Space Fleet supply ship Silver Pantry. Finally the blond-haired rabbit anthro awoke with a cold sweat, the plump, pear-shaped engineering officer looking at the computerized alarm clock on the wall of her room. It was just barely the morning after she had arrived at Lighthouse Station, the memories of the previous day still fresh in her mind. The meeting with Governor Blackman, the human colony aboard the station, the celebratory cookout where she ate almost her whole body weight in cooked Wuff warbeasts… and was given a strong hint as to why the humans were so happy to see them cooked up. Unpleasant information and an overworked digestive system, a perfect recipe for a restless night…

Sitting up in bed, her engorged belly pushing her legs apart, Bael exhaled and gently rubbed her nude torso, letting delicate fingers run through her soft brown fur as she caressed her softening fat folds and love handles before turning her attention back to her swollen stomach. There was a meditative exercise that helped with unsettling meals like this, preached by a mystical order of bountiful warrior monks known as the Order of the Gorge, and while Bael normally considered their mysticism to be a bunch of nonsense, she found some aspects of their philosophy helped in working through tough bellyfuls like this one. She just needed to take a deep breath and relax… Relax and let her mind take her away to a place she associated with warmth…

The cove in her mind’s eye was serene, a secluded bay tucked away on an obscure equatorial part of her home planet. Always summer, rarely a cloud in the sky, and the forest just beyond the beach positively exploding with vibrantly colorful flowers. Beautiful in every sense of the word, Longfoot had yet to find another place in the entire known galaxy that managed to take her breath away like this little slice of paradise…

Opening her eyes, Longfoot groaned and slowly lumbered to her feet before heading into the adjoining bathroom. That was always the problem with that technique; time tended to pass strangely in the dream world. No matter, she was still rested enough to handle whatever today dealt her.

As she waddled towards the fresher, the Fleet engineer turned to look at her widening pear-shaped figure in the bathroom mirror. Her sagging stomach groaned as it continued to work through last night’s dinner. Perhaps a light breakfast would be in order once she got cleaned up and dressed, she contemplated as she put a hand on her grumbling belly and rubbed it ever so gently. Dinner had settled finally, leaving her with a full but contented feeling as she went through her morning routine. Now that she was washed and dressed, time to see about getting something quick to eat before she needed to be present before Admiral Bargebottom. Even if lead to something bad, at least she’d be facing it alongside Cryptal Bargebottom. The underworld had no fury quite like a mother disappointed with her daughter…

“I DON’T CARE, YOU ARE ACCEPTING THIS ASSIGNMENT AND THAT’S FINAL!” Admiral Bargebottom boomed as Longfoot waited outside of her office aboard the Stout Defiance, Bael could only imagine the volume level inside the room if she could hear Cryptal’s chewing out clear as crystal out in the polished corridors of the Defiance. Two ship’s officers started to walk down the hallway just in time to hear that outburst and promptly turned around.

A few minutes later, Cryptal was dismissed and came out of her mother’s office as pale as the enamel coating of a Stasis Pantry. Longfoot kept quiet as her rival waddled by like the lapine being wasn’t there at all, then steeled herself and rang the door chime to Admiral Bargebottom’s office.

“Enter.” The massive feline Space Fleet admiral replied frostily.

Longfoot stepped in carefully. “Commander Longfoot ma’am, you asked to speak with me?”

“Yes.” The elder Bargebottom began with her back to Bael as she stared at the view screen in silent contemplation. On the display was a crisp camera image of Lighthouse Station, a steel-gray cylinder twinkling brightly in the endless dark. Occasionally the far side of the station flickered with the reflective pinprick of a human doing some EVA maintenance on the gray metal hull.

“Impressive how they managed to do so much with so little isn’t it ma’am?” The commander dared carefully.

“Indeed, as do you as I think about it. Perhaps we should add ‘icebreaking tense conversations’ to your list of talents Commander.” Admiral Bargebottom began with a heavy sigh. “I have to say that this… episode with my daughter has been one of the few times I’ve been at a loss for words. Sniggles was my favorite little pet, the way he’d always sleep happily on my belly… Well there’s nothing else to do about it except clean up the mess that remains.” The immobile gray-furred feline turned her hover sofa around to face Longfoot.

“You’ve performed incredibly well over the past few days, between stopping a fleeing smuggler dead in his tracks and keeping his cargo of frozen humans out of the hands of Pirate Captain Alyssa, which is why I’m putting you in for a commendation. Hopefully that will start to clean up your record. As for your next assignment, I unfortunately need you exactly where you are right now. Before yesterday’s dinner with the Star Corps, General Carbloat and I managed to get Governor Blackman to accept our proposal to establish a forward base and research outpost aboard Lighthouse Station. While GAS is sending its own materials and staff for the research laboratory, I need you to transport the materials and personnel to establish the military station. GalRep rations, spare parts, ammunition for both Star Corps and Space Fleet weaponry, prefabricated barracks and support buildings, and so on. Boring I’ll admit but extremely important for reinforcing this sector and demonstrating GalRep military might to a prospective member species. And with the only fortifiable position in the entire sector a civilian space station with half of its defensive batteries broken even before the humans found it, I need this assignment handled by a crew that has proven to be ‘creative’ when it comes to overcoming unexpected difficulties.”

“I understand ma’am.” Longfoot replied dutifully. The crew might be entirely happy about that, both they and Bael were looking forward to some light duty assignments. Well at least they would be returning to Lighthouse Station to resolve the bet sometime soon and who knew what the future held.

“There are a few other matters to resolve Commander. First is the matter of the Resolute Forager’s crew. With their ship essentially destroyed and my daughter ‘volunteering’ for a special deep space exploration assignment aboard a Trailblazer scout vessel, the rest of her crew need to be transferred to other ships. Most of them have already been billeted to other postings or will be once we return to the core worlds; the only two that haven’t been transferred yet are Ensign Cheddah and Petty Officer Suker. I believe you already met them.”

“Briefly, we were admittedly a bit preoccupied at the time with Captain Alyssa.” Bael admitted, fighting to keep from feeling the chill that ran down her spine at the mention of what happened to Cryptal. The Trailblazer class was an older model of Republic scout ship, designed to be operated by a crew of one and to be sent out on missions that could last years. A harsh punishment to be assigned to one but Cryptal had certainly earned it.

“Good, I’ll make their transfer to the Silver Pantry official then. You can get properly acquainted later. Security Officer Suker’s presence will be necessary if you run into trouble in this sector and as for Ensign Cheddah… his temperament will be useful if you have to transport liberated slaves back to Lighthouse Station and frankly I think the Silver Pantry has earned a proper cook instead of what you hash out of the Provision Generator, to say nothing of him earning a proper assignment after several months under my daughter. Four… four Galley Service specialists before him in two years, and Master Chief Cottontail has been by my side for years. Regardless, I’d say that covers everything I needed to speak to you about. Pick up Cheddah and Suker then set a course for the Fleet supply base at Rigel IV, I’ve seen to it that all the needed materials for our new base at Lighthouse Station were already transferred there. Actually… I believe the main Star Corps Mess Chef training camp isn’t too far from there isn’t it?” The admiral mused as she got an idea.

“Baconfat Base? It’s not even a full light year away from Rigel IV.”

“Good, I need you to stop by there while you’re in the area. The base commander and I go back a ways. He can be a bit taciturn like most Star Corps but if you tell him I sent you he should open up.”

“What do you need me to get from Baconfat Base ma’am?”

“Why the provisions for my daughter’s Trailblazer of course! Five Space Fleet chefs in two years? There’s only one proper punishment for that, to be fed the foulest cooking in both services, cooking that has been set aside and preserved for me to feed to those that have truly fouled things up. Let’s see how my spoiled daughter treats a proper cook after she’s only had the most wretched food I can find.”

Now Longfoot really did shiver. Her punishment assignment had been tame by comparison. “Understood ma’am.” Bael nodded and saluted.

“That is all commander, dismissed.” Bargebottom replied with a smile.

With nothing else to discuss, Longfoot nodded and left the admiral’s office. For perhaps the first time since they met at the Academy, Bael almost felt sorry for Cryptal… almost. After all, not only did her rival cook up her own mother’s cherished pet herself in an attempt to bury Longfoot, but she didn’t even bother taking the time to give the poor creature the proper burial of being a good meal…

Meanwhile, Carbloat…

Carbloat leaned into his hover sofa as the Liberty’s Bastion prepared to make the journey home to the core. Last night’s festivities had settled into a warm, solid lump in his expansive gut, the general hadn’t felt this stuffed since he ate the Terrosaur that still made him a legend among the Corps. Mess Sergeant Crem’s reputation was certainly well deserved and those two Space Fleet chefs didn’t do too badly either… the ensign at least. Dinner was excellent, not even the unspoken comment about how the Wuff warbeasts were likely fed could ruin it. If anything… well, revenge was a dish best consumed gluttonously.

The initial garrison had been assembled; the first Star Corps barracks on Lighthouse Station would be fully operational by the end of the day. Troopers for the outpost had been selected, there were even a few volunteers offering to stay with the humans. Most of the choices the general saw no problem with… except for the one he had summoned to his office, Corporal Donka.

The Vul combat mechanic looked clearly surprised to be called by the general himself, the vixen trembling slightly as she waddled in and gave the immense rhino-morph a crisp salute. “Sir?”

“Corporal. I see you volunteered to be assigned to the Lighthouse Station garrison.” The general began, lounging in his sofa and bringing up her file as his stomach formed a voluminous olive green mountain of lard in front of him.

“Yes sir.” The thick-hipped combat mechanic answered dutifully.

“You are aware that the gladiator that saved your husband, the first GalRep citizen to have ever escaped the Hearth Star, is living on the station?” Carbloat continued, watching the other trooper’s expression closely.

“Sir, how do you-?” Donka began to ask, clearly surprised to find that the general knew about her husband.

“Considering the threat the Hearth Star poses, I make it my business to know when someone does the seemingly impossible and manages to escape from it. My ex-wife and I may be not on particularly good terms but I still have a few contacts in the IPA. Very interesting how your husband started having trouble shortly after giving his report to the IPA, as if someone else is as interested in his story as the GalRep police and military. But that is Bertha’s problem, not mine. Mine concerns what happens if I leave you alone with Gina Stewart. So I’m going to ask this outright. With you on the station and your husband apparently volunteering to be part of the GAS research team sent here as well, am I creating a potential incident?”

“No sir.” Donka denied as definitively as if the general was asking if the inside of a star was frozen.

“You don’t harbor any ill-feelings towards Gina Stewart?” He asked, instinctively disbelieving.

“No sir.” The vixen replied again, the general couldn’t help but notice that her bearing became much more controlled as if she was quickly calculating the associated risks of different choices before settling on her decision. “No sir, exactly the opposite. My husband and I have already talked about what went on aboard the Hearth Star. We do not want to cause trouble with Ms. Stewart; we want to… hope to marry her into our family. How should we go about it?”

“Well corporal, I can safely say that was not an answer I expected. Closed up one can of irradiated annelids and opened three more. I suppose my next question is does Stewart know?” Carbloat continued, caught off-guard by the Vul vixen’s honestly and intent.

“No sir, I haven’t told her though she knows I am grateful she looked after Donge. I understand we only just met the humans in a formal capacity and this can either go very well or very badly.” Donke replied diplomatically.

“Well then, I guess your first order of business when you’re off duty is to fix that. At least this solves my original concern… that is all for now Corporal, you are dismissed but expect us to be discussing this again.” The general dismissed with a shake of his head.

“Thank you sir.” Donka saluted and left the room.

Carbloat was silent as he watched the retreating figure of Corporal Donka leave his office. That was definitely a bigger potential landmine then he expected but as he watched the bottom-heavy combat mechanic leave, seeing her exaggerated rump bounce in her fatigues, he decided that Gina was an exceptionally lucky human if she did decide to take the Vul couple’s offer….

Longfoot…

Back on her own ship after having received her orders, Longfoot had overseen the unloading of the first shipment of supplies for the new garrison at Lighthouse Station and the arrival of the new additions to her crew. Now, with the Sliver Pantry underway and her crew briefed on their next assignment, Longfoot sat in the ship’s mess with Ensign Cheddah and Petty Officer Suker. Talking with them and trying to get a better feel for the people who had been placed under her command.

Ensign Cheddah was relatively familiar, or at least he was more familiar to the engineering officer then Suker was. Rubent male, blond hair tied in a ponytail, expressive eyes, brown fur, and an effeminate bottom heavy figure. His personality made his motivations for joining Space Fleet easy to figure out; a gentle, playful sapient that wanted to see the galaxy. His encounter with the humans demonstrated a caring side to him, something that might be helpful later. His personality was easy to figure out, unlike Petty Officer Suker.

Longfoot had to admit she never expected to see a Vul in a direct combat role. The vulpine species generally preferred more cerebral or sensual pursuits. Yet apparently the rise in their people being taken as slaves has caused them to take a more proactive approach to their defense like Suker. A midnight black pelt and a long mane of dark purple hair contrasted the red highlights of the Security specialty as Suker sat his broad hips between two mess hall chairs, hazel eyes regarding his new CO with a typical Vul mix of intellectual curiosity and a coy expression that looked suspiciously like he was mentally undressing her for less academic reasons. Armor plating reinforced his Fleet uniform at various points on his wide body, including a suggestively large codpiece that Longfoot didn’t doubt was to scale.

At first conversation went about as well as she should have expected given that the two of them had previously served under Cryptal, neither was particularly willing to go into too much conversation with her. The process was more like pulling teeth then making regular talk. Perhaps she shouldn’t try to force it and just wrap up the initial tour of the ship by answering any final questions.

“Well, do either of you have any questions about your duties aboard the ship?” She asked finally.

“I have none at this time. As long as there’s space for me to tinker with my weapon designs, I should be ready.” Suker replied with a surprising amount of emotional control for a Vul.

“Just one, where’s the galley kitchen?” Cheddah asked with a polite smile.

Longfoot blinked and gestured to the prep area behind her, a small space adjourning the main eating area stocked with a basic Provision Generator and a few worn but well-maintained appliances. It wasn’t until she pointed out where Cheddah would be working that she realized how simplistic the ship’s kitchen really was. No one else on the crew cooked, at least not particularly well, so all of them just used the Provision Generator to produce something simple but edible out of nutrient paste. Bael didn’t even want to think about what sort of lavish cooking arrangements the ensign may have worked in before under Captain Bargebottom.

“Oh, well it’s a good kitchen.” The Rubent male replied with the hasty sincerity of someone painfully aware that they had just put their foot in their mouth.

“I may put in a request for an upgrade since we now have a proper Galley Services chef and a secondary assignment that would benefit from improved facilities.” Longfoot replied with a slight smile. Maybe the two of them will finally relax once they arrive at Rigel IV…

Rigel IV was an urbanized planet connecting the Republic frontier with the more developed core worlds, a towering, glistening metropolis covering up the entirety of one of the smaller continents with the rest of the planet given over to agriculture or left wild. Upon arriving in the system, Longfoot hailed and was received by the local Space Fleet base in orbit around the planet. The supplies the admiral had requested were in storage and her clearances were in order. The stopover at Rigel IV was relatively quick, taking only a few days to get everything counted, logged, and loaded aboard the Silver Pantry. Bael contemplated the idea of giving everyone some shore leave and spending a few days in the main city of Rigel IV but ultimately decided against it. They had certainly earned a break, especially after the last few weeks, but at the same time she knew it wouldn’t be good to hold up Cryptal’s punishment. Not just because part of her still enjoyed the idea of seeing her rival squirm but also because she wasn’t willing to anger the admiral after finally getting back in her good graces…

Baconfat Base was a Star Corps training camp established on a verdant world removed from the main hyperspace routes. Here the Star Corps trained their Mess Chefs in foraging and the Corps’ particular style of cooking after trainees had studied at the joint military culinary school on Beetleguist. Remote and populated by unusually hostile wildlife, it was declared unsuitable for large-scale agriculture. Never ones to pass on an opportunity, the Star Corps built Baconfat Base and the supporting farmland on a relatively hospitable island chain off of the coast of the main continent, training recruits in the particular cooking style of the Corps on this world.

Arriving in orbit around the planet, Commander Longfoot hailed the Star Corps base and after several minutes arguing with its comm. officer was sharing a video feed with Baconfat’s Lapeen commander, a big-bellied green-furred being dressed in Corps fatigues and an olive green chef’s hat. “You lost Fleet?” He greeted gruffly.

“Greetings Major Hopper, I am Commander Longfoot of the Silver Pantry. I was sent here by Admiral Bargebottom to-” Bael began, skipping the pleasantries for her purpose for coming to this backwater planet.

“And you can tell that bloated Fleet cargo barge I haven’t changed my mind, she isn’t getting my chili recipe.” The base commander interrupted abruptly, his scowl flickering ever so slightly at the mention of the admiral.

“To provision a Trailblazer.” Longfoot continued as if she hadn’t been interrupted.

“Oh? What happened to make her put one of those old relics back into service? I thought she assigned troublesome sailors to supply vessels now.” Hopper replied with a smug grin, the service rivalry was definitely strong with this one.

She still does you twat. She thought but didn’t say. “The admiral has found herself in a situation where she desperately needs long-range scouts and one has ‘volunteered’ herself for the position. I was told you and her went back a ways.” Longfoot explained, unsure of how heavily classified knowledge of the humans was in the Star Corps.

“Oh we do, she’s the only one of you Fleet snobs that likes my chili. Would have won the inter-service cook off one year if she hadn’t been called out of judging it. But she didn’t send you all the way out here to stock up some unlucky snot with my chili. No, I know what sort of provisions she requires so come down already. The sooner you get what you need, the sooner you can leave.” Major Hopper signed off with a snort.

“Well I hope no one was expecting a warm welcome or some inter-service comradery.” Longfoot shook her head as Zedd brought the ship in for a landing on the planet below.

Baconfat Base loomed below on the largest island on the archipelago, a heavily built-up military city of bunkers and prefabricated buildings surrounded by seemingly endless acres of farmland cultivated by civilian contractors. The massive bulbous Traktors of the Kultivars lumbered laboriously through fields of vegetables and grains as the Silver Pantry landed at Baconfat’s spaceport. As the ship set down, Bael noticed a large mass of black clouds coming in from the ocean. Hopefully Major Hopper would have them ready to go before that storm hit otherwise they’d be looking at an extended stay at a Star Corps base… and an extended likelihood of someone getting into a fight.

Major Hopper was waiting for them as the ship landed, the well-rounded being resembling a giant citrus fruit thanks to his uniform and exceptionally wide waistline, clearly being the base commander of the main Mess Chef training camp came with a few decadent perks. Waddling up to Commander Longfoot as the crew departed, he shook the female’s hand briefly. “Welcome to Baconfat Commander. Unfortunately we have a problem, I checked for the rations the admiral requested and we do not have enough to provision a Trailblazer. I have the boys making some more but it will be two to three local days before we have enough.”

“And how long before the storm hits the island?” Longfoot asked, feeling like the bottom was about to drop out of her stomach.

“Oh about two to three local days.” He replied with a smirk, immediately realizing Longfoot’s problem. “Looks like your crew will get to eat some proper cooking for a change.” He added, giving Ensign Cheddah a condescending look that Bael would have slapped him for if the situation were different.

Longfoot did her best to avoid grimacing. There was only one way this could possibly be any worse…

“Hey cheese-breath, reporting in for training?” A Mess Chef trainee catcalled to Ensign Cheddah from somewhere just out of their sight.

“No one respond, no one even so much as look to see who’s talking.” Bael ordered curtly, getting a snicker from Major Hopper.

“Afraid of a little friendly competition?” He asked, proudly patting his huge gut. The enormous protrusion wobbling slightly as his hand sank deep into his doughy flesh, clearly the major ate incredibly well even by GalRep standards judging by the apparent amount of flab covering his STOUT-enhanced muscles.

“Afraid of getting atomized like you did at the last inter-service cook-off?” Longfoot replied automatically and immediately wished she hadn’t. Almost right away her host’s mood had darkened considerably.

“Well I guess there’s only one way to settle this; your chef versus one of mine. Are you ready Fleet butt?” Hopper answered with a glare, apparently sore about how the Galley Services won Space Fleet its sixth victory in a row over the Star Corps.

“Depends, do you have an impartial judge handy?” She asked, knowing full well neither of them could judge a cook-off without accusations of bias either real or imagined.

“No… I guess you and I will have to settle this by seeing who has the most stomach for Star Corps cooking then.” He countered abruptly, clearly unwilling to let this go.

“Shouldn’t it be you against Ensign Cheddah then? Chef against chef?” Longfoot continued carefully.

“Hah, he’s a Rubent. No one beats a Rubent at eating except another Rubent.” The major laughed, clearly having heard of the Rubents’ legendary capacity for gluttony and knowing his limits.

Longfoot sighed, why must everything with the Star Corps be this difficult? All she wanted was some deliberately unappetizing rations for Cryptal’s Trailblazer and now here she was about to be seated for an eating contest and see if she could beat a fellow Lapeen with a stomach big enough to house a small herd animal. She should have ordered her crew back onto the ship and told Hopper they’d come back another time. Should have backed away but now there was Fleet pride on the line…

“You told him you wanted to WHAT?” Crem asked incredulously as the mammoth bovine mess sergeant talked with Donka after dinner was finished. She knew Donka had been called in over a possible conflict with a human living on the station but to hear how the Vul wished to handle the potential problem for herself… good thing Bakin passed the matter over to the Bov maiden without giving it much more then a passing glance or this really would become a serious diplomatic incident.

“That Donge and I wish to marry Gina Stewart.” Donka repeated as she helped with leftover disposal duty, speaking between spearing scraps of food with her Omnifork and popping them into her mouth.

“Does Gina know?” The mountainous mess sergeant asked as the auto-washer began to scrub the trays clean, prodigious bovine rump jiggling as she turned to face the other broad-bottomed female.

“No… though she does know I don’t have any negative feelings about what she and Donge had done aboard the Hearth Star.” The vixen replied as she finished off the last of the leftovers, her stomach bulging happily as a part of her mind idly contemplated whether or not one could make a machine that could speed up the disposal process.

“And how does she know that?” Crem asked as she regarded the other female with a raised eyebrow.

“Because I kissed her after I confronted her. She seemed to like it or at least wasn’t revolted by it.” Donka explained sheepishly, well aware that was probably something she should have kept to herself but at the same time Crem would have found out quickly enough.

“Donka…” Crem began, shaking her head. “We just met this species, before us they only really knew the Wuffs. They’re probably still trying to warm up to the notion that the entire galaxy doesn’t want to enslave them. Best-case scenario is that their somewhat paranoid governor thinks you’re trying to steal his currently only scientist. Worst case is that someone gets the idea that the Vul are trying to steal their females.”

“How narrow-minded, we’d be more then happy to take their males too.” Donka replied automatically, immediately realizing that was a mistake.

“Donka…” The Bov replied, her tone dripping with exasperation.

“I know ma’am, I know. Which is why I haven’t said anything to her yet, I wasn’t sure where to begin. I suppose I deserve the pending comment about how only a Vul would lust at the thought of an alien warrior princess of a previously undiscovered species.”

“I didn’t say that corporal.” Crem defended, crossing her arms as she gave the other female a sharp look.

“But if you didn’t then Lt. Bakin most definitely.”

Crem laughed at this. “Don’t let her catch you saying that. As for where to begin; for lack of a clearly defined protocol I suppose there’s only one place we should start, by talking to her.”

“We?” Donka asked incredulously.

“Did you think I was going to let you handle this alone corporal? With her being the acting agronomist in addition to the armful of other scientific disciplines Governor Blackman needs to keep this station running and I being the ranking Mess Chef of the garrison until Carbloat sends someone higher, I need to talk to her to make sure we can eat something other then prepackaged rations all the time.” Crem explained, then smiled. “Besides, I never met an alien warrior princess before, especially one that was apparently very accomplished in the Wuffs’ arena aboard the Star. Which reminds me Donka, do you remember Ms. Stewart talking about her time as a gladiator?”

“No, Athena tried to get her to talk about it when we were on Damage Control duty but Gina shut her down almost immediately. I don’t think she likes thinking about it.”

“I’ve noticed the same thing when the humans show up for chow. Most of what I’ve been told about her time as a gladiator comes from other people. There’s probably more to that story then what Donge told you.”

“There almost certainly is. Though speaking of chow, how are the humans holding up under GalRep cooking? Will we need to start giving them some surplus fatigues soon?” Donka asked with a coy smile, Space Fleet weren’t the only ones interested in seeing how the humans adapted to GalRep living.

Crem laughed. “It’s still too early to tell except for the worst cases rescued from the Crown of Thorns. Those humans are looking much healthier now that they’ve had some regular meals. The rest… it depends on what GAS does once they get here but between the calorie content of our GalRep MREs and the generous helpings of meat the Mess Chefs are serving out, I think some of them might need to start looking into elastic fabrics.” The redheaded female smirked as she stared off into space with a dreamy twinkle in her purple eyes.

“Mmmmm, Gina Stewart in a properly filled-out Vul laboratory tunic… be still my beating heart, I still have to convince her I don’t want to murder her in her sleep.” Donka smiled as she contemplated the imagined sight with a playful flick of her bushy tail. Still so very far away but at least she had a plan for how to move closer.

Ugggh… I feel like a star about to go nova… Commander Longfoot thought to herself as she sat at the end of a mess hall table opposite of Major Hopper, neck deep in a contest of gastronomical fortitude as her crew and a number of Mess Chef trainees watched on or supplied trays of food for the dueling gluttons. Bael’s already considerable paunch had bulged past her knees and bit into the table as she continued to gorge on Star Corps cooking. True to his name and rank, Major Hopper wasn’t giving her any ground, seemingly insatiable as his considerable stomach likewise began to fill up and expand outward.

Simple yet hearty were the tastes that caressed her tongue as she speared food into her open mouth. Beans, tubular vegetables, starches, and grilled hunks of meat washed down with a huge mug of beer brewed in micro-gravity. The only saving grace to this torture test was that Hopper was starting to visibly slow down. Finally, both participants wound down into a draw. Eager for some relief, Longfoot accepted the stalemate with a hearty belch and pushed herself away from the table.

“Well Commander, looks like we will –URP!- have to settle this another time.” The now nearly spherical Hopper conceded reluctantly, wobbling as he belly-bumped Bael challengingly.

The blond Fleet engineer said nothing at first, refusing to return the challenge and trying to think clearly as her blood rushed down to her stomach to deal with the massive bulging lump of food stretching her gut. Finally, she tried to focus back on why she was here in the first place. “Is there anyway we can help your cooks work faster? I have other supplies I need to deliver.”

Hopper snorted and was about to come up with some smug reply when the major’s aide interrupted and handed him a portable reader with a document on display. The other Lapeen stared at the document for a moment then looked back at Longfoot. “Lighthouse Station?” He asked quizzically.

“What about it?” Longfoot asked coolly.

“I just received orders that I will be overseeing a garrison at a place called Lighthouse Station and that I should assemble a unit of Mess Chefs in addition to a standard garrison force. And if I had any more questions I should look for a Space Fleet commander named Bael Longfoot.” Major Hopper replied with a raised eyebrow.

The brown-furred Space Fleet commander groaned and smiled with another belch. “Ah yes. Well if you wanted some impartial judges for an unscheduled inter-service cooking contest then congratulations, you’re being sent to a whole space station full of them. Beyond that, I would recommend picking chefs that are exceptionally good at cooking what we had been just eating for the past local hour.” She answered, gesturing to the mountain of food still on the table. “Speaking of which, if we’re both quite finished them perhaps my crew can be left to the clean-up. After all, they –URP!- haven’t eaten anything yet and you and I should take this conversation to your office.” Bael added with yet another belch, the Lapeen silently grateful that Space Fleet uniforms were so elastic and feeling as agile as a fully loaded cargo freighter….

“T-minus ninety seconds to boarding action. All boarders better get their stomping boots on, t-minus eighty-five seconds until we board the Wuff outpost So-Hung.” Breton Ford ordered over the intercom as Humanity’s Vengeance was a flurry of activity. The converted freighter was currently on an approach vector with the Wuff black market station So-Hung, spoofing the trade station’s Identify Friend or Foe sensors with a counterfeit flag. It was more of a digital sensor ping then an actual cloth flag but regardless it did the job well enough, the Wuffs thought they were receiving a smuggler trying to make a quick buck selling whatever narcotics the wolf-like aliens smoked or snorted.

What they were actually getting however was a human war band raiding the station for supplies and hopefully more humans. Breton Ford, Gabriel Blackman’s field commander, held his breath as his ship tapped into the station’s internal sensor networks and tactical information began to display on the bridge. This would be their first battle against the Wuffs since that defeat at the breaker yards of Iron Pecs… Ford wasn’t sure which hurt more, losing to someone that thought Iron Pecs was a good name for a space station or having to be rescued by someone like GalRep.

The Galactic Republic was something Ford would have once considered the punch line in a bad joke, a multi-species federation with a shared culture revolving around food and overeating. And they wanted to assimilate humanity into their fleshy folds… Ford hoped that Blackman would start putting his foot down on that weight-gaining, fat-loving nonsense. The leader of the Lighthouse militia didn’t how the governor was going to accomplish that but right now that wasn’t his problem either. Right now he had a Wuff trading station that were going to find out his ship was not carrying contraband in less then a minute.

So-Hung looked like it might actually be a quick fight. Most of the life signs appeared to be human and were corralled in a large holding area in the lower levels of the station. The Wuff presence appeared to be relatively low though there was a number of different biological signatures that Ford didn’t recognize shoved in with the humans. Well if they were hostile he was about to find out shortly. The boarding party had assembled down in the Vengeance’s main cargo bay, three squads of humans dressed in patched-together clothes and carrying a variety of pistols and shotguns; some homemade, some scavenged or looted from various places, all highly lethal. With a strong lurch that was felt throughout the ship, the Vengeance docked with So-Hung and the cargo bay doors opened onto the station’s cavernous hanger. The Wuffs on guard duty in the landing bay looked up in surprise before they were cut down, the gray rough-hewed walls of asteroid rock reverberating from the sounds of the short, furious battle. Energy shields flickered in the dimly lit hanger as shield belts briefly blocked laser and pulse pistol fire before their batteries depleted, doing nothing against the ballistic weapons the humans also brought with them.

Initial resistance was crushed in under a minute, the rest of the Wuffs scrambling to grab weapons and put on their shield belts. Meanwhile Ford’s three squads moved into better positions for the inevitable counter-attack, ducking behind crates and bracing their weapons, fingers hovering with anticipation over triggers as the sound of war whoops and battle cries came closer. Sure enough, all Wuff reavers on the station began throwing themselves in a large “human wave” style attack. “God help us if these idiots ever start using guns and actual tactics.” Ford sighed as the battle began to play out towards its only real conclusion.

Gina Stewart exhaled and tightened her grip on her laser derringers as the rest of the Wuffs charged out of seemingly every entrance into the station proper. Screaming and whooping, their energy-wreathed swords casting their surroundings in a bright neon glow as they ran into battle. Stewart drew her pistols as the Wuffs attempted to rush the human firing line, the familiar weight barely perceptible in her hands as she let her mind conjure up the familiar heavy bass soundtrack of the arena aboard the Hearth Star. Yes, this was just like the arena, she tried to reassure herself before throwing herself into an evasive run. The light pistols fired azure beams of light as the dark-haired woman shot indiscriminately at anything that moved and clearly wasn’t human. The instant the batteries went dry on her two pistols, she slapped them in the charge holsters on her vest and drew the other set. Right, left, right, left. A perfectly synchronized one-two punch that would have made her the envy of any gunslinger in a Hollywood Western, Gina Stewart fought with both the Wuffs and the nagging doubts in the back of her mind that threatened to break her disciplined will. One or two recognized her and attempted to challenge her, none of them lasted long enough to get close to her though. Either Gina’s steady aim or that of her comrades’ saw to that. And then like that, the fight for the station was over.

Sweat dripped down Gina’s face as she holstered her pistols and joined the others in stepping over the carpet of corpses. While the Galactic Republic had the firepower to turn these mobs of Wuffs into comical affairs, it was white-knuckle terror from start to finish for the humans. It was always best to not think about what would have happened if she lost one of these fights but invariably she always did. At least with GalRep having a presence back home now she actually stood a chance of having someone that could give her a hug… God, the grief that psychopath Athena would give her if either of them were telepathic.

Wiping the sweat from her face, Stewart joined the others in searching the place for supplies and loot. Just like a successful dungeon crawl in D&D, she tried to reassure herself, they killed the monsters so now they can case the place for treasure. Just that instead of gold and gems, treasure was food, medicine, bits of industrial tech, and other useful things that would make Lighthouse Station less of a rusty hovel and more of a home.

As the boarders slowly combed the station, as much to watch for traps as to make sure they found everything of value that wasn’t nailed down and take a crowbar to everything that was nailed down, their search took them through the hanger, storage area, and main living area. Rough hewed walls of gray space rock gave way to dirty metal corridors painted in a variety of obscene symbols and crude signage, Gina’s mind went to an old video game about gunslinging vault hunters and cannibalistic bandits on an alien planet in the far future but no, not even those bandits were this crude. The ESRB would have never allowed phallic images as… imaginative as what she was seeing as the warband continued on and started to fan out into different parts of the station. The others were making their way down to the slave quarters while she headed to the station’s life support. If the Hearth Star regularly visited the station then there was a possibility that she might find something Blackman had been looking for since they were driven off the Wuff worldship….

In addition to rations and first aid supplies, the humans’ scrounging turned up a curious number of tools and what was eventually identified as agricultural equipment if only because they were placed next to a pair of unmistakable Kultivar Traktors. Omniforks, Industrial Mitts, and more conventional tool kits were stacked up next to all sorts of personal harvesting and tilling devices as well as sealed crates of crop seed. An interesting mystery that puzzled the human raiders until they broke into the brig where the captives were kept until they were to be sold off…

Gina was oblivious to what the others had found in the brig, having split off from the main group to search the life support section of the station. There, she found what she was looking for, the sewage cistern. Forcing the top open and momentarily taken aback by the stench, Stewart carefully peered in and smiled as she spotted them. Blackman had been looking for a cultivatable sample of Hearth Star starch-shrooms ever since they settled Lighthouse Station, the brown mushrooms with blue spots were an important foodstuff to the humans still trapped on the Hearth Star, having the same nutritional value as a potato. The Wuffs positively loathed them because they grew fast and frequently clogged up the sewer cisterns, finding them before the Wuffs flushed fungicide down the drains was always a challenge. Blackman would be pleased to know that Gina had finally found some of the fast-growing edible fungus…

“Ford do you read me? This is Charlie down with the team searching the brig. I think we might have a problem.” Charlie’s voice echoed crisply through the speakers on the Vengeance’s worn and refurbished bridge, making his concern perfectly audible to Ford’s ear.

“I read you Charlie, what did you find?” The militia commander replied, getting a suspicious sinking feeling in his stomach.

“Well we found a bunch of our people down here as we expected. But we also got a bunch of GalRep civvies. The bunny folk, those beaver people, plus a few of those maroon bears the Kultivars or whatever, all farmers and equipment techs from the looks of things. What should we do with them?”

Ford sighed and massaged his temples. There was only one answer to that question, one answer that wasn’t morally repulsive at any rate, and there was no way that answer wasn’t going to come back to give them trouble later. “Wuffs must have raided a nearby settlement or a colony ship… pack it all up. The colonists, their equipment, we’ll figure out what to do with them once we get them back to Lighthouse Station.” He ordered, hoping against hope that he hadn’t just doomed everything the station had accomplished so far…