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Dream was trapped in a fit of giggles, doing her best to suppress the sounds but merely muffling them with both hands. Slick didn't help any as he continued his story.

“… and Buster was furious too. Fuck it," Slick said throwing his hands up in the air, doing his very best 'Buster' impression. “You wanna eat the road kill? Eat the damn roadkill!"

With a shake of his head, Slick picked up the bowl of noodles they'd been sharing and inspected the dregs of soup left in the bottom and offered it to Dream. The girl gracefully shook her head and Slick drained the leftover noodle-water.

“And did he eat it?" Dream asked when her laughter had died down a little.

“Oh, he barely chewed." They both laughed until Slick added, “Pester was sick for a month."

“I can imagine." Dream bit her lip as they were silent for a moment. Then pointing at the empty pot of noodles she said, “Thank you, Slick. This is the most fun I've had in a while."

Slick grinned. “Don't worry about it. We should do this more often."

“I don't think our noodle supplies can handle us doing this too often." Dream chuckled.

As she said she slowly pushed off the flowerbed she'd been leaning against. They were alone on the overgrown carriages on platform B3. All the other Cubz had gone to bed already as the wee hours of the morning approached. Aside from the night guards keeping an eye on the perimeter, Dream and Slick were probably the only ones up.

That suited Dream to the ground, it seemed. Confident they were alone she moved across the carriage to where Slick was propping himself up with a sultry little sway in her step. Her eyes were half lidded and her smile was almost predatory. So much so that an immediately bewildered Slick found himself suddenly very sorry he didn't have his guns on him.

“I have an idea for something else we can do that won't have an effect on supplies though." Dream pressed her body against his as she said it, brushing her lips against his with an almost teasing fashion.

As she did her hands grabbed him with laser guided precision. One cupped the already noticeable bulge forming in his trousers while the other pulled loose the pesky belt, button and zipper that stood in her way. She had him in moments, her small slender hands reaching into the folds of his pants and pulling out the human's smooth cock with one careful tug.

Slick barely had a say in the matter, the grabby girl pressed against his front and the solid carriage wall to his back. She was in charge and obviously loving every moment of it. After all she was obeying the whims of the younglings all day, every day. For her to be in command like this made Dream wet enough to waterboard Slick in her panties.

“I, um… have a fairly solid…" He swallowed, wondering if he was using poor phrasing. “Uh… grasp on what you're suggesting. But the rules say we can't… uh… y'know…"

“We can't have sex," Dream corrected boldly with a wolfish smile. “But there is something else we can do that's a lot of fun."

Her tone alone had the human standing to full attention. Dream smiled with a bit of pride, squeezing the rock hard cock in her hand playfully. Then she lowered herself down, sitting on her haunches and at eye-level with the tastiest treat she'd ever laid eyes on.

Her gaze smouldered Slick's loins. He had no idea that a girl looking at his dick – just looking – in that way could be so erotic. But there you had it. He couldn't have gone soft even if he wanted to. And Dream's attack wouldn't have let him if he could.

The tanuki started with a long slow lick, running her broad tongue from the base of his cock all up along the underside of his shaft before swirling over the head. She gave it a sloppy kiss for good measure.

Slick in the meantime had stiffened and was clutching the counter against which he leaned with a vice grip, as if he might be flung off the face of Terra. He'd never had a girlfriend before, least of all been intimate enough with a girl for her to touch him in this way.

“Are you okay, Slick?" Dream asked him seductively, peering up at him through half lidded eyes.

The boy could only manage a feverish nod as he whimpered. Dream's grip on him tightened as she greedily moved in and took him in one go.

She moaned like he'd penetrated her and the rumble of her voice only served to further tickle Slick's overloaded senses. It didn't take long for Dream's hot, wet mouth to do its damage. Her moist lips were dragging over his shaft now slippery with her saliva. And as she did her tongue caressed the underside up and down, gagging slightly as he poked the back of her throat. He was beginning to swell in just moments, and Dream smiled to herself knowing what was coming next.

She tipped over the on pure anticipations, her narrow teenage hips bucking heavily as she moaned with joy. But she didn't relent for even a second, head still bobbing up and down his cock with ecstatic enthusiasm.

He swelled further. Her tongue felt a rush of something running up his shaft and the girl braced herself. Slick twitched uncontrollably, falling into a murk as he groaned and came. A long burst of salty fluid splashed onto the roof of Dream's mouth and while most girls her age would be instantly disgusted, Dream didn't even flinch.

Welcoming the taste even she took him into her throat, tightening the slippery muscles around his head like a hot wet glove before the second and third shots of ejaculate came. Then as he spent directly into her belly, the last trickles of his delicious cum drooled onto her tongue where she savoured the flavour with a little swirl.

Finally, being the good girl she was, Dream cleaned up after herself. Her eyes locked to his the entire time, she swallowed everything down before the boy's cock sprang from her mouth with a wet pop. Only then did she notice she missed a few bits. A small glob still clung to the base of his shaft; but only until she licked it up, then scooped up a small trickle that escaped the corner of her mouth and suckled on her slender finger like it was a lollipop.

Slick was slack jawed with awe. It was the type of scene reserved for porn really. How'd he gotten so lucky to have a girl so amazing?

When his senses came back a semblance of gentlemanly instinct kicked in. “So… uh… do you want me to… uh… for you… y'know…"

Dream giggled at his stuttering and held up her right hand for him to see. It had been nestled under her skirt the entire time and Slick could see her digits were glistening with her own gratification. She gave each slender finger a long lick and smiled.

“I'm fine," she assured him as she stood. “Maybe next time?"

Slick could only grin sheepishly. “Sure. Maybe next time."

~~~~

Slick started the following morning with 'secret tea.' It was a speciality of his. He poured some hot water out of his thermos into the cap that doubled as a cup, then added his secret ingredient.

He handed the cup to Pester and wondered if this was the day the cat realised the secret ingredient was nothing.

The corner apartment they stood in hung open like a rotting wound, serving more as a nest than a home now. They were on the top floor of the building, in what used to be an old couples' living room. Slick could tell an old couple used to live here by the aged furniture that had been battered by the elements and the little china ornaments that had collected dust on every available surface. Many of them were shattered or reduced to dust by the plasma bomb that had taken out the south-facing wall and most of the roof.

Slick also knew an old couple had lived here by the withered and decaying bodies they stepped over in the hallway. The smell was something he was ashamed to admit he'd gotten used to. The city was littered all over with macabre presents like those, where the adults struck during the 13-Hour War just dropped and were left to rot where they lay. Biological weapons were ruthlessly efficient and at the same time terribly messy that way.

Pester glanced at where he'd set up his SAW on its bipod in the corner facing out of their perch while he sipped his secret tea. The human sitting on the ground beside where his own rifle was set against the wall expected Pester to make a comment like; “Hey, this is just hot water."

The feline said nothing.

The creak of the front door being pushed open met their ears and Pester turned. Slick had put down the thermos already and had his rifle in his lap, the aggressive looking muzzle pointed at the corridor.

Stepping out of the hall came Buster's familiar bulk. The tiger had his helmet carried in one hand and his rifle slung across his back. He was still wiping the crumbs of his rushed breakfast from his whiskers as he nodded a greeting to the other boys.

“Stitch is on his way up," Buster said.

“It's a sausage party up here; he should feel right at home," Pester joked with a chuckle.

Buster just grunted and sat down beside Slick, setting his own rifle beside Slick's AR-15 between them. Absently he ran a thumb over the forehead of his FAST helmet to inspect the damage from last night's action. A chunk of hardened material had been gouged out of the headgear. Had he been hit an inch or two lower there would have been a tranquiliser dart sticking out of his face.

Slick had seen the close encounter last night and decided it was probably time to wear some armour of his own. He had taken to wearing a plain black police issue stab vest over his soft-shell. It wouldn't stop bullets, but the kevlar would have no problem stopping a synth tranquiliser dart. So long as they shot him in the torso. It was after all the largest target, so wearing the vest made some kind of statistical sense.

Turning the helmet in his hand, Buster smiled. “You deciding to wear a helmet yet?"

Slick puffed, pulling the brim of his cap a little lower over his forehead. “I got one stowed under my bed for emergencies."

“You realise that'd be way too little too late when an emergency does break out."

The front door creaked again and they turned to face the source of the sound. This time it was Stich who walked in with a porkish swagger. The anthro pig was a stereotype of his species, short and pudgy with pinkish fur and nappy brown hair. He wasn't a drooling, rolling-in-his-own-filth bachelor-like mess; in fact, he was a rather cute guy, so long as chubby guys were your thing.

He was holding up the brim of his unfamiliarly bulky MICH helmet to reveal his face was green with unease. “You guys could have – urp – warned me about the stiffs in the hall. I nearly lost my breakfast," he said, retching mid-sentence.

“Ah, suck it up," Pester clapped a hand painfully across Stitch's shoulder. “You should be used to 'em by now."

“I'm really not."

They were interrupted by the hum of a saucer's engines piercing the air. Pester threw the hot secret tea into the next room and dropped to the deck, dragging Stitch down with him. hurriedly the other two teenagers joined them on the ground, looking up secretly to try and spot the Fed air-patrol.

It flew right over their observation point, the spotlight sensors dark as the saucer focused on avoiding the rooftops. It curled through the air slightly like a thrown discus, and dipped behind the skyline blocking what was beyond the opposite end of Freedom Square. Da Cubz knew this city like the inner workings of their guns, and knew full well the apartments skirting Freedom Square gave way to Concourse Mall, Haven's largest shopping centre.

There, in the humungous parking lot and the facilities within the modern glass and steel mall the Galactic Federation troops occupying Skirra had made their base of operations. Ironically, Haven Central Metro where Da Cubz made their home was only twelve blocks away and connected with the mall via subway tunnels, though they had long since collapsed and flooded.

Though Buster and his peeps couldn't see it, they knew that mall was crawling with synths twenty-four-seven, with saucers taking off and landing to rotate patrols every five hours or so. They knew the perimeter didn't have any fencing, rather a plethora of infra-red beams Slick spotted with his night-scope while on night observation a long time ago. Anything that wasn't a synth synchronised with the GPS, comms and servers inside the mall moving through the camp would be made in an instant.

Da Cubz had tried to infiltrate that place twice before. Both times ended in disaster and many of their friends had been darted and carted by the synthetics. But each time they had learned a little more about their enemy.

They knew the synths were a soldier drone class serving whatever biological race actually ran the Galactic Federation. They had learned the true name of their enemy and appropriately starting calling them 'Feds.'

After the second failed raid, the Feds started on psychological warfare. They outfitted patrolling saucers with speaker systems and started blaring out messages while orbiting Haven. It was a female voice every time, speaking gently like a mother to a child, convincing all who listened that the Galactic Federation had come to save them from the plague that took their adults. Promising warm food and shelter to all those who surrendered peacefully.

It was bullshit.

Buster had seen some kids who had been surviving without Da Cubz's help that folded when hearing that and handed themselves over. There had been nothing peaceful about their surrender when they were darted, wrestled to the ground and hauled off on a meat-wagon full of restrained prisoners. Buster had no idea what the Feds were doing with the terrans they captured, but he knew for damn sure those poor kids didn't have warm meals and safe beds waiting for them at their ultimate destination among the stars.

The moment the saucer fell out of sight, Pester crawled up behind his machine gun and shouldered it. He sighted through the battle scope mounted on the top rail and scanned Freedom Square for movement. Nothing on ground level, and no synths hiding in the retiree apartments across the way. That saucer hadn't spotted them. If it had this place would be crawling with synthetics by now.

“We're good," he reported as Stitch propped up his marksman's rifle beside him.

Buster nodded with some noticeable relief. If they had been spotted this recon mission would have been over before it started. “Good. Let's keep it quiet for now, guys. We're here to spy on our guests. We rattled them good last night, I wanna see if they're mixing things up as a result. Pester, Stitch; you guys stay here and cover our escape. Whichever way this goes, our primary route will be through Freedom Square."

Buster pulled on his helmet then showed them his radio. The indicator light was off to prevent Feds scanning the airwaves from locating it. “I'll flick this thing on before we fall back, so if it all goes tits-up, send me a tone and we'll know to divert our extraction the opposite direction. Be ready to ditch when you transmit though."

“I know. Feds 'll zone in on us in thirty seconds when we do." Pester nodded. “We know the rodeo, boss. Just make sure you remember to ditch your own radio the second you turn it on."

Radios were Da Cubz's most fickle of allies. On the one hand they made long range comms easy and convenient. On the other hand, the moment they turned the things on the Feds zoned in on them. Usually the way around that was to turn on a radio, send the message to whoever was hopefully listening, then toss the thing and run like hell.

The way Da Cubz made it work was for an overwatch team to jam the 'send morse-tone' button, then ditch to secondary cover position if an escape route was compromised. The radio would cycle a morse-tone so that before extracting the recon team would turn on their radio, hear the tone and then know to escape through a different route.

They burned through radios faster than they burned through bullets and food, and there were so many ways this method of communicating fell down. But anything was better than hanging on to a radio and be perpetually followed around by synth hunter teams.

“Everything clear?" Buster asked.

“As mud," Slick joked as he grabbed his rifle.

With the plan formulated it was time to move out. Stitch and Pester stayed put while Buster and Slick left the apartment and descended the stairwell to ground level. A gaping hole blown into the side of the building let them exit straight into the cover of the alleyway where their transport sat. The truck was off, seemingly abandoned with a thermal blocking space blanket covering the bonnet and cabin.

As they were walking past, Buster held up a hand and nodded to Slick. “Remember to pick up Matilda."

With a smirk, Slick grabbed something from the back of the truck. Swinging his AR-15 onto his back, he cradled something entirely different across his chest.

'Matilda' was a shotgun. Though not your average redneck model sold in the sporting goods at Monster Mart. Matilda was a DP-12 tactical double-barrel pump-action shotgun. It was in fact the craziest thing in the shotgun world, like something straight out of the Simpsons. Each barrel, outfitted with a spiked breaching-choke, fired individually, allowing the operator to let off two successive blasts before racking the foregrip to slot the next two shots in place.

At least, that was the traditional use of the DP-12. Matilda was a fashionable 'gal. Slick had practically rebuilt the weapon from scratch and assembled it in a way that every trigger-pull unloaded both barrels at the same time. Recoil was a bitch, even with the custom springs in the stock. But stopping power was unmatched when compared to anything else in Da Cubz armoury, short of a rocket launcher.

Pumping the action, Slick smiled deviously to himself. “Today is the day. I can feel it."

Buster rolled his eyes as Slick spoke to the gun. Poor Slick had spent all that time customising and prepping Matilda, and all she had done for the past year she had been in service was kill doors and blow holes in walls. It was a breacher through and through, used to remove obstacles so Da Cubz could rush rooms with conventional firearms. But Slick was always itching to see what Matilda could do to a synth face.

He could just carry the shotgun around everywhere he went, but as powerful as the DP-12 was it wasn't very practical. Heavy, bulky, effective range was fairly limited. He preferred dropping synths at a distance with his AR-15 before they got into his face. All Da Cubz did.

Skirting Freedom Square, the duo stuck to the shadows. Buster kicked a gate in an alley between the retirement apartment buildings and they moved on into the next city block.

It was like the towering buildings of Haven just dropped away to a plateau on which Concourse Mall sat. Going prone, the two boys crawled up the grassy hill surrounding the mall parking lot. Guns tucked under their bodies and monocles held up to peer through, the duo had a slight elevation over the sprawling compound Concourse Mall had become.

Infra-red pylons were situated all around the perimeter of the property. Within that the arrows and parking lines etching the concrete had faded and chipped away. Most of the space was covered in space-age looking shipping crates and landing platforms for saucers.

The mall itself had been heavily modified. Armoured plates were erected over the larger panes of glass to ward off the sneaky gaze of snipers. The roof was home to a tangle of aerials and satellite dishes. Whatever was going on inside was important stuff, Slick and Buster were sure. They just couldn't see anything.

Synths moved around inside the HQ perimeter, adhering to standard and predictable patrols. But they had laid down an impenetrable webwork of security. You could be the offspring of Ethan Hunt, Sam Fisher, Solid Snake and James Bond; it wouldn't matter. You weren't getting in there without being turned into a pin-cushion.

Slick was the first to freeze on his observation. Keeping his eye locked on what he had found he patted Buster gently on the shoulder.

“Check out the snake-queen."

Glancing at the human, Buster followed his gaze then pressed his monocle back to his eye. Immediately he saw what Slick was talking about. A tall snake-like creature sat square in his field of view. It wasn't bipedal exactly, so he refrained from thinking of it as a terran anthro. It was clearly alien, more like a naga with shapely feminine features. It must have stood – or slithered – at least a metre higher than either Slick or Buster could stand.

As he scanned the area around where 'snake-queen' was inspecting a pack of crates he noted a saucer landing pad. Another towering naga stood under the sleek fuesolage of the stationary saucer. Dressed in a similar armoured tunic with interlocking plates fitted sleekly over the top of her head and neck, she was running gauntleted hands over the body of the saucer.

“I see your snake-queen and raise you a tricked out saucer. Pan right and check this thing out."

“I see it," Slick confirmed, panning over. He pondered the saucer for a moment then pulled a face. “Man, that's not a saucer. That's more like a warbird."

He wasn't wrong. Whereas saucers were round and rather unthreatening, this thing was like a flying nightmare. Crescent shaped with a blood red bubble-shaped canopy front and centre. It's 'wings' were loaded with what looked like six-barrelled rotary guns fed by ammo belts that disappeared into the sleek black fuselage. Even the landing gear looked threatening, a set of thick metal legs ending in clawed feet.

“That's a problem," Buster agreed with a nod.

He wanted to add more when an explosion caught their attention. Rolling onto their backs at the same time, Slick and Buster caught the cloud of black smoke rising over the skyline just in time. By the intensity and volume of the blast, that was no simple grenade going up. Something had set off their old IEDs in Freedom Square.

The pop-pop-pop of a DMR and guttural roar of a SAW followed swiftly as Pester and Stitch lit the square the fuck up.

Buster scrambled for his radio and flicked it on. What he heard was the long, single Morse-tone. The signal that the exfiltration route had been compromised.

At the exact same time Slick patted him on the helmet and drew his attention to that warbird. The canopy had lit up like a light on the inside had turned on as the inspecting snake-queen hurriedly slid off the side of the platform. At the same time the engines seemed to power up, throwing dust clouds off the landing pad. All the while the rotary guns racked and began spooling up. The warbird was off the ground and closing on their position a second later.

Buster gulped. “Definitely a problem."

~~~~

The Ravenside Palace was one of the Empress' many residences across Galactic Federation space. But unlike her other residences, he Ravenside Palace was by far the most lavish.

A grand ivory tower sat at the centre of the capitol, surrounded by flower topped walls and broken into sections by tall gold-tinted windows. The top was decorated by a magnificent spire and sitting under high topped arches the balconies from the tenth floor up to the two-hundredth offered bird's eye views of the glistening city below.

Even for an aristocrat like Nazrella living among the top three-percent, it was a truly awesome thing to behold. The foyer alone was a dazzling display of the Galactic Federation's influence across the galaxy. Species of every kind, servant species and allies alike, packed the cavernous space decorated with gold ribbons and brilliant banners displaying the coat-of-arms of the Empress' family.

Swaying her hips as she slid across the foyer, Nazrella practically glistened in the red dress Envoy enjoyed so much. The red silk hugged her slim frame like a shimmering wet glove, the hem of the skirt falling just below the crest of diamond-shaped scales that closed her vaginal opening and the plunging neckline revealed a smooth, tantalising valley between her breasts. The dress material was so thin that if she had nipples they would have been stabbing visibly through the fabric. Just another reason to be jealous of mammalian females.

The modern vyper's breasts were entirely aesthetic curves added to their sleek bodies. Long ago, when evolved from their baser lineages, the vypers were a nomadic species on a harsh, unrelenting homeworld. The 'breasts' as they were commonly referred to now and days were essentially fat deposits that would sustain them for weeks between hunting viable prey. That was nearly millennia ago though. Now the average vyper relied on her breasts to simply look good in slinky attire.

And Nazrella certainly did look good. Species of all kinds turned their heads as she moved by. Even a few other vypers and their accompanying carnal servants paused to stare and offer the aristocrat sincerest greeting. She noted a smoulder of desire in the eyes of the carnal servants before they quickly looked down and bowed out of respect. It was a familiar look that Envoy gave her all the time. And she was glad Envoy knew well enough to maintain his lustful stare on her body instead of looking away. Sometimes all he had to do to please her was look at her.

The crowd parted as Nazrella made her way into the ballroom several floors above the foyer. A drakken servant acting as announcer bowed to her in greeting then found her name on the invitation list.

“Lady Nazrella of Ravenside!" he announced.

Many heads turned even as she proceeded. Several couples dancing to the sultry tones of the band's twelve string waltz took their minds off their motions in order to gracefully bow to the well-known woman of Ravenside.

“Nazrella, mei-mei!" a voice called, cutting shrilly over the sound of the waltz.

Turning Nazrella saw Empress Nahadra break away from a small group of guests, accompanied by the familiar frame of General Nextra. Immediately the three vypers were the embodiment of the species trinity bodytype. Whereas Nazrella was a sleek, predatory looking woman with bountiful curves, the Galactic Empress was a thin, wiry vyper clearly meeting the final century of her lifespan. Her scales, though polished, were losing their shine and colour, and her eyes were partially clouded over.

But she was still spry as ever and slid closer with the seductive sway of a younger woman.

General Nextra, the vyper general Nazrella had spoken to the day before was of the Galactic Federation's military wing. As such she was built with a powerful bulk, her arms somewhat thicker than Nazrella's and her trunk home to less curves and more athletic musculature. There was something piercing about her gaze, which was frigid when compared to that of Empress Nahadra.

“Nazrella, it is so good to see you again." Nahadra rushed in to embrace Nazrella in a hug. “Too long, mei-mei. It has been too long."

Nazrella accepted the hug, then bobbed into a customary curtsy. “That it has been, highness. You should really visit Ravenside more often."

“That I should. Isn't that what I keep saying, general?"

“Yes you do, highness."

Empress Nahadra's eyes suddenly widened as she spotted another guest across the ballroom, then quickly squeezed Nazrella's hand. “Oh, you must forgive me, darling. I just saw a very old familiar face. I won't be a moment."

Nodding with a smile, Nazrella moved aside to let her empress pass, calling out: “Mahaxte, mei-mei! How long has it been? You look simply dashing!"

As she watched the empress entergetically dash from guest to guest, Nazrella smiled. General Nextra did the same with a small chuckle. “She has the energy of a much younger woman."

“I'm surprised you can keep up with her, general."

That drew another chuckle from Nextra. “I'm glad you could make it tonight, mei-mei. Would you mind if we spoke of Terra for a moment?"

As the general beckoned Nazrella to join her on a nearby balcony, the aristocrat nodded gracefully. “Of course, general. That is after all why I chose to attend."

They moved through the gauzy drapes over the doorway and came to rest by the polished marble railing. Nazrella leaned heavily on the stone surface, eying the city laid before her. The natural light was fading, quickly giving way to the glow of the city and pale twinkle of the vibrant stars.

Breathing in the night air with a sigh, Nazrella simultaneously drank in the sight of her home. “I love it here."

“It is indeed one of the Federation's most beautiful cities." Nextra paused, looking grim. She then drew attention in the direction of the market square, visible thanks to their elevation. “Unfortunately she now bears a horrible scar on her face."

“Tell me of your problems on Terra, general."

“I hardly know where to begin. What have you heard of Terra so far?"

“I have heard that the influx of terran servants is particularly slow. Especially carnal servants."

Nextra nodded. “That is true. You were lucky to acquire one when you did. And considering their pleasing aesthetic I find myself just a little jealous of you, mei-mei."

Nazrella remained silent. She often enjoyed sharing her Envoy with close friends and relatives, sometimes even partaking in threesomes when she was in the mood. But she was afraid to extend the same courtesy to General Nextra, even though she and Nextra were old friends. She was simply afraid the general would break Envoy, even accidentally because of a subconscious frustration over this whole Terra rebellion affair.

“The terran rebels call themselves 'Da Cubz,' " Nextra went on to say. “They are well dug into a city and are putting up an effective fight. They continuously hit and run us, dealing damage to our assets on the ground and then disappearing just as quickly into the shadows."

“Impressive."

“Impressive is a way of putting it. What's more, whichever Cubz we capture turn out to be notoriously hard to break. Several have already escaped and are now spreading their dissidence into Galactic Federation space."

Nazrella nodded. “The attack on the servant market here on Ravenside."

“To name one". The general huffed angrily, clearly not amused when reminded of Da Cubz exploits. “A cowardly and childish attack."

“One that was effective none the less." Nazrella didn't like it any more than the general did, but even she had to admit that these Cubz were very good at what they did. In all her time as a war consultant during the prime years of the Federation's expansion she'd never seen a group of youths hold their own so well.

The result of the nano-bombs wiping out the adult population was often a tactic so shocking and awing that those who survived simply surrendered. Though the taming of the drakken was before her time she'd heard plenty of tales of their delinquency upon first contact. And an equal number of tales how the Galactic Federation military had decimated their stand-up resistance in days.

Da Cubz of Terra were a problem however, as in their resistance was less stand-up and more of an insurgency. It was a tactic the Federation hadn't come up against in adolescent populations of those they subdued. As a result the Galactic Federation military was ill equipped and inexperienced in solving the problem.

Perhaps this was a problem that stemmed from the dissolution of the Federation's office of war consultants. Perhaps it was a testament to how comfortable and lazy the vyper race had become. Either way, the Galactic Federation needed her assistance, and the patriot in Nazrella wanted to travel to Terra and nip this problem out at the bud.

However, the patriot wasn't what made her come to her final decision. Her decision had already been made the moment she saw Envoy in tears after the attack on the market.

“Not to worry, general. I want to help in any way I can. I'll travel to Terra, even should I have to do it on my own expense," Nazrella assured.

The general nodded with some evident relief. “I'm glad to hear that. But travel at your own expense is not necessary. Give me a few days. I will organise you transport as soon as possible."

“Transport for two, general. I would like to bring my carnal servant along."

Nextra frowned. “Are you sure that is wise?"

“He is terran. He should prove tactically invaluable."

“Not just tactically, I'm sure." Nazrella's face was an expressionless mask until the general conceded. “I'll see to it."

~~~~

The warbird buzzed them, a hail of rounds from its guns thudding into the side of a building. The boys had heard it coming and threw themselves behind some playground equipment.

Slick and Buster avoided Freedom Square like the plague, skirting the southern perimeter of Concourse Mall and ditching to the retirement village that connected with Haven Park.

The moment the warbird passed they were up and moving again. Slick paused though, tilting his DP-12 upwards and unleashing shells. While Slick shooting that shotgun up at the saucer gunship was essentially pointless, Buster had to admit his friend looked fucking gangster doing it.

At the tip of its run the warbird whirled around then came back for another attack. By then however Da Cubz shouldered their way into one of the apartment blocks. Buster's bulk threw the offending door blocking access out of its frame and they scrambled for cover.

Lights swept over them as they stayed low, and the hum of the warbird's engines dimmed a little again.

“We lose it?" Slick asked, to which Buster shrugged.

“Take a look."

Slick coughed. “You take a look."

Muttering something about him being a sissy, Buster leaned sideways and stuck his head out of the doorway. Looking left and right he didn't see any pursuing synths. But looking up he saw something that had his blood running a little colder.

Silent as a gull floating on an up-draft, the warbird hung directly in front of them. Hovering, it quietly spooled up its guns with a mechanical hum, tracking lasers locking on to Buster's helmeted head.

“Fuck! Incoming!"

The guns unloaded as he and Slick dropped to the floor, a terrifying hail whipping too close for comfort just above.

The warbird strafed to create a blanket of fire, heckling them with an unbroken barrage. The guns practically hissed as they unloaded a stream of feather-tailed tranquiliser darts that rattled and thudded the walls nearby. A few of the rounds flew through the windows and slashed right past their bodies. It was a miracle neither of them had been tagged by a ricochet yet.

Hugging the deck as enemy rounds slashed overhead, the boys crawled desperately, their lives literally depending on it. At the end of the corridor Buster tucked and covered as he pointed out an apartment's front door.

“Kick it!" he shouted over the rumble of the warbird.

Slick kept low as he rolled onto his side and shouldered his shotgun. He squeezed off both barrels and quickly racked the action as the shots made shit of the obstruction.

The lock exploded into a shower of splinters and metal shards. The door swung open, slammed into a wall then swung back. Only without a lock holding it in place anymore, the door slammed, shuddered and finally fell open again.

Buster crawled through first, followed by Slick who kicked the door shut behind them and held it in place with the sole of his boot. The composite door rattled and started to break apart as the warbird's barrage kept up.

“Bad!" the human cried as the door suddenly came off its hinges, forcing the duo to crawl into the next room. “Very bad! That is no bueno!"

Finding some decent cover, they managed to stand and take in the surroundings. It was another typical retirement apartment. Modest. Cosy. And being shot to absolute shit.

Rounds were streaming in the door, gutting plasterboard and choking the air with dust. They were on the ground floor and the previous home owner saw fit to put security bars on each window, meaning there was only one way out of this.

Then again, that only meant there was one way in.

“Now what?" Slick snapped as he looked around their dead end.

Buster was unzipping the pouch on the back of his waist. “I have an idea. Make us an exit into the next apartment."

He was pointing at the nearest wall dividing the apartments to Slick's confusion. “Sorry, I left my sledge-hammer in my other pants."

“You're carrying a pump-action sledge-hammer, you nincompoop!"

As Slick rolled his eyes and started unloading shells into the wall, Buster had produced a claymore directed mine from his gear. It had been modified the way a sadistic insurgent would usually modify an anti-personnel bomb. He had a plastic bag packed with nails, nuts, bolts, crushed glass and ball-bearings taped to the 'front-toward-enemy' face of the claymore.

The device was paired to a detonator in his pocket already, and as soon as Slick had emptied Matilda into the wall, punching a gaping hole in the plasterboard and splintering wooden splints that supported the divider, he peeled the sticky adhesive backing away.

Slick was through the hole first as the volley of warbird fire subsided. It's thrum of flying bullets replaced by the heavy mechanical whir of synths entering the building. They breached with ruthless efficiency, scanning and assessing targets in split seconds.

Buster was still faster though. He slapped the mine to the wall beside the hole and yanked out the safety pin, arming the device. He dove through the hole and landed in a heap beside Slick, detonator in hand.

“Fire in the hole!"

The tiger and the human plugged their ears as he pulled the trigger, clacking it twice. The mine exploded a nanosecond later. Fire and high velocity shrapnel filled the neighbour's living room. The synths invading the apartment were turned inside out, but Buster couldn't hear if they'd all been dealt with.

The thump of the explosion turned into a persistent ringing. It took him some time to shake off the disorientation, and figured that if there were more synths in the meantime they would have busted through the wall and darted them by now.

Buster could only watch as a spotlight shone through the closed blinds nearby. The warbird was sweeping for signs of life. When it didn't notice any though, Buster could faintly hear the hum of the engines fade away.

The quiet crackle, pop and hiss of a fire followed. Pushing himself up he looked in next door and saw the mine had set off a deadly secondary explosion in the gas hob in the kitchen. They were lucky the whole building hadn't gone up in flame. The explosion however blew out the window and gutted the interior of the apartment. The drapes and couch were on fire. The furniture was shattered and more flames clung to the still, mangled bodies that used to be Galactic Federation synths. The sheer concussive force of the secondary blast must have tricked the warbird into thinking they were dead, hence breaking off the attack. It probably had better things to do than hunt them down anyway.

Slick groaned as he sat up beside Buster, gently patting the side of his head, willing his hearing to return. “Did we win?"

When they eventually shook off the deafness and disorientation, the duo got up and moved out. Quietly and cautiously they checked the corridor outside in case of lingering synthetics, but satisfied the coast was clear they beat feet to the rendezvous.

Waiting for them two blocks away were Pester and Stitch. Both were on edge and trained their guns on the duo as they knocked and entered through the front of a diner.

Agnes' Diner was a go-to rendezvous point for Da Cubz, and before the invasion it had been a popular Sunday lunch destination. Back when Buster had been the high school dreamboat with well-to-do good-valued Christian parents they would visit Agnes' Diner after Sunday service. Back then the place would have been packed with people looking for a slice of Agnes' famous pies. Which pie didn't even matter, anything on special was delicious.

Seeing the place now was just depressing. And it wasn't the lack of pie that got to Buster. He had expected that would have been the most missed part about the diner. In fact, what he seemed to miss the most was just people. Seeing people all in one place enjoying something simple.

Most of all he missed adults, and two years ago no teenager in the world would have been able to say that. But he missed being spoilt and coddled by his mom. He missed going to football practice with his dad. He missed the arguments when they wouldn't let him go to 'Kisser's Point' with his girlfriend.

The diner was empty. Nobody stayed to finish their pie or do the washing up when the Galactic Federation ships fell from the sky. Dust lay in thick layers across the counter and the tables. The leather benches were cracked and frayed, the stuffing falling out in places. Broken glass and debris crackled under Buster's boots as he absent-mindedly wandered towards where Pester and Stitch were sitting.

Casually, as if meeting the boys for lunch, Slick and Buster slid into the booth opposite the duo.

“Geeze. Are you guys okay?" Stitch asked looking at their plaster choked fatigues. Without even waiting for an answer the pig added, “Was that a saucer gunship I saw flying about? That's new."

“How'd you lose it?" was the question on Pester's mind and tongue.

“I got moves," Slick reminded him.

“We're fine," Buster confirmed with a sigh, resting his AK-74U on the table in front of him. “The warbird isn't much smarter than the regular saucers. Still, it's freakin' dangerous though."

Buster contemplated everything that they had seen at Concourse Mall and he must have been wearing an expression Slick either didn't like or recognised with dismay.

“Why are you looking like that?"

Buster was pulled out of his trance and shrugged. “I was just thinking. Seeing snake-queen and naga on the ground; saucer warbirds… the Feds are changing things up a little radically. Riling them up last night, we may have bitten off more than we can chew. If we hit them again they'll adapt and escalate in a way that could gut us. Hell, they might decide we're not worth the trouble anymore and just nuke Skirra off the map."

“We need supplies though," Slick said, not to be argumentative. He just wanted the obvious fact to be on the table for everyone to consider.

“There's other ways to get supplies."

Slick frowned. “I don't like where this is going."

“We're going to Callie's Settlement tomorrow."

The human at the table doubled forward and buried his face in his arms. “Ugh! I hate Callie."

“Aww, why? Cawwie wuvs you, Swick," Pester teased, making Stitch laugh.

Slick kicked them both in the shins. Not that it would change anything. Buster's mind was made. Options were getting scarce. They couldn't risk riling the Feds up much more. As it was they were already pushing their luck. And as he pointed out, one of these days the Feds would just get sick of their shit and drop a nuke on their heads.

Da Cubz had to figure out how to drop a nuke on the Feds first.

To buy time needed to figure that out, they needed to lay low. To lay low they needed a stream of supplies. And for supplies they needed to see the she-devil herself.

They needed Callie.

###

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