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Casey and Dev get into trouble. Casey cranks up “White Wedding." Previous actions finally have consequences. …I'm trolling you.

The continuing adventures of Casey and Dev. This technically relies a little on previous stories, in the sense that it addresses consequences of previous problems caused by the trickster duo. But, I mean. "Consequences," what does that really mean? Thanks to :iconSpudz: for detriangling this a little bit, and :iconLuperkaios: for acting as jackal consultant on important troubledog matters that are the opposite of detriangling. Patreon subscribers, this should also be live for you with notes and commentary.

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

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"A Day in the Life," by Rob Baird

“Are you in a better mood now?"

“Getting there." The jackal's eyes were closed, and her breathing was still a little uneven. “We could keep going though."

In the seven days since leaving the Vashenius system, the Long Tall Sally had offered up one gripe after another. Tracking down a slow leak in the coolant system took the coyote most of two full shifts. One of the maneuvering thrusters was nearly eight percent below its rated power.

The latest update for the FTL radio proved to be incompatible with the transmitter module, and needed to be rolled back—by hand, one changed file at a time. Even now, Devin wasn't sure he'd gotten everything, but his head hurt from the effort of debugging it.

Such complaints were just the nature of operating an older freighter like the Long Tall Sally, with parts built by companies long-since defunct. She needed constant maintenance, and the last few days had been especially trying.

That morning Casey learned the astrogation computer was misconfigured, and they were off-course: twelve hours behind on a run that was already unlikely to net them much of a profit. She'd been so frustrated that Dev left her alone when the jackal got the new course ready and stomped back to their cabin.

That had been two hours earlier. Twenty minutes ago he'd finally joined her. Five minutes after that, his clothes were off. Another five minutes, and his muzzle was between the jackal's legs—which was often a way of perking her spirits up, if the way she gripped his ears was any indication.

“Keep going?" Dev prompted.

“Roll over." She nudged his side to accent the point. “Unless you have work to do."

“Plenty," he admitted—but he rolled over anyway.

Casey settled on his hips, bending forward to give the coyote a kiss. “Something else? I thought you fixed the radio."

“I did." He permitted himself a bit of distraction, running his fingers through the soft fur of her sides. “The balancer for the cargo bay thermoregulator is acting up."

She furrowed her brow, rocking slowly, working slick heat along his already-stiff shaft. A few seconds went by like that: “Bad?"

“Might be. If it fails, that's a good way to spike one of the bays a hundred degrees in one direction or another."

Casey grunted. “One more thing, huh?"

“It's probably a bad controller. But if I can't fix it, the whole system will need a teardown. Two or three days… maybe five thousand credits."

Her ears flattened. “One more fuckin' thing," she sighed. “Well… deal with it later. You have more important things to do now."

“Like you?"

He recognized her grin all too well. That was fine, though: they both wanted it. Devin pulled her muzzle down to his while she guided the tip of his cock between her lips. She lowered herself smoothly, her moan muffled by the kiss and her ears splaying the rest of the way as she took him.

Then her head dropped to his shoulder, putting her flattened ear in reach of his teeth. He bit down; got a gasp in answer. “Fuck, jackal. I love you." That drew a groan, and a slow pump of her hips that stroked her coyote's full length through the soft grip of her warm insides.

When she settled down a second time, she raised her head enough to nose his cheek. “Love you, too, coyote."

It wouldn't stay tender—rarely did. Casey's tempo built quickly until she was slamming herself down and onto the coyote, the grind of her hips rough and possessive when he hilted. Her words shifted to groans, made coarse and husky by her ragged panting.

Devin could feel his shaft start to thicken and—given her rising pitch—so could the jackal. He put his paws on her flanks to help her out, pulling her down with each matching thrust upwards to bury himself in her pussy. Her back arched, she moaned deeply—and then she cocked her head sharply to the side. “Did you—just—growl at me?"

“No? Did you want me to?"

“What was that, then?" Her eyes narrowed, and she held herself still. “Can you feel that?"

At first he had to concentrate, and his attention was elsewhere. Within half a minute, though, the rumbling was constant and impossible to ignore. “Maybe the vanes came out of alignment?"

Casey sighed heavily and pulled herself off him, drawing a sharp inward breath when the coyote slid free, half-formed knot already making the task more of an ordeal. “Let's check it before anything bad happens. God, this fuckin' trip. Better not be a big problem, Dev."

He followed her lead, both in hastily tugging his pants back on and in going forward to the cockpit. The Highfield vanes, which kept the ship moving fluidly through hyperspace, seemed to be in perfect repair.

“It's not us," Casey confirmed. “Some kind of interference."

“If it gets any worse, we're going to start having problems with the drive."

“I know, I know." The jackal nudged their course slightly, aiming for an area where conditions were slightly less worrisome. “Think it might be a black hole?"

“Shouldn't you know that before plotting a course, jackal?"

She growled. “Well, it's not a black hole, then. Look, I… god damn it. Fuck everything—I'm gonna take us back into normalspace, Devvy. Ready?"

“Ready."

The Long Tall Sally lurched, and the glare of hyperspace dropped immediately to pitch black, studded with distant stars. “Double-check the FTL motivator, will you? Just to make sure it's nothing wrong with the drive."

“Sure, Case." He didn't think there was—the engine reported everything to be in remarkably good condition, considering all the pair put it through. “Everything looks nominal so far."

“Right." He heard her get up; pad over. The warmth of her arms slipped around him from behind. “Now, where were we?"

Dev pushed himself to his feet, twisting around in her hold and pressing his nose to hers. “Depends on where you wanted to be, right?"

She laughed and canted her muzzle, locking her lips to his in a kiss. Her tongue brushed against him, and the coyote gave her the appreciative growl she'd been looking for—and a convenient excuse to part his own lips until their tongues met.

Her hold tightened. Claws dug in—she was never much for subtlety. A few heartbeats later and she had him all the way pressed against the bulkhead. Deceptively strong, he thought. Considering how wiry she was, it never seemed especially difficult for the jackal to have her way with him.

Not that he fought back.

The computer chimed and, panting, Casey pulled away. “What's that?"

“Diagnostic," he managed, glancing over his shoulder. “Like I said: everything looks… hey!"

She shoved him back against the wall, kissing him fiercely for a few seconds. “Run a second one," she suggested. “A more thorough one."

“Sure." It took a few seconds to set up. She was off-guard when he straightened, taking her in his hold and pinning the jackal to repay the favor. Her fingers raked through his fur; he pushed her jacket off her bare shoulders.

Another chime. This one, however, came from the pilot's station. Casey's head tilted. “Is that the proximity—"

The ship rocked heavily, and the lights flickered. Devin jumped back into his seat, tugging the harness straps secure. “Direct hit. Port shields are at eighty percent." They'd switched on—fortuitously—when the proximity alarm was triggered.

“Not in the mood. Damn it," the jackal grumbled. “Four ships closing. Who are these fucks, Dev?"

“Not sure. CSY Drakens, looks like." The Cneftuli Staryards sold to anybody with good credit and dubious intentions, and a light starship like the Draken was versatile enough to courier high-value goods one day and play at being a medium bomber the next.

“Could be anyone," Casey agreed. “At least they don't maneuver so well. I'm going to give us some distance. How's the reactor?"

“Looks good. That's not a challenge, Case. Just so we're clear."

“Uh huh." A ribbon of plasma pulsed over their nose—it looked dangerously close, bright and glaring, but a quick glance told Dev the shot had missed them by six hundred kilometers. “They're packing, though."

“New Families?"

“Hope not. I'm so done with those assholes. Hold a grudge like nobody's—well, let's see. We're being hailed." She pulled her headset on. “Nice to meet y'all."

“Long Tall Sally. You are to surrender immediately."

Casey looked over her shoulder at the coyote, raising an eyebrow. “Okay? And why's that?"

“Zetut Zitanas demands that you repay your debts to him."

Zetut Zitanas led the Twelve Blades, one of the largest of the New Families. Casey was still looking at him. Distress call? Devin mouthed. She nodded. Ordinarily such affairs were strictly business, and there was no reason to expose themselves to the meddling of the Star Patrol.

But in this case, Casey had no love for the New Families, and Devin guessed she intended them to be long gone before anybody showed up. Letting the Star Patrol know that the criminals were active in the sector, though, was sure to step up activity for a few weeks, making their lives difficult.

“Debts? I don't have fuckin' debts to that fuck. What are you talking about?"

This is the freighter _ Long Tall Sally, under attack by pirates in the Kasheyef-Mei corridor, requesting immediate assistance_. Devin set the message to repeat indefinitely, and broadcast it to the closest hyperspace beacon.

“Zetut holds you directly responsible for the loss of the Vaheh at Tevanista. And it is the judgment of the New Families that you are thereby accountable for forty percent of our projected revenue from that venture."

He heard Casey growl, presumably with the channel muted. “Dev, do you think you can keep the ship together long enough to punch through that turbulence?"

As he'd expected, she wanted to get away. It was the most logical option; he was already prepared for it. “I can try. It's more a question of whether you can keep us on course. You're good enough?"

Teeth clicked as she snapped her jaw. “I didn't do shit to any Vaheh," she said, momentarily back on the radio. “Start powering the drive, Devvy. I'll keep these mopes distracted."

“Roger that." He switched the auxiliary power systems on, and began charging up the Long Tall Sally's hyperdrive.

“You allowed Tevanista to activate its planetary-defense system," their would-be captors answered. “And you also foiled our attempt to salvage certain archaeological artifacts."

“The world-destroying superweapon? That one, you mean?"

The speaker ignored her. “And are thereby accountable for twenty percent of our projected revenue from that venture. In other words: yes, you have plenty of debts to Mr. Zetut."

“That really sounds like a problem for Mr. Zetut," Casey answered.

“His problem is also your problem."

“Really? Because it looks like—" She cut herself off. “Dev, we have incoming. Ready forward shields."

Six more Drakens had appeared. “Done. I'm activating the defensive turrets, too."

The new ships had cut off the escape route she'd plotted; Casey twisted the Long Tall Sally away in time to avoid the worst of their first salvo. “Have to reset the plot. Sixty seconds?"

“Fine. More hyperspace signatures."

“Are you kidding me? Fuck. I am not in the mood for this."

“Sorry, jackal." But Devin had other things to worry about: as the noose tightened, the risk grew that they were going to get hit. And up close, the plasma cannons would hurt.

What'll she do? She'll want the hyperdrive, so we need to keep that running… and the structural integrity generators… Cargo bay life support was an easy thing to sacrifice—nothing they were carrying was fragile. Then what? The turrets. Shut those down and we can buy a little time.

His console blinked rapidly; so did the coyote. “Uh. Whatever just joined us, it's huge." The freighter's sensors worked overtime to tell him what they were looking at.

It was wedge shaped, with the blunt end in front and a thick, angular sail that ran the length of its top end like a Portuguese man o' war. It was also thirteen kilometers long, six across at its widest point, and radiating a mid-sized country's worth of power.

“The Huzarian Spear," the coyote realized. Headquarters of the Twelve Blades, who—despite being the strongest of the New Families, from a firepower perspective—couldn't afford the vulnerability of being tied down to a single planet.

“They're pretty serious, huh?" Casey asked.

“Pretty serious." And massive enough to cause the disruptions in hyperspace that had forced them into the ambush. The Spear was rumored to be adapted from the modified hull of an ancient galleon, with armor ten thousand times denser than the kuritanium used on Star Patrol battlecruisers.

“As you can see," a voice boomed over the radio. “We have you surrounded and outgunned. Surrender and we can discuss payment of your debts."

Casey leaned back in her chair. “What do you say, Dev?"

“If we jump to hyperspace and that thing follows—"

“We'll be annihilated. I know." She pursed her lips; sighed thoughtfully, and spoke into her headset. “Okay, I'm willing to consider listening to you. But—"

“You misunderstand what I'm saying, Kaitlyn."

“Don't call me that."

“Little girl." Dev saw Casey's hackles go up at once; she was facing away from him, but he could imagine her narrowed eyes vividly. “Who do you think you're dealing with? Do you think I'm some useless idiot like Satari Kai? Surrender or be destroyed. You have five seconds."

He watched Casey's paw go for the ship's throttle, and prepared to shut down the cargo bay and the turrets to give her whatever power she asked for. “Shields, Dev. Shut the drive down and increase power to the defensive battery."

“Wait—what? That hull is impenetrable. It's supposed to be—"

“Ten thousand times denser than a Star Patrol battlecruiser," she cut him off; the jackal was already bringing them around to face the enormous starship. “I know. But I'm not in the mood. Tired of this bullshit."

“The Twelve Blades, or being called a little girl?"

They jumped forward, pushing him into his seat as the acceleration overwhelmed the inertial dampeners. “Not in the mood, Dev," she repeated. And then he heard warbling electric guitar, and a thumping drumbeat over the stereo: she was committed.

“Hyperdrive's offline," he reported dutifully, shaking his head. “I'll try to keep the shields up."

“Good boy." Hey, little sister, what have you done? She snapped the freighter into a smart roll with the next line, ducking them through two converging streams of plasma fire. “Ninety seconds."

To? He double-checked the plot. “Ramming them won't do shit, Casey."

“Eighty seconds." Hey, little sister: shotgun! “What's the minimum convergence of the guns?"

The Long Tall Sally had two pairs of such defensive repeaters, one each on her top and bottom. That placement left something of a blind spot at close ranges, even with the turrets extended. “Forward? Thirty k, if you want to be safe."

“What do you think you're doing?" the voice on the radio said. “Do you think we can't hit you?" As if on cue, the freighter's forward shields took a short barrage; an alarm rang out in protest. “You have no chance to survive. Make your—"

Casey killed the radio and tossed her headset off. “Already did."

“Maybe he wasn't going to say 'choice.'"

“Too bad." Hey, little sister: who's your Superman? “I need the turrets at full power, Devvy."

“They are."

“Actual full power. Whatever you'd yell at me about. Double what they're supposed to take."

He flattened his ears. “Jackal…"

“Do you trust me?" Devin gritted his teeth and started shutting down the safeties. She didn't wait for an answer; she already knew. “Y'hear this used to be a Vozan galleon?"

“Yeah." It's a nice day to start again.

“Think they used many TC-standard cargo containers?"

The Vozan Star Empire was a thousand years gone, with its descendants scattered to the stars. “No. Why?"

“Many CSY starfighters?"

“No."

“So they probably didn't make that loading bay on the port side, did they?"

Next to the rest of the starship, the bay door looked incredibly small, and they were approaching it at several hundred meters a second, faster with each snare hit. “Jesus Christ, Case," the coyote said. “You sure you can do this?"

“Pretty sure."

Which meant, in any case, that she wasn't about to take 'no' for an answer. “I'm switching the stabilizers out of automatic mode and slaving 'em to the helm. Should decrease the dispersion, but you'll have to bullseye the damn thing. Gimme a sec and I'll bypass the control dampeners, too." The computer warned him that this wasn't a good idea; he ignored it. “You're on full manual, Case."

Her reply was clipped: “Turrets?"

“Standing by."

“Then let's do this." A full barrage raked the freighter's starboard shield, knocking them out of position—but Casey only snarled, straightened them out, and leaned forward in her seat. “Here's your goddamn 'little girl'!"

The light from their batteries opening up nearly blinded him; he was reacting on instinct to the alarm klaxons that followed a half-second later. Both turret spaces were on fire—one power coupling had blown—they were losing atmosphere in the lower decks, and—

“Brace!" Casey let out a whooping howl, and pulled the ship up—thirty-odd gees of inertia from the sudden movement, in a freighter whose compensator was designed for half that. Bits and pieces of starship clanged loose from further inside.

WARNING: FUEL LOW. A quarter of their reactant had simply vanished. He chanced a look forward, to find the freighter skimming thirty meters over the hull of the Huzarian Spear, swerving between fire from its defensive batteries. “Casey, we just lost the starboard tank!"

Her mad cackle proved to be a disconcerting, unhelpful reply—then, a second later, the lights of the Spear went out, and he understood: she'd done it on purpose. With the bay doors cracked open by the Long Tall Sally's turrets, and before anyone could get the blast doors down, she'd ejected one of their fuel tanks straight into the carnage.

“Watch it, jackal… I think the ship might—"

“C'mon—it's a nice day for a white wedding—"

“—Be about to—"

“It's a nice day to start again!"—and as she drew the last word out Casey hauled the freighter back, narrowly missing an eruption of fire and debris from what had, at one point, been another door awkwardly cut through the galleon's hull. “Fuckin' a, Dev! We need to do that again, or what?"

“The Huzarian Spear has been disabled."

“And us?"

“Our ventral turret is offline. I think I can get the dorsal turret up—maybe. Maybe? It's not responding. We're not on fire anymore."

“What I like to hear. Can we jump?"

Unsurprisingly, the Drakens escorting Zetut Zitanas had become abruptly wary, and when Devin checked he found they were willing to give the Long Tall Sally a wide berth. A quick check of the hyperdrive diagnostics showed everything in reasonable health. “Should be okay."

“Let's do it, then. Spent too much time here."

The main reactor, still getting over the exertion of having Casey wreck the defensive turrets, didn't feel like cooperating. Devin had to fight for enough power to charge the drive. “Two and a half minutes. But we should be alone."

Adrenaline had an odd effect on Casey; she laughed and he turned to find her grinning fangedly. “Maybe let's wait until we're back on course this time?"

“I meant alone as in: the Twelve Blades aren't going to bother us."

“Oh." She stuck out her tongue. “Right. Well, the plot's laid—damn it, what now? New contact, seven thousand kilometers off to port."

“More mercenaries? Wait… no. Fuck. Case. Hold on."

“What's going on? Hey—we're being hailed?" She found her discarded headset and switched it on. “Hello?"

“This is the Star Patrol cruiser Sacagawea, responding to a distress call from… uh. You, I'm pretty sure, but apparently you've already taken care of things?"

“Yes, ma'am," Casey answered. “We were attacked by mercenaries of the Twelve Blades—a member of the New Families."

“And the escort ships we just detected fleeing?"

“Same group, ma'am. The disabled ship is the Huzarian Spear. It's their command vessel; the home of Zetut Zitanas, currently leader of the Blades."

The Star Patrol captain was quiet for a spell. Devin could well imagine why—such excitement was totally out of their purview. They rarely fought, even with the New Families—if only because Star Patrol intelligence leaked like a sieve and the mob was always two steps ahead.

Dev gestured for Casey to mute her microphone. “If we try to run, they're going to be suspicious. And they'll catch us."

“Yeah. And they probably already have our drive signature." Casey scowled. “They'll definitely pick it up if they decide to look closer."

“So sweet-talk them out of wanting to chat," the coyote suggested. “You can do that, right?"

***

“Welcome aboard!" The Sacagawea's captain, Commander Irene Stewart, was a trim-looking genet with a warm expression. “I'll have our engineers do what they can for your ship. It's a Sierra 254, isn't it? You don't see many of those up close."

Indeed Dev, like his pilot, would've preferred the Star Patrol go another day without getting the opportunity. But Stewart was too friendly to be dissuaded: she wanted to help, and even from a distance it was clear that the Long Tall Sally had taken damage in the battle.

“Are the engines stock?"

That was how it was going to begin, he'd known all along. “More or less," Devin answered cautiously. Purely stock Luxodyne Electras had been grandfathered into regulatory compliance. How much they could be modified while staying compliant wasn't clear.

And it wasn't like the Star Patrol to pass up an opportunity to meddle. “What does 'more or less' mean? They still have integrators?"

“Yes. But, uh, for cooling reasons I adapted some of the parts from a later-model 354, instead. You can see that on the nacelles."

“My stardrive theory is a little rusty," Commander Stewart mused. “That would also boost the output quite a bit if you opened up the throttle all the way, right? Seems like it could be unsafe."

“We've never had problems," Casey said—rather too quickly, in Dev's opinion. “Been… what, a while now, Dev. A year?"

“A year, yeah."

The genet nodded slowly. “Well, once the repairs are done I'll have my engineer give it a look; make sure everything's in order."

Gritting his teeth, Devin offered his appreciation. Then Stewart invited them to dinner, just the three of them—pointing out that, in any case, the repairs were going to take a few hours.

Until then she graciously put them up in one of the Sacagawea's staterooms. Casey paced, a growl bubbling in her throat, clearly failing to appreciate the offer. “Why do they have to be so damn friendly? You know what the worst part is, 'yote? It's not an act."

“No," he agreed. “I don't think it is."

“They're trying to be nice."

“Probably. I can try to limit the damage when we get back on the ship. See what all they looked at. Maybe they won't pry, after all."

“True. Fucking bluecoats—not like they have much sense. I guess there's no point in worrying about it. We're cooped up here, anyway." She paused, gaze drifting to the closed door. “Until dinner. We're stuck here until dinner."

“So you're saying we should deal with this later?"

“I'm saying we have a room to ourselves." The jackal stalked forward, tilting her head up until her nose touched his and their eyes met. “Right?"

“Presumably…"

“And it's been a fuckin' day, hasn't it?"

“Yeah."

Her teeth clicked. “So get your goddamn clothes off." She stepped away from him and unbuttoned her jacket, tossing it to the floor. Devin was abruptly reminded of how they'd been interrupted: the jackal wasn't wearing anything underneath. By his reckoning, she was right: they had plenty of time before dinner. What was the point of arguing? He pulled off his shirt, unzipped his pants and pushed them off.

No sooner had he straightened up than Casey had lunged for him—a ruddy-furred blur, and a predatory glint from her eyes, and he found himself pinned to the wall with the jackal's lips locked on his own. He met the kiss with a growl; ran his paws along her bare sides.

Groped her, because why not? Claws grasping her, he tugged Casey against him by the hips. Her tail wagged eagerly as he felt her up, squeezing her rump and pulling the desert bitch close so she felt the pressure of his swelling erection.

Just in case she hadn't, he added a short buck—but her eyes half-lidded, and she groaned hoarsely against his muzzle, and that answered that question. He followed her when she fell back into the bunk—softer, and a lot more sumptuous than anything on their spartan freighter. Star Patrol had its appeal, apparently… but that was something to be investigated later.

The coyote could manage the next steps by instinct, at that point. Casey clenched her paws as he nudged inside her, the taper of his canine shaft guiding her folds around its stiff heat. The coyote's first few thrusts stayed shallow—letting her adjust, letting him enjoy the wet warmth surrounding his cock, letting a bit of complacency build…

Her paws finally started to relax, and she realized what was going on. “Dev, damn it, don't tease—oh, fuck!" He pushed forward, sinking the rest of the way into her. In an instant the claws were back on his shoulders; her lithe hips arched, and her eyelids fluttered shut as she gasped for breath. “Fuck—coyote..."

That was the idea. He pulled back; swiveled in again, taking her in solid, heavy thrusts. It was always easier to demonstrate who she belonged to than to say it. Devin hilted in her with every stroke, sliding the throbbing, slick spire of his cock deep and forcing a shudder from the jackal every time he claimed her. Actions spoke louder than words.

But not necessarily louder than jackals. Panting became moans, then gasped yelps in a rising pitch. He leaned into her, pinning her twisting frame down, and she cried out as his pace shifted into high gear. “Dev! Yeah! Fuck your jackal!"

He snarled, slamming in hard and following the fierce lunge with a series of swift, demanding bucks, each strong enough to nudge the slender canine beneath him a bit further up the bed. She shoved back to meet him; he bit at her ear encouragingly. “Good—good bitch!"

His words were lust-slurred to the point of incoherence, but they knew each other too well for that to matter and she answered him anyway. “Your bitch"—and then, more pointedly, with her paws grabbing erratically at his sides, holding on as he rode her. “Your jackal bitch—fuck, oh, fuck—Dev! Don't stop! Harder—fuck that's it I'm gonna—"

The last of it ran together and then cut off completely. He managed to keep up for the first bit of her frenzied thrashing, and her howl that broke and wavered when his cock hammered into her spasming cunt. Then Casey's feet found purchase, and her jerking hips lifted until it was all he could do to stay in her.

She collapsed, breathing ragged, and shuddered every time the coyote so much as twitched. “Fuckin' hell. Devvy… needed that." He tried another thrust; she still jolted, but more weakly. “Did you get off?"

He grunted, nipping her ear again. “You feel a knot, Case?"

“Mm." The jackal worked her hips in a careful, teasing circle, shifting her coyote's half-buried shaft along her walls. “Should fix that…"

Dev slid back in, and the gentle swell of it wasn't subtle enough to escape Casey's notice. He heard her whimper; felt her grind into him. “Yeah? You like that, jackal?" She nodded, calmer now, and he resumed his movements.

But his purpose changed with the steady, even pumping. He focused on the sodden warmth around him—the exquisite pressure surrounding every last bit of his cock when she took his full length. How good it felt to work the last few inches in, with her instinctive grip on his knot.

He adjusted his angle, went a little faster—there it is. That was the rhythm: gratifying, sending building shocks of pleasure through him. Slick velvet coaxed his knot thicker; caressed his tip, deep inside the jackal. She was panting again, taking hold of his fur, clutching…

Casey's low, huffing whines fell on him, but distantly. Now there was only the need to sate himself, to make sure his knot claimed her so he could fill his bitch properly. Sharp, rutting jabs hilted the coyote and kept him there, his pace growing faster as the friction built and every grating tug announced the building strength of their tie.

He heard the jackal shout, and there was a half-second of warning before her limbs tensed up again. This time it didn't matter—the coyote was locked in her, his frantic bucking into her quivering hips only confirming it. Close. Almost…

Almost gave way to the decisive shove that ended his final thrust. Through the tumult of his peak he felt the first long spurt of his release, and the sensation of his own cum spreading hot and wet around his throbbing tip as he flooded her. Casey wailed—then his own snarl joined it, asserting his claim just as strongly as the steady pulses of his seed.

His knot kept her in place while he unloaded, but even so the coyote kept thrusting, pushing her down and into the yielding cushions. Pinned by the shallow, deliberate, instinctive hitching of his taut hips she took every drop he pumped into her, her gasps slowly quieting as he gradually relaxed.

Her fingers drew a shaky circle in the fur of his lower back. “You got off now, right?"

“Yeah."

The jackal snickered, and turned the wandering of her paw into a thumping pat. “Good coyote."

“Mmf." Devin sighed, the tension of the day finally ebbing into something more bearable. “Fuck. I love you, Case."

“I love you, too." Her sharp muzzle nosed at his ear. “Twice as much. God, you're good, coyote."

“Twice?" He rumbled, flicking his ear away from her questing teeth. “I love you more by volume, though, how's that?"

“Yeah? I don't have enough volume?"

“Well…" She opened her muzzle, taking a deep breath, and before anything untoward could happen Devin clamped his paw down over her mouth. “That's alright, jackal."

She managed an indistinct reply, but didn't force the issue, even after he lifted his paw away. That was fine. He didn't have the energy to argue. Instead he curled up with her, wrapping his arms around the slender canine—taking advantage of the tie to steal a bit of cuddling.

Not that she wasn't affectionate—in her own way—but it was nice just to hold her. To feel her breathing slow, the tense energy in her always-animated frame momentarily subdued. To stay content and comfortable with his partner… maybe kiss the bridge of her muzzle while she was in the mood for it… maybe just tell her how much he—

A soft, pleasant chime sounded. “Hello! Are you busy?"

They both went rigid. Casey found her voice first. “Yes! Just a minute!"

But the door hissed open, as if they hadn't heard. Casey scrambled to throw a blanket over the pair. They were still tied, anyhow, and the position was somewhat compromising, but at least she managed a degree of plausible deniability for the Star Patrol crewman who entered.

“Can I help you?" Dev did what he could to keep his voice level.

“We're running some diagnostics on your engine, but we don't have the password for the main display so we can't see the readouts. You have an old model systems display; we're not familiar with it."

He blinked. “What? It doesn't have a password."

“We tried just, you know… 'password,' or 'admin.' Neither of those worked."

“It doesn't have a password," he repeated. Next to him, Casey shut her eyes and buried her head in the blanket. “Just bypass the authorization check."

“Well, or we thought 'default'—I don't know if there's a default account, though? We're looking up the old manual, but if you could give us any help…"

“Bypass it! Just ignore the password check! It'll start! Trust me!"

The Star Patrol engineer considered that; nodded. “Very well, sir. We'll try that."

“Please do."

“If it doesn't work, we'll come back and—"

“That's okay." The heat of his reply startled the engineer, obviously; his ears flattened. Dev tried smiling, hoping that would help. “It's not that important. It's alright. But try it. Please. Trust me."

“Yes, sir." The man bowed, and stepped from the room.

With the door closed, Casey growled from under the sheets. “Did it not lock?"

“We were supposed to have a few hours."

“Did it lock?"

“I don't know! I was distracted."

“This fuckin' trip, Dev…"

Either the password worked or Star Patrol could—under duress—manage to take at least one hint, because nobody bothered them until Commander Stewart returned to take the pair to dinner. By that point they were reasonably presentable again, and if the genet knew what had happened she gave no sign of it.

She was, however, irrepressibly curious about the events leading up to their encounter. Why were they in the area? What brought them into contact with the Twelve Blades? And how, more than anything, had they disabled the Huzarian Spear?

Casey explained; Stewart asked her to repeat the explanation. She did.

The Star Patrol captain's fork rested on the spaghetti wound about it, forgotten. “You… overcharged your defensive turrets, blew a hole through a loading bay door, and tossed an entire fuel tank inside?"

“Yes."

“At what kind of speed?"

Casey's ear twitched subtly. “Not more than… oh, it couldn't have been more than fourteen or fifteen hundred meters per second? Fast enough to evade their defensive screen."

“And what was your range?"

The jackal coughed. “Close? Close. Under a kilometer, definitely."

Irene finally picked her pasta back up, chewed, and swallowed thoughtfully. “Well, that explains why our sensors said the damage looked like a runaway propellant reaction. So was that… uh, strategy… more or less safe than your engine modifications?"

“More," Casey assured her, at the exact same time Devin answered with a firm “less."

“I see. What'd you say your name was, ma'am?"

“Casey Carr."

Irene pulled a computer terminal closer, running her fingers over it. “Kaitlyn?"

“Nobody calls me that."

“And your ship isn't in the Terran Confederation records," the genet continued. “Must be registered off-world, somewhere?"

“It's in the older database," Casey explained, each new flick of her ears lowering them imperceptibly further. “But it's there."

Stewart's eyebrows lifted. “So the ship's signature isn't in the Star Patrol records, then? I understand why the New Families might know who you were better than I do, in that case. And… wait, what do you have to do with this?"

She tapped something, hidden from their view, and was rewarded with a buzz and a monotone voice: “Access requires special permissions. This file is intended only for the ship's captain."

Irene's head canted heavily. “Never seen that one before. Must've been part of the last upload before I took command. My first ship," she clarified. “Before this I was just a chief engineer."

Dangerous, in other words. Larger Star Patrol ships would, of course, have different 'chief engineers' for different engineering sections—but she was quite likely to know enough about their technology to ask even more uncomfortable questions.

“Well. I am the captain now, though, right?" She tapped at the terminal until something happened: Dev couldn't be sure what, except that, after the soft chime, the genet's eyes started to widen. “Sjel-Kassar? The lost city?"

“What… what about it?" Casey licked her muzzle nervously.

“Your ship was hired on the expedition that discovered it. You were present when the ancient Hano weapon was reactivated—at least, that's what it says here. There's a note, though: you were never formally debriefed, and your ship proved to be untraceable."

“I wouldn't know anything about that."

Casey's answer was too close to stonewalling; it was possible, Dev thought, that Irene's interest remained academic. “Nobody asked us, either. We dropped off the scientists and went about our business. Had no idea we were supposed to be 'debriefed.'"

Irene nodded, her eyes drifting back to the terminal so she could keep reading. “That would make you Devin McGee. You were banned from META, and then you disappeared."

“Not being able to log on does keep my profile kind of low, ma'am."

“It would," she agreed. “The New Families were rumored to be part of the search for the weapon. Is that why they were upset at you? Upset enough to bring their flagship—must've really rubbed them the wrong way."

Casey shook her head. “They're just assholes, that's all. I didn't figure anybody would answer the distress call until we were already gone, but if you bluecoats send some patrols through that messes with their business for a while. Trust me, it doesn't bother me any. Somebody needs to take 'em down a notch."

“You're not the only one who thinks so. Someone lost…" She trailed off, and turned her attention to her computer. “I imagine I'm supposed to bring you in for questioning."

“About?"

“Security bulletin. A heavily armed merchant orbiting Tevanista, in the Irdin Neutral Zone, was destroyed by the planetary defense system. Tevanista is rumored to have been under blockade by highly organized criminal syndicates and their mercenary fleets. Equipment for the planetary defenses may have been trafficked by a Terran light freighter, in contravention of policy in exporting arms to the Neutral Zone. Quote: 'a Sierra-model freighter was reported to have taken on passengers linked to the Tevanista government but no corroborating records exist.'"

“If there are no records," Devin began. “I mean… that sounds very speculative, to me."

“We never carried weapons, either. It was a scientist, and his daughter, and some vaccines they needed."

“A doctor?"

“No," Casey said, promptly. “A weapons scientist, and for all I know he was the one who blew up that warship. I don't give a fuck who gives the New Families a taste of their own damn medicine—they're a friend of mine. I'd do it again."

Irene closed the terminal, and set it aside. “I imagine you don't really want me looking at your engines, Mr. McGee. Right?"

“Not really."

“Or inspecting your ship at all, Ms. Carr?" Casey shrugged. “What are you carrying?"

“Vasheniot redwood, lightly processed," Dev answered for her. “The paperwork is in order. We picked it up on Vashenius II last week. It's going to Isili."

“Who would hire you to carry lumber?"

Casey snorted. “Someone who doesn't want to pay fees to the local shippers in that sector. It's extortion, plain and simple. Bunch of rich companies squeezing the lumberyards just 'cause they can. There are always people looking to avoid bullshit like that."

“And is it… legal to do?"

“I never bothered to ask." Devin wondered if, given her lack of reservation, Casey figured it was already a lost cause. “Most things that are right are legal. Some things that are wrong are legal. Some things that are right are illegal. As far as I'm concerned, when the two disagree, I'd rather be right."

Irene smiled at her blunt answer. “That's one way of looking at it, yes."

“If it's illegal for the shippers to bully the Vasheniots, Star Patrol certainly isn't doing anything about it. And if it's legal, Star Patrol is saying it's okay, and so their opinion doesn't count for much."

To Devin's surprise, Irene kept smiling. “This seems like a philosophy bound to get you into trouble."

“Well, you saw what the Twelve Blades thinks about it."

“And Star Patrol?"

“Who knows? The only thing keeping the bluecoats from stabbing themselves making toast is twenty pages of regulations on which part of the knife is pointy."

Irene's smile twisted—but only slightly. “You know, though: the Star Patrol has been trying to bring the leadership of the New Families to justice for years," she said, not entirely defensively. “When I took command of the Sacagawea and they sent me to this sector, I figured it was only a matter of time until we encountered them face to face…"

“And have you?"

“No, sir. They've proven impossible to pin down. Until I showed up here, and found the head of the gang brought to me on a silver platter. And whose responsibility was that?"

“Ours. They attacked us first," Casey insisted. “But ours."

“The syndicates are probably going to think so, yes." Stewart leaned forward, and though her voice quieted, he could see her long tail lashing steadily. “I'm not sure, myself, given the evidence."

Brow furrowing, Casey tilted her head. “Evidence?"

“Look at it from my perspective, Ms. Carr. I answered a distress call from an unknown vessel only to find the flagship of a wanted criminal… disabled, sure, but what are the odds he asked for help?"

Dev glanced at Casey to find the jackal was looking right back at him. She cleared her throat. “Maybe an altruistic passerby sent the signal?"

“That's my guess," Stewart agreed. “But we'll see what Zetut has to say. I don't intend to board that thing by myself—Commodore Spielman is sending a task force from the 9th Fleet. They should arrive in a few hours."

“Aren't you worried that someone attacked them? They might still be around."

“Nah, Case. You heard her: the damage looks like something went wrong with their engine. Don't be paranoid."

“Right." The genet pushed her chair back and stood. “Unfortunately, I do have work to take care of before Commodore Spielman arrives. I'd love to stay and chat, but… well. Our sensors have been acting up. If I can't figure out the problem, I'll have to purge the last few hours of data."

Casey, like Dev, had already taken the hint, but she pressed her luck. “Will you?"

“Star Patrol can't abide missing data, but they hate the untidiness of unreliable data even more. I read that in some twenty-page manual back at the Academy." Irene grinned, and held out her paw. “It was nice to meet you two."

“Same," Casey said, and Devin followed her example.

“Your ship should be ready to go. I think… apparently the techs couldn't get one of the displays working, and your cabin door was locked when they tried to ask you."

Dev coughed. “Yeah?"

“That's the way I hear it. Can't check the logs, what with the sensors being bad. Anyway. You must've had a hell of a day, so don't let me keep you. Safe travels—whoever you are."

***

“Could've been worse," Casey said, sighing. “Think she'll keep her word?"

“Yeah. Seemed okay." Remarkably competent, even, considering how most of their encounters with the Star Patrol had gone. Devin finished the last of his diagnostics. “We're good to go. Except for the fuel."

She came to his station, leaning on the coyote to read the report over his shoulder. “How bad is it?"

“Well, we can make it the rest of the way. But we need to replace the tank, for some reason…"

He'd turned, looking up at her. The jackal smirked and used the obliging position to give him a quick kiss. “You know you love me. And it was a good bit of work. Give me credit."

“It was," he admitted. “And I do."

“Give me credit?"

He settled back in his chair and stuck out his tongue at the jackal. “Love you. You understood me."

For a flickering moment, the trickster's edge in her smile faltered, and her eyes softened. “I know." She held his gaze for a few seconds, until the softness threatened to become permanent, then tore herself away. “I'll get us started."

“Sure." He watched her depart, and the steady wag of her tail. Whoever you are. Dev chuckled to himself at the commander's phrasing. Whoever they were, it was hard to shake the feeling that they'd already started.

That only left the question of what they'd started, and where it would finish. Explosions? That seemed a plausible answer to both questions, in the purest sense. But the coyote couldn't keep the grin off his muzzle.

“Hey, jackal. I love you."

She leaned backwards, looking at him upside-down with her hair tumbling about her perked ears. “What'd I do?"

“Nothin' specific. Maybe I just like saying it."

“Maybe I like hearing it. It's fun to practice." Now it was her turn to stick out her tongue. “I love you, too, 'yote. Ready?" She hadn't specified for what, exactly.

He didn't ask. “Let's do it."